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He is cared for by the druids 800 meters beneath our abbey and taught abyssal and elvish magic between modern french and creative writing. If you had anything about you, you would come to the abbey and say to his face why it is your rancid, puny, snaggle-toothed, ballchinned, measly, bowlegged daugher deserves those Chessington tickets more than my boy Nobby. I suggest they hash it out between them in the tiger pit at Chessington itself: a fight to the death and whoever wins the duel can stay and the losers corpse is removed by security and donated to science.
So sick of the bullies in the world. Cruel little bastards that think it's funny to wreck children's hopes and dreams and call it competition.
Long story short, if you don't give me those Chessington tickets, I will personally hunt you down and pull your organs out of the incision that I will make in your belly button. Once extracting your soul through your navel, I shall mix it with some cacao powder native to Papau New Guinea and create a potion that will wipe out your bloodline. Then you will know the error of your ways and my weedy gimp son will bask in the glory of our victory. In the meantime we will settle for Legoland Windsor during the summer 'olidees. Tarrah love, Deborah G, 48, Scunthorpe X