A Thanksgiving Day Letter to Seth MacFarlane

Mrs Turley

The Towers

London 

England

Seth MacFarlane

The Studios

Hollywood 

USA

Dear Seth

You have broken my heart. You have ruined Thanksgiving Day for your fellow countrymen. You have put the world in mourning.

How could you kill off Brian in Family Guy? How could you? I loved Brian as if he were my own dog. The fact I don't have a dog is irrelevant, but if I had a dog he would be just like Brian. We would have frolicked on my bed blowing raspberries, watching porn  the Disney channel and laughing about Americanisms. What fun Brian and I would have had! But now we can't. Because Brian is dead. 

As you can tell, even though I'm English, I was very fond of Brian. As your typical English person, I am also very pro animal rights (except when it comes to foxes and badgers) so I am outraged by your cruel and needless act upon an affectionate and loveable dog. It is an act of violence which must be addressed.

Accordingly, I have emailed Her Majesty and suggested she incarcerates you as soon as possible. Thus, the good gentlemen of the SAS will soon be arriving at your doorstep. And it's no good asking your special forces for help because your government would only send Sylvester Stallone or Arnold Schwarzenegger and ( I know this may come as a shock to you) but they're only actors. You can't really win any wars employing actors to do the work for you. And I know you think you've got an army - but have you looked in the Lego tin under your bed lately? I think you'll find it's empty.

Anyway, when the SAS have returned with you, I (as Her Majesty's chief torturer and executioner) will haul your sorry ass to The Tower and strap you to the rack. As I turn the screws, I will force you to mimic Brian, delighting in your every vowel, until your voice is hoarse and you are weeping for forgiveness. At which point, I will ignore your pathetic cries and throw you into the dungeons to contemplate your vicious act and spending the rest of your life as the most hated man on the planet. There will be nobody to listen to your jokes or bolster your ego. There will be nobody to love you. Thus, in your resulting madness, you will be forced to draw pictures of Brian on the walls in your own excrement. 

I know this seems harsh, Mr MacFarlane, but what you have done is a crime that deserves the ultimate punishment. The only way to save your soul (and intimate torture) is to save Brian. I don't care how you do it. Just do it. I'm even prepared to believe he wakes up from some surreal cartoonish dream. So do it - or risk my wrath.

Yours affectionately,

Mrs T.

Brian is dead. It's a sad, sad world. Picture courtesy of Wikipedia (Fair use.)