Sir Matthew Parlow,

I will only succumb to your power under one stipulation: you defeat me in a duel. At high noon on the 2nd of September, 2025, I shall be standing on Memorial Lawn eagerly awaiting your arrival. Bring whichever deadly instrument you are strongest with–it will not matter. I have mastered them all.

I have spent nine years forming this University as if it were from my own bloodline, touching the lives of students as well as their bank accounts. I make 1.8 million dollars a year. I teach a class on Italian cooking. If you believe I am to give up this life willingly, you are gravely mistaken.

I know you believe that you are entitled to just waltz into the role of Chapman President, but your experience as "Chief Advancement Officer" (what the dickens does that even mean... probably more gentrification) proves nothing to me. I wish to slay you and truly prove my God-given ability to serve this blessed institution.

I wish it could have been a descendant of mine to take on such a righteous position, but if it comes down to the Glorious University falling into the hands of you, Parlow, so be it. But heed my warning: I shan't go down without a fight.

Sincerely,
King Struppa