A polite but demanding letter to Mrs Theresa May
by Cara Bell
Dear Mrs Theresa May,
My name is Alfred Tennis-ball. My unusual name is because I am a real-life tennis ball. I speak on behalf of all of us hoping that you will intervene and stop the cruelty inflicted upon us.
Enslaved by heartless humans, we dearly hope that after hearing our pleas for freedom that you will hold one of those "referendum" things to end our misery.
We hope you will support our argument by accepting the role as head of our campaign.
The slogan must be big, something like,
"TEXIT: vote yes to end the cruelty in tennis"
As president of the NSWVHTPASTHEHATSTAOTB, National society working very hard to prevent all slavery that has ever happened and to stop the abuse of tennis balls, it is my great honour to write this letter to you.
No, we are not lunatics, we have noticed it is quite a wordy title, but you try getting tennis balls to agree.
Hopefully you could make a speech in parliament about our suffering.
Maybe Greenpeace could protest for us. If not... then I will do it myself, I am bouncing mad about this! I am a bit of a rebel you know.
Let me detail to you what horrible conditions we must endure daily.
Take last Friday afternoon for example, Andy Murray was playing a game of tennis against his brother Jamie. They were playing with Andy's lucky tennis ball Aka: Alfred Tennis-ball.... AKA: me.
Anyway, Andy threw me up and hit me on my side. It squashed some of my fibres, but I'll recover. Next, Jamie whacked me firmly on the head, boy did that hurt! Andy then thumped me hard on the bottom! I have never been more offended in my life! The bottom, in case you didn't know, is a sacred part of the body to us, never to be touched, especially by a filthy tennis racket.
Next what happened was Jamie, thinking it was funny, tried to thwack me on the backside again! At just that moment, trying to protect myself, I span viciously, and Jamie ended up walloping his own privates!
It is a bit embarrassing, and I don't think someone of your importance would want any more details on the subject.
The Murrays then finished their game.
The worst was about to happen once more.
I was imprisoned, back in the long tin can, with three other battered fellow victims. This is our sweaty, cramped jail cell until we are used again, day after day after day.
Eventually we will be all worn out, our best days behind us, no longer any use, and we will face our final, ghastly, torturous humiliation.
The rest of our days are spent in a wet, muddy park, caked in all sorts, bitten, hideous and slobbered on by a gigantic beast.
This is our fate, unless you can help, we need you!
PS: could you please include our little cousins the ping-pong balls in the referendum.