Dear Mister Brian,
My lawyer has advised me not to answer your questions. He has repeatedly told me that “you do not have to say anything; plead the fifth”. He’s standing over my desk, swaying gently with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He says he’s my lawyer, but I don’t remember hiring him. He just follows me round, shouting “my client pleads the fifth” whenever someone asks me something.
I went to Disneyland with him once. I hadn’t planned on going to Disneyland, I just woke up with the sky where the floor should have been, and he was dragging me over the tarmac to the Epcot centre. On the Rock’n’Rollercoaster he turned to me and said “you don’t have to talk.” I bought the photo; it’s framed above my desk, where he leaves his empty bottles of bourbon.