Thank you kindly for the invitation to a canned hunt in the Congo. The thought of it has My mouth watering. It’s been years since I’ve had a decent gorilla steak and you’re right about the best way to tenderize them. Dropping them, live, from a cruising helicopter makes them practically fall apart in your mouth.
Finding 125,000 new gorillas tucked away in the Congo could keep you and your buddies in trophies for weeks. Assuming proper refrigeration, I could eat up to a quarter of a million of My famous “Monkey Paw Steaks”. With the rest of them used for stews and tacos and such, I’d be set for years.
It occurs to Me that this hunting invitation may shed some light on your unfortunate accident with that Whittington guy and why he apologized to you. He was apologizing for reminding you of an ape. This is, of course, an easy mistake to make as you mortals have a common ancestor with apes only 5 to 8 million years ago. To let him know that you accept his apology, I suggest inviting him along on the hunt. Perhaps this time, if you were to accidentally shoot, partially butcher and eat a couple of “Lawyer Paw Steaks”, you could get him to literally kiss your ass.
I’m sure you’re not aware of this, but someone seems to have forged a note in your handwriting on My invitation. It looks very much like a list of persons that someone wants Me to smite. An “enemies list”, if you will. Obviously, you couldn’t have written it, since you know full well that I’m on vacation. If you had written it, that would make this thoughtful invitation something very much like a bribe and Me knows you’re much too refined for that sort of thing.
So consider this My RSVP. I’d be happy to attend your little get-together with “a few close friends”. I just wonder who will be running the United States, the oil companies and all of the government contractors while we’re in the Congo.
Wish You Were Here,