Dear Mudder,I know that you hate meh. I never looved you. You smell like pickled eggs and rotten sheep meat that I keeled on ze fahm. Yuh ah the wurst mudder a grl could ask four. I only love papa, he buys me coasz made of kat fur. I HATE KATS. I only liek their fer in the long, cold wentas. Mudder, I hate you and will no longer call you mudder. You will now be called POopy. Hate forever, Brunhilda.P.S. I pawned your panties for more kat fer.