iBlog: Dear Guy From Pengiun


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Saturday, November 29, 2008

Dear Guy From Pengiun

Dear Sir (or if not available, Madam)

My name is Benvolio Haversham-Brown and I am a very good writer. I would like my novel, `The Unamiable Like Mindedness of Criminal Masterminds and Those Who Don't Commit Crimes But Watch Films About Then None the Less` published. It's takes quite a lot of time to type up the whole novel and I am not able to attach the entire novel as my left click button on my computer is broken so I hope the first chapter will suffice.

I'd be literally delighted to hear how much money you will give me for the whole novel. I can, with your permission type up all suceeding chapters at a later date, but not the Thursday of the second week of December as I have a meeting that is not related to the novel.

Yours with more sincerity than a lake full of honesty

Mr Benvolio Haversham-Brown

`The Unamiable Like Mindedness of Criminal Masterminds and Those Who Don't Commit Crimes But Watch Films About Then None the Less` - By Benvolio Haversham-Brown

Chapter 1

`Shiffon was all the rage at that time, in, that is to say, Parisian` - Edgar T. L. G. Masterson

The sun splintered on the old man's head like it was yesterday. There wasn't much time to go until the fuzz showed up and arrested him for the very same crime he committed not two and a half hours earlier. He had been driving in the rain for most of the evening now and it was beginning to take it's toll. He was running out of road and with it, options.

He sighed to himself in the way that only a man who has just done a bank job and is running from the police so as not to get caught and serve 2-6 years in a medium security prison can. It was a low point for him but he was heartened by the thought of his illegitemate grandson, Hyunkw.

Hyunkw was nearly 29 now and the freshest of the bloodline. The old man thought for a moment about how succulent and zesty Hyunkw's blood must taste - like a Kentish rasberry but less hairy. Neither the old man or Hyunkw liked getting bits in their teeth. It was a common cause that bound them. Like a length of visible twine wrapped around the ankles. But the Old Man quickly ceased musing on his grandson's blood flavour as it was weird.

He pulled his car into a layby and dipped his headlights to side lights so as not to blind any on coming traffic or confuse them. In this same penchant for safety and health he refrained from removing his seatbelt lest another car crash into the back of his. An arthritic hand flicked the courtesy light on and then moved to the holstel in the passanger seat filled with quite a lot of money. Digging deap into the bag he eventually pulled out a wrinckly picture of a young man with windswept hair and a strong authorative chin. At the bottom right was crayoned `to Chapman, love from Hyunkw` because Hyunkw gave it to the old man and his name was Chapman. The man of chaps.

Chapman dealt a tear from his left tear duct like a croupier issues a card, any card, from the deck. He composed himself quickly - if the police, or indeed police women, found him he'd have enough time for sentimentality but as it was, he was on the run, so he set about his car lights to their normal cruising position, indicated and pulled out onto the main road in a safe and controlled maner.

He passed two blocks. Three blocks. A church. Five blocks. The upside down cat that haunted high street. He passed them all until he came across a police road block. He mentally calcualted the braking distance and slowly brought the car to a stand still. This was a man who didn't need ABS or modern traction control. No, he had a much more potent safety and health device - his wits. He only hoped the same wits would him as he wound down the window to speak to the police or police woman.

``Urrught?`` came a high pitched voice from the pavement. The rain was pelting down now and Chapman wasn't comfortable with having the window open for too long what with his arthiritis and all.
``Hgrmnph?`` grunted the old man in retort.
``U sin ne robing's yeah??!?!`` said the young police boy with bad grammer.
``Alas, I've not been party to or witnessed any robberies of any sort, young man`` replied Chapman eloquently. His wits were in a world of their own here. With the correct leverage of received pronounciation and polysyllabic words he was confident the police boy would leave him alone before he was put in the situation of having to lie about whether he did, or did not actually perform the or a robbery.
``thass bullshte!`` yelled the police boy. ``Why da hell cnt ppl jst lk own up or smmink. Ur lk da hundruf persn to nt know nefin bout da robbry u r!``.
``Then perhaps it might be quite prudent to let me on my way, my boy. I am but a lowly old man of questionable intent on his way to the nearest shady motel so I can fall asleep cradling this holstel with quite a lot of money and my feet are killing me.``
``sod off den, gay boy!`` said the police boy beckoning Chapman off on his way.

``That was close`` said the old man to himself pulling up to the motel. He sighed the very same sigh that he sighed earlier. He stepped into the baking sunlight with his bag and mumbled something about the `if only he and his lovely fresh blood were here`ness of Hyunkw.


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