This is the group that arranges the dosh that continues to fall from up above.

I am afraid your letter is most unsuitable for me at the present time as I have just spent the entire weekend writing the novel which you have summarily rejected. I can presume it is company policy to reject all manuscripts not submitted in ten-foot high brail. And yes, I am aware that it is traditionally bad for one to respond to any kind of criticism or rejection but with this, as with all else, I am uninnovative and therefor I may freely address you as pissmidget. Still, there is time for you to change your views and I think you will when we meet, and meet we most assuredly will. When I suck out your eyes and use them as stoppers for my ears to muffle the screams you will make as I headbutt you into a fine paste. I hope you will not be disheartened by your sudden violent death.

Yours faithfully,
Bernard Black

PS. Everyone agreed he was right to kill the publisher, and to do it with a fugal horn was a stroke of genius. "Bernard," they said-- no "Brendan," they said "Congratulations! Here, have this basket of stuff and come and stay with us for the weekend."