Dear Mr Mace,
I appreciate that your name is the start of the word “Mason” in the phonetic alphabet I’m familiar with.
I was however most surprised to see some very wacked out, dervish-like esoteric bliss from some of your other clientele.
I only visited your store to have a look around for some tasty conventional product you’d expect – not quinoa-and-tofu shape-throwing.
Voucha for Trauma
Dear Msrsrs Trauma,
I see from your name and, indeed, your non-pink hue, that you’re clearly one of these blummin’ innagrins. If you come over here, you must assimilate.
I think you have, Mrserzs Trauma. I think you have. Why so?
Because we CAUGHT you on the CCTV no less than five seconds later, providing your OWN support on KEYS.
Not only that, but ACCEPTING A BLESSING, NO LESS, from our tiger god, KEWLTONY, pointing down at you from a hole in the blummin’ ceiling with his paw! What’s THAT about? No, seriously. I have NO idea!
Talk about the fingers of the gods indeed, if you want to. We would be most amenable because we’re all so very eso-tastic.
So that’s all.
If I hear from you again, I will live up to my name’s ACTUAL meaning, and give you a blast of the pepper-sprays!
Yours etc, etc, etc