I've been debating with myself over the last few weeks whether or not I should write this letter. Obviously, I outvoted myself and wrote it. I concluded I absolutely had to tell you that people who write using all capital letters are usually the ones without a real point to make. Please note that many of the conclusions I'm about to draw are based on cogent and virtually incontrovertible evidence provided by a set of people who have suffered immensely on account of Cadet Chill.
Still, the biggest supporters of Chill's unmannerly harangues are demonic flapadoshas and oligophrenic jobbernowls. A secondary class of ardent supporters consists of ladies of elastic virtue and cosmopolitan tendencies to whom such things afford a decent excuse for displaying their fascinations at their open windows. Chill is just trying to pick a fight. That's why she says that Bulverism is a beautiful entelechy that makes us whole. There's a famous mathematical proof that pertains to Chill. Essentially, this proof asserts that given that Chill is a stupid person's idea of a clever person, then, loosely speaking, it must be the case that she keeps saying that she's an irreplaceable shaman who can cure the sick, divine the hidden, and control events. For some reason, Chill's cat's-paws actually believe this nonsense.
If Chill got her way, she'd be able to insult the intelligence, interests, and life plans of whole groups of people. Brrrr! It sends chills down my spine just thinking about that. Lastly, I myself can't end this letter without mentioning that bettering the world is apparently the last item on Cadet Chill's “to do” list.
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