Ladies, Gentlemen, and In-Betweenonoids, I would like at this time to read out a prepared statement on behalf of Creamyhinge Buttwart into the findings from the inquest into the death of his loyal butler-toadfrog Timbo. Thankyou.
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and In-Betweenonoids, I sincerely hope that my spokeslemming hasn’t commenced its address to you in the same manner in which I have started this communication or I shall be writing to its employer immediately following this statement and I shall not refrain from using some common words – such as those you might overhear while passing through the Port Sector of Flashem City – to express my extreme displeasure. Also, I shall impale it upon a trident and parade it across the cliffs overlooking the Tastesfishy Lake, and I shall berate it with insults while it writhes in agony, and I shall compose a song mocking its parents. Hang on, I’m its employer. Never mind all that then.
"It has been a long triple-fortnight to uncover the truth about the deaths of my loyal butler-toadfrog Timbo and the Arsecheeky Girls. I am not the only person of sufficient social standing worth listening to who says that they were murdered. Timbo himself predicted he would be killed beyond the capacity for body-regeneration and how it would happen and he was right that one time when he flashed his torch at me and indicated there was a good chance of rain in the afternoon so there’s plenty of precedence for his precognitive powers despite all scientific evidence to the contrary. So I am disappointed.
"The verdicts of accidental squishing through sexual shenanigannery and spontaneous guilt-driven combustion will come as a blow to my bank balance as shenanigannery is specifically excluded in the life insurance policy I took out on Timbo just last year following that fatal-looking orange rash around his central eye which eventually turned out to be Doritos and careless licking.
"For the best part of a week I have endured two police investigations. The Dampflangian Contabulary and Semi-Hardonian Amateur Sleuthing Women’s Club’s inquiries were wrong. This inquest proves it. They said it was the work of the Godgoat Analphlegm drunk on prayervapour setting alight their tri-alcoholic sweat-drenched bedding with his fiery laugh while they slipped into post-coital comas and their findings are now dismissed. And I shan’t be singing at their Tertiary Christmas parties this year.
"Contrary to the scrawled and childish musings of the verminous, scum-like, gutter press – and I’m fully aware that most of you will be present for the reading of this statement, you common trollfish not worthy to clean my outer anal flap following a night of overindulgence at Madame Crustednips’ Curry Cave – there is now clear evidence that Timbo and the Arsecheeky Girls were engaged in something far more than simple debauched, recreational sex revolving around toadfrog fillings in girl sandwiches. Eye- and nose-witness accounts of their fondness for four-dimensional Scrabblehangman will go a long way to reducing the lewd drawings appearing in restrooms across the cities of this fine continent. I, for one, have sworn to the Goddess Breastrash that I shall refrain from such public artistry as of tomorrow after post-brunch.
"I thank the jury even though they did not return the verdict I paid for. I had to sell several paintings by the renowned Swetlikian artist Gerbils Van Scrotitch in order to bribe most of you and, quite frankly, you’ve done nothing to stop the perpetuation of the commonly-held belief that what this world needs right now is another unwarranted invasion of the Terror Planetoid of Homoclown III and an enforced draft to whittle your compound uselessness down into something more manageable by your betters.
"I’ve always believed that Summer Emperor Boarfart Eardrips and his demi-twin consort The Princess Sponsored By Castrol Isabella Piglice hold valuable evidence that was not disclosed to the jury, myself, or anyone else. It’s just a feeling I’ve got and I learned many decades ago in boarding kennels at St Genetalion’s Drinking College that feelings are as legally important as evidence in law and carry greater convincing weight than sense, common or otherwise.
"The Arsecheeky Girls were taken from us in the prime of their lives; Timbo less so. Nevertheless, they had many mating and video-recording months of happiness to look forward to before I had intended to seduce the ladies myself with low-gravity etherdrops while I sent my loyal butler-toadfrog on an extended tour of the Spidermines on the unpleasant moon of Oralboileon Prime. I will mourn their loss almost as much as my own and would like it to be known that I am available for comfort sex and on the market for a new butler, pay for both dependent on experience and attractiveness of appendages. Thankyou."