December 14thDearest John:I went to the door today and the postman delivered a partridge in a pear tree. What a delightful gift. I couldn't have been more surprised. With dearest love and affection, Agnes--------------------------------------December 15thDearest John:Today the postman brought your very sweet gift. Just imagine, two turtle doves. . . . I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift. They are just adorable. All my love, Agnes--------------------------------------December 16thDear John:Oh, aren't you the extravagant one! Now I must protest. I don't deserve such generosity. Three French hens. They are just darling but I must insist. . . . you're just too kind. Love Agnes---------------------------------------December 17thToday the postman delivered four calling birds. Now really! They are beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough? You're being too romantic. Affectionately, Agnes----------------------------------------December 18thDearest John:What a surprise! Today the postman delivered five golden rings. One for each finger. You're just impossible, but I love it. Frankly, John, all those squawking birds were beginning to get on my nerves. All my love, Agnes-----------------------------------------December 19thDear John:When I opened the door there were actually six geese a-laying on my front steps. So you're back to the birds again, huh? Those geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't sleep through the racket. PLEASE STOP!Cordially, Agnes------------------------------------------December 20thJohn:What's with you and those fricking birds???? Seven swans a-swimming. What kind of damn joke is this? There's bird poop all over the house and they never stop the racket. I'm a nervous wreck and I can't sleep all night. IT'S NOT FUNNY. . . . . . . So stop with those fricking birds!Sincerely, Agnes-------------------------------------------December 21stOK Buster:I think I prefer the birds. What the hell am I going to do with eight maids a-milking? It's not enough with all those birds and eight maids a-milking, but they had to bring their own damn cows. There is poop all over the lawn and I can't move into my own house. Just lay off me. SMART ASS. Ag----------------------------------------------December 22ndHey Buttface:What are you? Some kind of sadist? Now there's nine pipers playing. And geeeez - do they play. They never stopped chasing those maids since they got here yesterday morning. The cows are upset are stepping all over those screeching birds. No wonder they screech. What am I going to do? The neighbors have started a petition to evict me. You'll get yours. From Ag----------------------------------------------You Rotten Prick:Now there's ten ladies dancing - I don't know why I call those sluts ladies. They've been balling those nine pipers all night long. Now the cows can't sleep and they've gotdiarrhea. My living room is a river of poop. The commissioner of buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why the building shouldn't be condemned. I'm sicking the police on you. One who means it, Ag----------------------------------------------December 24thListen Asshole:What's with the eleven lords a-leaping on those maids and aforementioned 'ladies'? Some of those broads will never walk again. Those pipers ran through the maids and have been committing sodomy with the cows. All 234 of the birds are dead. They have been trampled to death in the orgy. I hope you're satisfied, you rotten swine. Your sworn enemy, Miss Agnes McCallister----------------------------------------------December 25th(From the law offices Taeker, Spredar, and Baegar)Dear Sir:This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling, which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Agnes McCallister. The destruction, of course, was total. All correspondence should come to our attention. If you should attempt to reach Miss McCallister at Happy Dale Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight. With this letter, please find attached a warrant for your arrest.
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