El Guapo here. Allow me to open this missive with an apology for permitting such an unconscionably prolonged interval of time to have lapsed without apprising you of the various goings-on that have taken place since my previous communique. I can scarcely imagine the heart-wrenching distress that the resulting state of perpetual uncertainty must have caused you, even as you continued to labor faithfully for the furtherment of our great cause. Please rest assured that the depth of my gratitude toward each and every one of you for your unwavering devotion knows no bounds.
I have, of course, been mightily busy, contending with the mountain of gravely important tasks that continuously threaten to overwhelm me every moment of the day. In addition to my heavy involvement in the milk trade, I have continued my work in the field of sleep deprivation — and with phenomenal success, I am happy to report! Furthermore, there is yet another never-ending task about which I have not previously written: the regular soiling of infant undergarments. Several times a day, I am presented with a fresh, highly-absorbent undergarment, which it is my duty to soak and stain by all means at my disposal. As you can imagine, these burdens leave me precious little time for other pursuits. I scarcely even have time for the twenty hours of sleep that any decent human being requires in a day!
Nevertheless, I am at present free to dash off these few words and provide you with an amusing photograph (furnished at the top of this message), which I hope will provide you with a moment of levity. In my spare time, I have been practicing the arts of disguise and dissembling. The attached photograph, for example, was taken by my paternal minion as I posed beside a stuffed cat. Such are my skills now that I suspect even the sharpest-eyed among my minions — yes, even those who spend the better part of each day serving me at close quarters — have little more than a fifty percent chance of correctly identifying me in the picture. By all means, try your hand at it, and let us laugh together at the results!
Having said that, I should now like to strike a more sentimental note, recognizing that my desire to do so is likely a symptom of my advancing age. (It has nearly been a full three months since my miraculous escape from the oubliette in which I was ensconced during those nine months of unspeakable horror.) Before proceeding, however, I must first reveal that I am the figure on the right in the above photograph. (Surprised? Well, don’t be embarrassed.) The cat, of course, is therefore the figure on the left, and it is precisely the history of this cat that has put me in this sentimental mood. I hope that you will indulge me as I endeavor to explain its significance.
The cat was purchased by my paternal minion as a gift for my maternal minion when he decided to make known his intention to enter into matrimonial union with her. You see, this cat, known as “Robo-Cat” in Chinese (or, when translated more directly, as “Machine Cat”), was my maternal minion’s favorite cartoon character as a child. One of Robo-Cat’s most interesting traits is that he has on his belly a magic pocket, from which he can withdraw nearly any magical object one can imagine, including a doorway that allows one to traverse great distances in a single step.
During the course of their whirlwind courtship, my maternal minion had disclosed to my paternal minion that as a child she had often fantasized about having access to the same sorts of magical paraphernalia as those contained in Robo-Cat’s pocket. Thus, my paternal minion decided to place a ring of matrimonial commitment into the pocket of the stuffed cat for my maternal minion to find. He presented the cat to her on her birthday, and she discovered the ring with tearful delight. The rest, of course, is history (and will be well-known history once I have secured my dominion over the universe).
Even now, as I write about this beautiful moment in my parental minions’ exquisite romance, an overwhelming feeling of warmth wells up inside of my very bowels. Or . . . Oh. Perhaps it is merely time for another fresh undergarment.
In Virtue and Splendor,