Dear General Tlanbuun,

I would like to thank you sincerely for your most recent letter. In these dire times, laughter can be all too easily forgotten. Suffice to say that everyone around the office had a most hearty guffaw at your latest care package of wild, drooling slander.

I do have other things to get to, but firstly:

1) It’s nice to see that the black hole generator you’ve been pouring tax-dollars into for the last several thousand years is coming along nicely: Looks like it’ll come in handy for destroying the evidence of those weekly acts of intergalactic genocide we’ve all come to expect from you Huns.

2) Also, if you were up on your theoretical physics, you’d know that the now extinct Nanarkan people are not in the “negative dimension” (where’d you come up with that little gem?), but are in fact doomed to an eternity of time deceleration as they crawl towards but never pass the even horizon. To think that, even as you read this, their agony continues merely because Xathnar gunners are incapable of a straight shot, even at point blank range.

3) I’m sure that Blortinon’s use of fecal matter as a manufacturing resource must seem alien to the inhabitants of your Xathnar, who, for reasons unknown, seem to use their own feces only as war paint during traditional Xathnan incestuous orgies. But I must remind you that the waste product of the Blortinite digestive system is actually a fine alloy, abundant and far stronger than any of the coarse metals produced in the many child-labor sweatshops of Xathnar.

4) The “Proncfrood Illness” is probably your misremembered version of “Proncfrood Fever,” the campaign slogan of my recent five-hundredth re-election effort.

Anyway, I'm afraid I do have some business to discuss.

I must inform you that five spies from Xathnar were intercepted yesterday at the General Proncfrood Blortinese Elementary School for the Disabled, where they were attempting to sabotage the cafeteria’s soup de jour with a variety of poisons and bodily fluids.

The spies are currently safe and healthy, residing in a secret poolside resort for political prisoners. They seemed awfully thankful to be treated to a meal consisting of something other than their own liquefied dead for once, and have asked me to pass on this message:

“WE R NEVR CUMMIN BAK SO DONT CUM LUKIN 4 US KAY KAY?”

In spite of understandable hesitation on their part, I am happy to negotiate the terms of their safe return to Xathnar with you in the days to come.

Write me soon,
General Proncfrood

P.S. Surrender is inevitable, as the Holy Army of Blortinon shall soon crush your planet like an ant in the trajectory of a falling anvil.