I regret to trouble you with an unexpected letter. I know that you are an important man and I must emphasize from the start that I do not wish to waste your time. What I have to offer your institution is of the utmost rarity, and I came upon it only by means of much personal sacrifice on my part, physical and emotional, sleepless nights, tireless surveillance, and a broken marriage, so please understand that I am in earnest.
Using certain methods described in my grandfather’s letters, I have, at last, acquired a leprechaun. He is extremely dirty and very magical. Binding him has been a constant chore. Understand that by the methods I used to capture him he cannot leave my house, no matter which windows or doors I leave unlocked or ajar; however, his spells and guile have made him incapable of remaining in bondage for very long, whether tied to a chair with hemp rope, handcuffed with cold iron, encircled by salt or unconscious under a pile of cats. Invariably I or my wife would see fit to release him or he manages to escape on his own, and then it is hours of hell finding him in the house and binding him again. At first he was furious to be denied escape, but now I believe his imprisonment amuses him.
Good sir, I have been the host of an ill-received guest for nigh on three months now. My wife is gone, my home is in ruins, I cannot stop spitting out gold coins and flowers (I do not mean this figuratively, and I will not further detail what has become of my plumbing or what has gone into it, or out of me). I cannot leave the house due to my condition(s), nor can I use the phone. The leprechaun has fixed it so that the only thing I hear is the sound of emergency vehicles.
To my great disappointment, the only way I can relieve myself of this torment is by bequeathing the creature to a non-profit institution. Please believe me, I understand fairy logic no better than you, and I have read many, many tomes while the sirens of ambulances ring in my ears. Please do not disregard this letter. Please take my leprechaun. I have enclosed a photograph of him, though by the time it reaches you it may have become a custard pie.
With utmost sincerity,