Dear Dreary.
C-can you help me? I am a retired b-boxer, a c-compulsive l-li-liar, and I s-suffer from a t-terrible s-s-stutter. I am just a p-poor boy and my st-storys s-seldom told. I have sq-sq-squandered m-my resistance for a p-pocket fer-full of mumbles,such are per-per-per-per-promises.
All l-l-lies and j-j-jest,b-but a man her-hears want he wants to her-hear and he d-der-der-disregards the rest. W-when i left my h-home and m-my family i was no mer-mer-more than a b-ber-ber-boy,laying l-low,ser-ser-ser-seeking out the per-per-p-poorer qwe-quarters where the r-ragged people go.
L-Lie l-lie. L-lie lie lie,lie lie l-lie lie,l-lie l-lie,lie lie,l-lie lie l-lie,lie lie l-lie,l-lie,lie lie,l-lie lie l-lie. Sorry. That's just n-not t-ter-true.
I am actually a per-per-policem-m-man.I c-can-can-cannot her-help m-my-my-myself.
Wer-wer-what c-can-can i der-der-der-do?
Simon Kerplunkel. L-ler-ler-long Island.

Dear Simon.
My goodness, what a to do.
I don't know where to start. Are you drunk? These words are sure ramblings of a mad man!
It's strange but I can tell certain things from the shite that you spout.
You're a short man with a strange fixation for tall friends with curly hair who look a little bit odd.
You've travelled from America to Scarborough. Why? You're first girlfriend was a Mrs Robinson? Not Kerry? You spend a good deal of your time waiting for trains and walking over bridges in bad weather.
I'm sorry but I just think you're a bore with no future!
Sort your fucking head out short pants!
Dreary. xx