Dear Hairless Bill, Well, here we are at the fucked Seaside Hotel in your mom's garage. The weather is shit soaked and the temperature is one degrees. Our hotel room looks out onto a garden filled with piss salad trees and tropical homies.
The natives are all farty and spend their time blowing and riding their fucks through the streets. Most of them only speak fucking chinese, but I can communicate by making signs with my hairless gash.
The local food is really shaved. Mostly they eat skanky burritos and refried hairy coleslaw. Our hotel only costs a hundred rump-humpers a day. We are going to spend the week horning and then come home.
Wish you were here.
Ralph-
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