Dear Homer Simpson,
I hope this letter finds you well if it finds you at all, as I am unclear as to which principality of the United States to which you are resident, although I believe you are famed enough for the postal office to work it out, depending on the literacy of the chain of lackies. Mr Simpson, Please do not take my assuming your fame great enough for a lowly messenger to know who my address is on about, as complimentation. There is nothing wrong with fame – just look at Earl Westley Crawlwell Preston-Heath, my logistical officer´s horse. Never has a horse been more famous for its incredible aggression to and ability to detect, there so of, Frenchmen and allies to Bonaparte. I will be a great shame when it has to knackered and turned into sandwhiches and glue.
As with aforementioned horse, you are famous, but I believe your fame to had curdleded, like a pot of jam, or a lady´s face after repeated childbirth. Your wackanigans have delighted all readers of the periodicals, but after almost thirty years, there comes a time when everyone has to move on, stop, or die. You are no exception to this rule and as I am sure you are aware, those behind you have been of a decreasing calibre, beginning as massive howitzers, the sort that attempts to build get you in trouble with the general staff, even if they would have an effective range of seven miles and be able to decimate a battalion at a time, all the way down to lady calibres, which might be used only to assassinate small children with thin skulls. In short, Mr. Simpson, your comedy strip was once very good, but is now very bad.
Please stop doing it. Might I also wonder, why are you constantly berating Fox? Fox has done a very good job covering the wars between neighbouring kingdoms in Europe, and is completely impartial. Also, do you have jaundice, because despite being literally pear’shaped, you a very sickly colour. Maybe you should take a long, never ending rest.
Yours, D´Oh
Lieutenant-Colonel Anonymous Bilgewater