“The letter.”
Now I glance at my talon where I’ve been holding the letter but it’s not there. And then I spot the envelope on the ground where I must have dropped it. I lunge and snatch the letter up just before the pooling venom reaches it. I’m still panting and by this point my black heart is hammering so hard I’m worried it might just explode right out of my rib cage. And it’s all I can do not to run screaming from the lair.
“Yes sir.” I hold up the envelope with a shaky talon. “It’s right here, sir.”
Then the Dean’s tongue comes shooting from over his shoulder and zooms all the way across the lair to where I’m squatting and snatches the envelope out of my talons and then in a flash the tongue retracts back to the Dean.
I hear the Dean open the letter and then he stands still as he reads it.
I’ve already read the letter so many times I could recite it out loud for him.
Dear Dean Floop:
This is my letter of recommendation for my grandson Gork The Terrible. I am recommending that you assist him in his quest to take your daughter Runcita to EggHarvest.
As you can imagine, I am monitoring Gork’s campaign to get Runcita to be his Queen very closely, and surely by now you must know that I have eyes everywhere here on the island. If you are squatting there wondering whether me saying I have eyes everywhere on the island is meant as subtle allusion to the fact that last night at our Public Debate I had occasion to rob you of your sight in one eye, well of course it isn’t, you stupid Cyclops.
What kind of monster do you take me for?
What I mean when I say I have eyes everywhere is I am probably right now watching you read this letter on a hidden video feed from one of the thousands of micro-drones that I have deployed all over the island. Now I realize this constitutes an invasion of your privacy, Dean. Me watching you like this, vis-à-vis said micro-drone.
But let me remind you that my name is Dr. Terrible.
And this is what we Terribles do.
We act terrible.
Now I want to make it clear that if you attempt in any way to block my grandson Gork’s attempts to make your daughter Runcita his Queen for EggHarvest, then I will have no choice but to use my new Evolution Machine, or Evo-Mach 3000, and mind-swap you with a little white mouse.
Now I imagine that Mrs. Floop, not to mention the cadets at WarWings, will be quite surprised when the only noise you can make with your beak is squeak squeak squeak.
Furthermore, I’m sure this will lead to some very difficult questions from Mrs. Floop. Like why do you keep waking me up in the middle of the night and begging for cheese?
Now let me address the elephant in the room. Gork’s horns. Obviously I recognize and acknowledge my grandson Gork’s horns are substandard in every way. And perhaps Gork’s tiny horns diminish somewhat his standing in your eyes—forgive me, I mean “eye”—as an ideal mating partner for your daughter Runcita.
Now even for me, his grandfather, his own scales and blood, I must confess that the sight of Gork’s puny horns sometimes make me very nauseous. And once recently while Gork was asleep I came into his lair and looked at him sleeping peacefully there in his nest and the sight of his horns made me puke. But of course I never told Gork about this because I didn’t want to ruin the young dragon’s self-esteem. Though I guess when he woke up in the morning he must’ve wondered where all that vomit came from, but whatever.
You see, young Gork’s parents died when their Fertility Mission spaceship crashed on their Designated Foreign Planet.
Now at the time, none of us knew that Gork’s parents’ spaceship had crashed on the surface of planet Earth. All we knew was that the transmissions from Gorks’ parents’ spaceship cut off abruptly. Initially I had no cause for concern, though. I simply thought they were too busy conquering Earth to be bothered with sending us a status update. You know how young dragons can be on their Fertility Mission.
Now when the remains of their spaceship crashed into planet Earth, all of the eggs aboard were lost in the explosion. All except for one. Miraculously, Gork’s egg survived among the wreckage there in one of Earth’s forests. So eventually Gork hatched and then for the next three years he grew up all alone and raised himself in this forest on planet Earth.
Now personally I could not rest without knowing precisely what had happened to that spaceship ATHENOS with my son on it. I spared no expense in constructing all manner of exploratory machines to try and scour the galaxies for any clue as to what had happened to that spaceship ATHENOS. Eventually one of my Planetary Drone Probes made a DNA match there on Earth, and I was alerted of Gork’s existence and I rescued him from the forests of that planet Earth. And I brought him back here to Scale Island and raised him as if he were my own son.
But by the time I rescued Gork, he was already three years old. And because he did not receive proper guidance or supervision for those first three years of his life, he has some developmental disabilities. More specifically, Gork is severely lacking in the WILL TO POWER department. And as a result his horns haven’t matured at the same rate as a normal dragon his age.
But I have been working with Gork since he came into my life, trying to boost his HORN DENSITY & MASS. And I have every confidence that one day his actions will not only reflect his Terrible lineage, but that his horns will also grow to match the Terrible mind-set that he is the rightful heir to. Well unfortunately that day is not here yet but it will be soon! At which point Gork’s horns will grow to be at least five feet long.
Now I assume this is all the reassurance you need in order to accept Gork’s bid to procure your daughter as his Queen for EggHarvest. And I assume you will not only support but actively assist my grandson Gork in his quest to make your daughter his Queen.
If not, might I recommend you take a look in the mirror and try to imagine what you will look like with whiskers.
Yours Truly,
Dr. Karzakus The Terrible, M.D., Ph.D.
Distinguished Research Professor
Institute of Advanced Biokinetics and Neuroanatomy
WarWings Military Academy
Now when Dean Floop finishes reading the letter, he crumples it up and tosses it up in the air and opens his beak and blasts the letter with a firebolt. The letter goes up in a tiny cloud of smoke.
Then the Dean flicks his long scaly neck back and forth as if he aims to compose himself before speaking. And I whisk my tail around behind me, preparing to leap out of the way in case the Dean tries to blast me with a firebolt this time.
And Dean Floop does blast me.
Just not with fire. He blasts me with words.
This big demented dragon turns to face me and snorts flames out his nostrils and bellows: “I’m afraid I have bad news for you, Gork! There will be no quid pro quo. The deal is off. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Gork?!”