Dear Mr. Buckthree

I trust that this letter finds you well, Timothy, and hope that you do not object to the over familiarity of my addressing you by your Christian name.

Speaking of which, one is perplexed by your dazzling days-to-come ditty, which seems to imply that the donning of Christian LaCroix, Dior Reflected or Reactolite Rapide eyewear and 'getting good grades' (presumably a reference to Oakley High Grade Collection Frogskins or attaining the optimum degree of polarization) can in some way protect the wearer from a promisingly portentous glare.

Whilst not an expert of opthalmic minutiae, one is quiet confident that even were a bright future to be able to be viewed, it would be ''seen'' merely symbolically, as an amalgamation of prosperity and contentment, as opposed to transmutating into a literal phosperance likely to scorch unprotected retinae.

Momentarily assuming your model to be feasible however, and without wishing to be disrespectful, one is disheartened in the contemplation that such optimism has historically been so tragically and maladroitly shared by, amongst others, the 35th President of your wonderful country, the maverick ''Wall of Sound'' innovator, and Travis Bickle and The Reservoir Dogs (who are admittedly fictional characters), all of whom suffered decidedly unsavoury fates despite their tinted lens desirable destiny effulgence anticipations.

Finally, one is alarmed that a nuclear scientist - especially one so dementedly mentored via a visually restricted ''crazy teacher'', could be in contemplation of spending ''fifty thou a year'' on a lot of beer. The disasterous potential of excessive Budweiser quaffing whilst possibly embroiled in the engineering intracacies of atomic weapon design, coupled with your questionable voyeuristic tendencies, could, in your own case, render a long term sparkling outcome debatable.

In order therefore that you do do alright and things will continue to go great, it is recommended your alcoholic drinks budget be heftily downscaled and a ''Ray Ban'' be placed upon your X-Ray eyes-abetted Peeping Tom shenanigans.

I wish you well and remain



D. Philpott




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