🚀 go-pugleaf

Dear H760,
	I hear you've been importuning the hired help of the relatives
of H800 for the German for "oh yeah?"; I presume it's planned as retort
to the little matter of "gerne biete ich mich dir an": lovely cheapshot,
that.  You are, of course, perfectly entitled to address him with any
epideictic nothings you deem appropriate, while curtailing the speech of
the EEEnemy super-typing-machine to the few utterances permitted by the
rulebook; it's just his secluded upbringing that makes him think otherwise.
	Good fortune: you've been awarded the Paranoid-of-the-Year prize;
you were unanimously chosen by the judges for yr tenacity in obliterating
most traces of yr existence since last November, triple-protecting yr
account so it takes yrself five minutes to get into it, avoiding suspected
spies whenever possible, and even signing any and all petitions with
extravagant pseudonymosity, ensuring you use different names when
supporting conflicting issues.  The reward, as promised in the promotion
leaflets, is his undying, though don't inquire of me what you could
possibly do with that: use it as a doorstop, maybe?  (Sorry, Daniel, you
only get second place despite yr remarkable feat of cockroach mailing.)
	He's mistaken, you know: what he uncertainly supposes to be "fair
enough" is not fair at all: perhaps you should cease the "mockery", if it
was that, keep yr jokes to yrself, leave him with nothing at all to hold
against you, and watch in wonderment as he comes up with another
accusation; take notes, if you can, you'll never find a better champion
of the "hard done by" victimage, bless his soul, if he has one.
	I suppose you've become inured by now to playing the inexpiable
jester; just don't ever, ever challenge his longanimity, else he'll take
refuge in his weatherhouse of fair-times foul-times dinky personae, as if
a counterfeit userid, a barrage of spies, a pleasant levity, a constant
readiness to have done with, and a surfeit of very clever conjuring tricks
did not accord him safeguard enough.  Yr luck has changed, you deteriorate
and linger in despotic despondencies which shiver the whole scurvy
leave-as-you-stay madrigal macaberesque manacle unmanumitted [sic, my best
one yet] repose, but you're sequaciously smiling regardless, I trust, just
as I am; he might have wanted you to.  Crooked pictures straightened, he
declared, and that includes yr gilt and tarnished frame of mind; nothing is
sacred, nothing is scared, and no manner of thing shall be scarred.
	<Dear M, or whoever you're being, I'm sorry, "safe&warm&secure"
won't do: it sounds too comfortable.  You didn't really have a car crash,
did you?  Not in my '62 Corvette?  Jamaica?  As in Jamaica Ginger?
Jamaica Rum?  Money for Jam-aica?  Just forward any further words
from Jamaica to h760@cpc865.east-anglia.ac.uk and she'll gladly save you
the trouble of replying to them.>
	My apologies, H760, that was a digression.  Consider Ash Wednesday:
"Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining" and agree that
"neither division nor unity matters": this is his land, he has his
inheritance: it's His Town, and don't you ever forget it.
	It's been nice talking with you, H760, really, really nice.

mine &c,
H760	 (janitor@black.illuminati.gov)