Mr. Slask,

Faith, sir, why, your ineffectual verbiage to my Ecstatically Vocal
friend springs multitudinous fountains of calamitous exclamation upon
the readers of this popular newsboard!

I, as the Secretary of Absurdities in the aforementioned Council, do
indeed view your verbosity to my Ecstatically Vocal friend as, to
mitigate the point completely - utter poppycock.

I say, sir, that I can see that it is evident that you are indeed the
cock-eyed nincompoop that one may easily discern from your recent post
to my Ecstatically Vocal friend, and your general conception of the
entities commonly referred to as 'sarcasm', 'irony' and 'satire' and
little, but certainly more likely to be none.

If there is a certain problem with myself, the lowly mutton chop
currently making this address to yourself, being a high-ranking member
of said Council, then, sir, you merely engage in obfuscating the general
community and prevaricating about the bush to the distinguished readers
of this excellent newsboard. By Lord Sartan's bollock, sir, you are
possibly without a shadow of doubt, the worst kind of whoreson
malt-horse drudge that ever graced these lands of exquisite splendour!

Thus, I conclude my piece.

Yours, with the deepest respect et cetera,

A Mutton Chop

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Ero, in the year 332 AF.