Jones jumped backward, frightened. Then suddenly, he remembered part of a reply that his mother had written for him years ago in preparation for a scholarship interview and insisted that he memorise back to front.
In a solemnly grave voice, he intoned, "Sir/Madam, I may not be able to contribute much to the music department of your brilliantly fantastic school, but aside from that, I am a Jack of all trades, master of all. And pray take especial notice of the all. I can chop firewood, read story books to toddlers, sort through cookies (albeit by getting rid of them all *Ahem ahem*), copy out your maths notes, sing like a frog, arrange flowers badly, drop every piece of expensive porcelain, eat horses for dinner, spill whiteout all over the place, study the art of hacking computers for 15 hours straight, apply sunscreen throughly, spring-clean better than Mum, sew crookedly and of course, above all my other talents, sleep like a log for 12 hours every night.
And it was the silhouette's time to f***ing die of laughter.
"So didya get the scholarship?" the shadow asked, recovering from his sudden eruption.