Dear a certain Ms. METMA Mandy, "Royal Queen and Founder of METMA, Inc.",

I have a few bones that seem to need picking with you, if you have a few minutes to spare, it would be quite nice of you. In fact, I do believe I have a book on this subject. Please read, I think you'll enjoy it, its quite lovely.

First of all, beauty is so not just "plate-glass thick", as you call it. Sure, there are sayings that "real beauty comes from within", and- well, to be frank, the person who came up with that also thought that the dishes needed washing before they were put in the dishwasher. Quite moronic, I think you'll all agree.

Secondly, just because the Spaniard who rescued the drowning French maid from the possessed hippopotamus was wearing pink tights during the event does not mean I have to. I mean, that will bring my bestseller down the list with the male side- wait a minute. What am I talking about, screw the male side, I'm just fine with the ladies. You all know how much they love me, pink tights will of course only heighten their already skyrocketed admiration of the "Gilderoy". For my full set of works, see Love Notes For Lockhart. My best edition, I think, and very interesting. (By the way, that Spaniard was quite the host. He taught me a Spanish phrase- "Yo soy muy aburrido." I guess he was hungry at the time, asking if I stole his Mexican food was and all.)

The third thing is actually a question for all my adoring fans out there- What shall I do for St. Patrick's Day? For my book on this subject, see Ending with the Irish. I'm planning a book signing in Diagon Alley and need some sort of theme going on. Of course, I need hardly add that the suggestions of two of my fanatics who asked me to emblazon "Kiss me, I'm Irish!" across my rear is quite out of the question- wouldn't be hospitable, see. Seem a tad bit big headed, see. So, no butt-writing, right? Oh, right, of course.

Anyway, I also wanted to ask Miss Mandy why she has never introduced me to her friend Miss Crabbe before. She is such a beautiful woman, I'm sure I would have remembered her. In fact, all I do remember is a Mr. Crabbe. How strange. Whatever happened to him, anyway? No one has seen him for quite awhile. Do send him my regards, and Miss Crabbe's, if you will, please?

And what is with all this METMA business? Why are we supposed to care what objects think? I mean, they're just there to help and serve us, right? That's what I always thought, but I suppose they think differently. Why, I was getting into a heated conversation about it with my teacup when it got all hot and mad at me and bit my nose and told me that I was as stupid as a constipated wiener dog and I should shut up before it beat me like a red-headed step-child. Really, dogs these days.

Yours truly,

"The Gilderoy"

Gilderoy Lockart

P.S. Do you like my new name? I've been working on it for quite awhile when I came up with--- "the Gilderoy". Not Gilderoy Lockart--- the Gilderoy. Just, like, two syllables strung together and ending with a twang--- the Gilderoy. Long and loud. The Gilderoy. Got that? Here it is, one last time---- the Gilderoy.