Lord of Earl of Bishop of Wood

Det skjer mye interessant på skolen for tiden. Dette forklarer det unike brevet jeg postet i går, og det aktuelle nye som du kan lese under. Nyt disse storslåtte mesterverk av Hans Jacob Fevang.

Dear Archbishop of Sightbury County, Lord Edgar Southamptondawn of Lygrifield Gorge.

Since the dawn of man, boys have been interested in farm animals, in many different ways.
My son is no different. Young Paulus Abigail, Count of Schukwood, has been hunting for deer these last weeks up in Hughenship forest. He came back with over 5,000 deer. Anyway, this is not what I intend to tell you in this complaint letter. My son, my firstborn child, is sexually attracted to sloths. These actions are of great concern for his future. My love and affection for my son is equally based on love for boys and my sister.
My son has been importing these animals for pleasure only, and has been violating them ever since. I find this highly unnecessary and I want to ban the import of all sloths forever.
My son is doing nothing illegal as I see it, but I do not want these animals to abuse my beloved boy anymore. One night I went to bed early, but got up later. I was interrupted in my sleep by some mysterious noises from the barn. I went in and saw my son on all four exploiting his intersection between his anus and scrotum. Under him was a sloth, from which I perceived, abused my son in many different ways. I yelled at the sloth, and told it to burn in hell and get the fuck out of my country. The sloth shrieked and loafed away slowly, still bearing a protection sock on his erect penis. I hugged my naked son, and told him everything would be all right. Afterwards, I hunted the sloth down and sexually abused it until sunrise, when I then took a shovel and decapitated it. The blood was squirting and I laughed manically as I slurped its bodily fluids and pounded it with a hammer over and over again.
Then I went back to the barn and drew my pump-action-shotgun and blasted my son’s brain matter all over the newly painted white wall. I intended to kill him right after he was abused by this brainless and cold animal. My son’s body was abused, naked, blown apart and dirty. I had no other way of cleaning his name than blowing his guts across the barn floor.
This is not the main part of my complaint letter though.
My neighbor, Lord Macintosh Swidwell, is playing his classical gospel music way too loud in the weekends, and I find this inappropriate in a manor filled county we live in. I hope you will part-take in the demolition of his castle, The Erect Wanka, this following Thursday, or tell him to buy less noisy loudspeakers.

Lots of love and care from yours only
Lord Pimpelwick of Swanhildon County.