Wise guys and wise women, that boring loser Coconut Randy, is dead. 

And I, Coconut Larry, have murdered him. 

It all started about 35 years ago, when Randy and I were born in the snack aisle of a Japanese convenience store. It was there we entered the world, shoulder to shoulder, birthed at precisely the same moment, pushed out onto the cold tiles near the Pretz as a diversion while our mother got away with a packet of unpaid jerky. While Randy was fortunate enough to be gently mopped into a backroom by the store clerk Junichiro, my own infant body - small and underdeveloped as a result of the lack of nutrition afforded to me by Randy's voracious womb-hogging of Mother Randy's diet - slid into an open bag of braised nuts, soon purchased by a 13-year old named Georgina. 

I was raised by Georgina in a doghouse occupied by the family terrier Stinkers, where I languished while Randy enjoyed a life of success and privilege, reaping enormous wealth from his conglomerate Coconut Corp, fame and glory from the prestigious and vaunted Coconut Chronicle, and countless friends and women due to his natural charisma and breathtaking hair. I remained in the shadows, hideously disfigured after the loss of my left eye in a disagreement with Stinkers over our mutual claim to a treatie Georgina had left us, but through our daily walkies I built my strength, promising myself I would find my brother Randy and take everything he had that I did not. 

It is the smallest twist of fate that seperates two men - one decision by a Japanese man with a mop - and I will have the life that I was denied. 

Now that Randy is dead, as his sole living relative, I stand to inherit all of his assets, namely Coconut Corp and The Coconut Chronicle. I will be considering drastic changes to remould these businesses in my own image. Furthermore, on account of the family 'king of the hill' policy, RupertGiles has seen it fit not just to award me Randy's old Left-Hand Man role but in fact to promote me to the position of Right-Hand. In that sense, I have already eclipsed my idiot brother, who wallows in a great storm of putrefaction somewhere in the infernos of hell. 

I would also like to make this part of the announcement as clear as possible: My name is Coconut Larry. I will, under no circumstances, respond to the name Coconut Randy. Though we are twin brothers, and therefore easily confused, I am instantly identifiable by the eye-patch that covers the rotten scar tissue where my left eye should be. I will take any reference to myself as Randy, and not Larry, as a personal insult and we will have serious beef. I am armed, dangerous and entirely unwilling to negotiate any situation in which I am aggrieved with anything besides instantaneous, primal violence. 

I cannot stress enough how upset I will be if I am addressed by the name of my dead twin brother, Randy, and not my correct name, Larry.

If anyone would like to bury Randy, his body is currently poisoning the Star-Examiner's water supply - just one of many new ways I intend to revitalize his dying businesses'. 

Coconut Randy is no more. Long live Coconut Larry.