To Whomever among the Petty Mortals It May Concern, 

We write to you, sinking to a level of pathetic bargaining hitherto unknown to immortal beings, to ask that you please, as humans say, fuck right off. 

Since the beginning of time, we woodland deities have ruled these lands. Rolling hills, endless skies, and forest creatures alike were guided to harmony in a singularly-minded universe. Abundance was commonplace, and there was no such thing as “traffic” or “Taco Tuesdays.” There was only peace — and the occasional pollen allergy. 

Then, oh then, you treacherous beings. You lecherous, malevolent monsters, you horrific abomin — okay, fine Janet, I’ll be nicer. Ahem. Then, one day, you, uh, troublesome “people” established yourselves. You made your presence known by way of blowing up one of our oldest and most sacred monuments: The Woodland Rock. It stood, magnificent, a beacon of — oh, it’s flying into Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit’s cottage. They just got their roof re-leafed, too. 

With that somewhat less than gracious opening, your people began to “construct a school,” or, as it is referred to in these parts, Permanently Desecrated Holy Land for the Temporary Satisfaction of Your Mortal Lifespan. Tomato, tomahto. 

You humans with your beastly machines, and philosophical ponderings, and your ‘Pokemon Go’s,’ you stole this place from us. And now? Now we shall take it back. You think the only might of nature lies only in the thundering of rivers, and the pouring of rains, but what if, my dear frail mortals, it was the river that poured and the rains that thundered? 

Never before have you pondered such a deep and utterly perplexing question. I assure you, no rubbing together of brain cells is going to give you a glimpse of understanding into our cosmic power!

We! Shall! Make! It!

RAIN!

No, no Janet, not like that, put away the singles. 

You humans and your precious rituals, your beloved festivals that besmirch our territory! I bet you never thought you would see the day when an event was rained out

That’s right, skinbags. My forest nymphs and cloud carriers stand at the ready to ruin your event beyond recognition! I bet in all your evil schemes you have never come up with a remedy for your life-sustaining liquid pouring from the sky!

Oh, but that is not all! If you do not adhere to our demands of “beating it,” the incorporeal council will unleash our beasts onto you and your frivolous festivities. The fearsome rabbit Bunnicula, his terrifying roommate Gary the Groundhog, and the petrifying landlord (that’s it, he’s a landlord that’s the joke) will overtake your so-called “Wilson Weekend” and reign in terror!

Soft and furry creatures, you must now “skedaddle,” or else all these events will unfold upon every last grotesque meatsack in attendance of your silly little day of Fun Things & Snacks. 

If you do not evacuate immediately, I will hold no measures back in ensuring my woodland deities reclaim their rightful territory. If you do not wish to see rabbits and rain, then, kindly, surrender. 

Yours never, 

Literally God & Co. 

 



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