Dear Professor Oddfellow,
I would not write you if a matter of the gravest concern and import did not daily and nightly press upon my chest and constrict my very breath like a "way-too- presumptuous-dude" incubus.
A parrot-cormorant hybrid has been flying about my domicile recently...a horrible nuisance and eyesore.
I notice that
it casts no shadow, but that its echoes are doubled and sometimes even trebled, so I'm fairly certain this is a creature escaped from one of your books or incantations.
It flaps from floor to floor and the only thing I could find which repels its natural and unnatural curiosity about anything I am doing (the beast has mastered the art of doorknobs with those claws!) is the sound of the homilies administered by one particularly pedantic minister down in Arkansas.
As this homily only runs at three in the morning and lasts a scant three hours, I find myself deprived of rest the remainder of the day and night, and I assure you my villainy is suffering.
If villainy needs anything, it is a good night's rest.
I notice the bird has mastered several human languages and I admit that I have found it a help in my Icelandic studies. Yestreen it was declaiming one of the ancient Sagas, albeit in a rather monotonous delivery.
Other nights it seems to be acting out some obscure Slovakian television drama or other, complete with laugh track. And
worse fare. To call these raucous soundtracks vexsome would be meiosis, which I'm sure you know (
I say with no condescension whatsoever) is the opposite of hyperbole.
Today it interrupted me as I was studying a dossier of medieval illustrations I have gathered providing
definitive proof that many early martyred saints had begun attempts to blog. I had found clear
illustrations of medieval blogging and was nearly ecstatic. Do you realize what a gift this will be to the Mother Church? I am attempting to write a monograph on the subject.
I believe there is a blogging-Purgatory connection. People in Purgatory have been blogging for millenia, but we have been confusing these messages with spam!
Rome must hear of this, and hear of this soon.
Your parrot-cormorant hybrid (and I do believe it is yours) is a handsome creature and I admit to admiring your handiwork, but I was wondering if you might convince it through telepathy or other means that other nearby dwellings might offer more appealing symbiotic "digs."
I thought it was a nice touch that the feathers have the ability to manifest images with a clarity to rival that of the flattest plasma television screen. Have you thought of marketing the beast along those lines? If you could somehow get the beast to articulate vocally in synchrony with the television program its feathers broadcast, you might be onto something.
I confess I watched a documentary on the little-known St. Thisbe of Malta upon the creature's wings as the avian was slumbering on my second floor landing this afternoon.
St. Thisbe was killed by an angry mob of theologians when he attempted to create the first God chain-letter spam. It was in the form of rocks that had Christian messages written upon them, which were to be passed on to twelve friends, who then had to copy the message onto twelve new rocks and spread the divine message to twelve friends each, etc. Here was proof of early faith spam!
It was clearly too early. The plan backfired and St. Thisbe was stoned to death with his own spam rocks, once they were traced back to him. I found this incident memorialized in a little-known etching by Goya entitled (in Spanish): "Pass this on or burn in Hell for donkey years, you cursed widget of Satan..."
Also, your winged beast thieves. Yesterday, I noticed three cupcakes, an edition of Balzac, a scatter pillow, a set of fingernail clippers and an invisibility amulet were all missing from the downstairs.
Needless to say, it is that last theft which troubles me most.
The prospect of an
invisible parrot-cormorant with polyglossalaliac logorrhea haunting my dwelling is not one I wish to entertain seriously.
Any assistance you can give me upon this matter will be greatly appreciated, and know that I remain, as ever,
Yours in Logodaedaly and Phrenological Dodginess,
Wilhelm 
