This piece is probably ill-advised. It did distract me for a bit though, so it served its purpose. I wrote it today. Fresh off the presses. The only thing I'll mention sans-bribes: So far as I know, the Concorde Times doesn't exist.
Dear Mrs. Hubbard (I admit I may be assuming too much even in just this salutation, but kindly forgive me if I have taken too many liberties),
It was with great interest that I followed in the Concorde Times (a newspaper of some import in my region) the recent adventures which you have had with your dog. What with the economy and high fuel prices, I find it no great shock that you had forgotten to purchase the poor pooch a bone.
I can't pretend to know what a fishmonger is (though I shall be sure to ask my friend Polonius when next we meet), but it seems to me that someone is feeding your dog on the sly. Whatever this good Samaritan may be up to is anyone's guess, but perhaps he (or might it be she?) is as impressed with your dog's feats as I am.
A dog that plays a flute and reads the newspaper? Even if it isn't the Concorde, that's an astounding accomplishment for any dog!
Such a remarkable dog must require a great deal of care. To this end, I would like to offer myself as a potential guardian of your dog in the event of your untimely demise if you have no capable benefactors and the Samaritan continues in the greater part of valor. I promise that your dog would receive only the finest care and admiration and would have only occasional showings at some highly esteemed traveling establishment such as Barnum and Bailey or some suitably educational venture for the benefit of the younger generation.
Yours Faithfully,
Edmund Delanie, Esq.
P.S. Peach cobbler is a pie. If it's not too much trouble, may I inquire what kind of cobbler sells shoes?
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