Welcome to the House of Funk

Dear Sir Peter and Lady Monkhouse,

Your son has regretfully been bought to my attention as a concern. His academic skills are severely lacking, his attitude to homework decidedly spare and his respect for the sanctity of authority and tradition noticeable in it’s absence. Just last week I found him using highly unpleasant language* and chewing his trousers while laughing. This kind of wilful intention must end. I mean, by golly, where do you expect him to go with his life? What sort of employment might he find with barely a pleasant word in his sickly vocabulary or a honed skill in his repertoire?

I suspect you might just find him trawling our verbal nonsense on some sort of digital broadcast with gaggle of other similar characters (if you can call them that, I should fancy the term “lazy bastard shrews” to be more apt). Christ only knows what sort of family background the poor little arsehole grew up in.

Anyway, must be off, this cocaine won’t cut itself y’know.

Yours,

Vice Principal Barclays-Manly (Mrs.)

*Russian

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