Excerpt:

My strategy is simple.  First, I will contact the highest authority and expose the travesty, nay, the crime, of Friendship and Development.  Second, I will decipher the true nature of each of the Venomous Seven, and will hold up a mirror to their souls.  (The bloodcurdling screams that will follow!)  (It will do them good.) Third, I will attend the next Friendship and Developemnt class and I will speak the truth.  Words that have been left unsaid throughout my life will roll like a rich red carpet from my tongue!

I can scarcely wait.

They all disguised their handwriting, but I know who wrote that I talk like a horse.  (Me? The girl who had voice training between the ages of 7 and 11?  Third speaker on the debating team?  A volunteer to sing at the School Spectacular each year!  The girl who approaches those who seem distressed, and offers a shoulder to cry upon! (An offer rarely taken up, I admit, but never once made in the voice of a horse.)

This is surely a joke or a bad dream! 

I have known him since infants’ school, and he always elevates his “r”s when he joins them to “s”s (so that “horse” looks almost like “hotse”).

His name is Toby Mazzerati.

Toby Mazzerati is a cane toad.  But her is what I wrote (generously) under his name today:

I admire Toby.  He has struggled academically (and perhaps with his weight) over the years, but has found his niche in woodwork.  He like to keeps up a low-voiced commentary on life, so perhaps he has a future in radio?

Here is what I ought to have written:

Toby Mazzerati should die.