My dearest David,
Have I angered you in some way? Have the Lions' losses so infuriated you that you are unable to communicate? It has been nearly a week since your last post, and I do so miss your hazy recollections of the previous night's escapades. Please write soon, for winter approaches, and I would like to know that you are not face down in a ditch somewhere (or, if you are, in which case I will at least have closure). My brain is far too focused from lack of partying, so I must party vicariously through you. I need you, brother.
I am speaking so much Spanish and seeing so many shapely Costa Rican women. Many of them are young mothers! Mamacitas!! I secretly hope that in private, our Spanish-speaking companions refer to me as "El Gringo Grande." I am a head taller than everyone. They wouldn't even know what to do with themselves if Dave Olmsted came down. He would be worshipped as a god. A god!
In other news, my diet of fresh fruits and vegetables (and lack of alcohol) has caused my daily bowel movements to become thrice-daily bowel movements, and they are all what famed character actor Chris Noth would describe as "religious, euphoric experiences." (He underwent the same thing in Turkey.)
How is the Passion Tsunami?! I must have word of your victories upon the field of battle. Send word by raven as soon as you can.
Love,
Dogg
C-
ReplyDeleteI love that, as you travel through dangerous Central American countries with hurricanes bearing down upon you, you are still worried about Dave... who is in Chicago... and still has a working cell phone.
Peace-
Fatti