Dear Peter Falk

Oh, sir. Where to even start? Personally, I really like the idea that you were presented with a key to the Pearly Gates a good few years in advance of this shit day, and absent-mindedly deposited it in your mac pocket. Lord knows, there are few images as endearing as the thought of you up there now, attempting to locate it, patting down every other compartment before removing a week-old parking stub, a business card for your cousin's Auto Repair outfit and a shopping list from the wife.


Here's hoping your ride didn't break down on your way up to the great big police station in the sky. (Mind you, I suppose if it had, Bruno Ganz could always give you a lift). We'll be sure to look after 'Dog', keep a stogie on standby and leave the raincoat loveably crumpled. RIP, you absolute effing legend.

Heartbroken regards,
Davis.

Dear Deliverers of an Extinction-Level Event

RE: the below.

- Apocalypse when? Apocalypse NOW.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - Seriously, please send the meteorite ASAP. We've gone far enough as a 'civilisation'.