by bubiza » Wed Jan 11, 2012 6:07 am
Dear Nincompoop,
We are still in this stupid warehouse in Argentina. It turned out to be a disused fish warehouse, because Roscoe opened one of the crates and found decomposing cod.
Why didn't they clean the place out before? Because now Dia's making us all eat the fish to Save Money. Saving money sucks. You have to get all the cheap versions of llama milk and beans and soup to save a grand total of £12.64 a year, so Mum can spend it on whatever. She says it's money going towards a family holiday. I have no idea where £12.64 could get five of us accommodation, flights, food and leisure activities. But to be honest, I have more things to worry about right now.
Such as trying to escape from a disused, stinking fish factory in Argentina and to find my brother and his stuck-up girlfriend. Why couldn't Mum wait for him to return, rather than send us out here?
Because everybody loves Mycroft, since he's so perfect and amazing, blah blah blah.
Dia's still being evil, and her "henchdogs" aren't doing much either. Bowie is now asking Candy, who is so-emotionally-upset-every-time-somebody-walks-in-the-room-she-bursts-into-tears stage, whether she knows any talented singers. Dia seriously should have gagged him, or even better, hung him from the ceiling. Preferably a ceiling on some building on the Sun.
Or she should have done both. Then maybe I'd like her, although she's dognapped us all. I have no idea why she did in the first place. Sometimes, when I listen carefully, I can hear somebody talking to her.
Why did you dognap them? What did they do to you? they ask. I think it's a guy, but I'm not sure.
Because I did. I thought you hated them. She replies.
Well, not really. You know what it's like. But you don't need to do this. You've lied, and dognapped me, and them.
Playing by the rules doesn't get you anywhere.
I can't believe I trusted you...
Well I can.
They have this conversation quite often, and it's pretty tedious. I don't really have any idea who the guy is dognapped. Maybe Bowie's dad, or it could be Coldplay.
If it's Coldplay, then I'll beat her up. Nobody touches Coldplay. Ever. They've saved our lives, and I need to repay them.
You know, Nincompoop, being dognapped is the most boring thing ever. Nothing happens. You just sit around, breathing in the aroma of moldy fish, and do nothing. And because Dia's tied us up with electrical cables, if we tried to break them we'd just get frazzled. And resemble Twiglets. Twiglets are disgusting. Why am I even talking about recreational snacks if I'm in a matter of life and death. Huh? HUH?
Panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic
Calm your thoughts, Sherlock. Write happy things. And use the colors on your pen which has over 20 combinations which you brought aged six.
Ten green bottles, sitting on the wall. Always look on the bright side of life, dun dun dun whatever comes next. What if the world became a rainbow? Would we get to slide down it into the pot of gold? Ahh, look at the little kitty. How sweet, how cute, how pretty. Pebble is a funny word. Pebble. Pebble. Pebble. And so is kite. Kite. Pebble. Kite. Kite. Kite. I admit that I, Sherlock, am a full fledged brony, although I am an intellect. My name is Sherlock. I am sixteen years old and live with my parents, and my brothers Watson and Mycroft. My best friends are Angie and Diesel from school. I have no love interests, since I'm not into that kind of thing, and I never had and never will. Watson is also one of my friends, and I can't stand Mycroft, since he's a stupid, stuck-up attention seeker. I have a record deal, and I am part of Wolfhound, although I hate it and I want to be normal. What if I could fly, and be like a bird?
I LIKE TURTLES I LIKE TURTLES I LIKE TURTLES I LIKE TURTLES I LIKE TURTLES.
I'm going mad, Nincompoop. Ever since you were around. I'm talking to myself, taking you everywhere, writing random junk and being stupid.
I don't think I can cope anymore.
Sherlock.