ALIAS POOR YORICK

I've had this rather disturbing letter I thought I should share with you all. It's from a Mr Billable-Hours of the eminent legal firm  Ersatz, Cocaine, Ponytail, and Bottomfeeder Mr Jeff Browett Editor/CEO ALIAS POOR YORICK Dear Sir, I'm writing in regard to your two sons Rupert and Frinton (Good God man what were you thinking ? Were you drunk ? Trying to get them into Eton ? Both ?) who you sold to the gypsies twelve years ago for allegedly "being naughty". I represent the two gypsies to whom you sold the boys. There appear to be a number of problems with the arrangement, to whit (no I don't know what it means either but my boss told me I had to put in stuff like that). Anyway. There is no legal basis, either in statute or by common law precedent, to sell your children to the gypsies "for being naughty" Secondly, and I've consulted with colleagues on this one, refusing to buy you a carton of Benson & Hedges and deliver it to ...

    Let's make no mistake about it, there will be legal action. I'm sick of people stealing my ideas before I've even had them and yes Nick Cave I'm talking to you. Don't try to pretend you've forgotten that night we spent in Berlin at the Bildungsroman Bar drinking bats blood & ketamine cocktails and talking about film. I reckoned I could make a more pretentious film about myself than you could and you said "No Jeff, you're wrong. No-one could make a more pretentious film about themselves than I could". Okay Nick, so you win, but did you have to steal all my ideas ?  My film was directed by my barista Jvornquist & my personal pubic hair stylist Narelle ClimateChangeAction.com.au ( politics and pubic hair are a powerful combination). They have no actual experience of film-making as such but they are both intensively creative and interesting people and if you take a couple of Dramamine before the movie starts you can deal pretty well ...

Fathers Day. It's always the same isn't it. Hipster-beard aftershave from the younger kids, intervention orders from the older ones, and the usual letter from Justin Bieber begging me to adopt him and teach how to be cool and tough and hilarious.As if. And the predictably hostile silence from the step-kids Rhinestone and Rhinegold. Yes they are twins, not they're not identical but they are very close,  and yes they are almost certainly on close personal terms with Satan. That'll teach me to marry a performance artist-lifestyle counselor I met in rehab. She turned our divorce settlement into a show that ran for two weeks at the Fringe Festival. I got a touching card from my youngest adopted African child Ptolemy who assures me that he thinks so highly of me that he calls me Oloishiru Ingishu, a Masai name which means "He whom the cows love so much they call for him in times of distress". Told him it was a nice thought but I'd used that same line thr...