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addendum to Pending anti-Taco Legislation

Dear he who vanishes quickly but disappears slowly;

I have set up camp in your memory, which has been , up until now, limited to my urinating in my former professor’s back yard, conveniently I am living in his basement which facilitates the acquisition of unlimited porch territory.

I continue to drink milk heavily despite probable lactose intolerance.

I have noted your acquisition of voo-doo-magic to assist in the elimination of Dook from the National basketball Federation’s play-offs; your tactics are very clever, and have additionally resulted in your old palm tree sponteneously generating several dozen cigarette butts where its soil used to be.

I hope all is well in France, or as it shall soon be, Robo-France/14.

Best,

E

PS: Notwithstanding, I am concerned with more important matters, such as: Where does one find this Voo-Doo? Undoubtedly you have gotten it from the same Moroccan peasant woman who sells headscarves in front of your building, yes, the same one that gave you oral herpes. I imagine you have since rid yourself of all Chap-sticks and gotten detailed and multiple tests for syphilis; no longer do you share Mcdo’s beverages with complete strangers who have somewhat nice eyes, and with whom you could envision a lifetime free of bliss and love.

My point is, thanks to your cursed curse, I am not going to host the much-anticipated national corndog day party, during which I was to have completed the mythical triple-double, which would have consisted of my eating ten corndogs, ten units of beer (PBR), and one-hundred tater tots.