The third installment of the most romantic tale ever known.
Dear Clarance (for ’tis your name!)
O happy day that I learn of your name. i had wondered what the angels would cry when they looked ‘pon your likeness in the heavens. I had wondered what the norse gods where saying to themselves when they carved you out of balsawood. And now, I smile, for i too know the name of perfection and it plays upon my lips like urban cookie collective. How will words ever sound the same once lips have spoken that of which is perfection? How will ears ever hear correct once they have heard the name of all that is great and good? Only your name can restore my senses! That and maybe some beak. and a quick sniff of poppers.
But, my sweet prince, you knowst that i am bethrothed to the Evil lord Stefan of Dennis and we are to be wed infront of the entire cast of Hollyoaks, the wretched swine. Not even satan himself could have dreamed up a crueller torment than this. Our union will please my father, lord Lou of Carpenter who owned the Waterhole by Lassiters Lake once. Lord Stefan has granted to restore the Waterhole back to his parentage in exchange for my hand in marriage. My father is consumed by his love for the Waterhole and would gladly sell his offspring for such a prize and an overnight stay in Lassiters and a chauffeur ride in ‘Home James’. Lord Karl of Kennedy is to be Lord Dennis’ best man and he is under strict instructions to rip out your gizzard should you come within one yabbie Creek’s distance of the Wedding, which is to be held at ‘The Loft’ night club, in Chesterville.
O my hot consumptive knave, our love is a forbidden one that dare not speak it’s name. The only way I can console myself is to replay the image of your body popping and doing the caterpillar in your dad’s garage to Run DMC at our last chance meeting.
Your doomed love