Los Juevos Hermanos Motel, 5386 La Cucaracha Blvd, Pelosi County, California
Dear Catherine and Ned,
Sorry to tell you I must abort my plan to visit you for Christmas Eve. When I arrived at Los Angeles International Airport yesterday, I was unable to check in due to an incident shortly after my arrival. In particular, I witnessed this …
… and it caused a relapse of my old condition. You know, the condition I’ve had ever since that week in Kazakhstan back in Soviet times when I was a sleepless “guest” of the KGB. As soon as the flashbacks started, I got down on my knees and groveled “Okay I’ll sign! I’ll sign whatever you want me to! Just make it stop!”
But they didn’t stop. Then two TSA agents grabbed me by my arms and ankles and dragged me outside, telling me “no unauthorised signs are allowed inside the airport.”
Fortunately they didn’t confiscate anything, so I have enough cash to stay at this motel for a few days. I’ve emailed my fiancee Hypatia de la Pink and asked her to wire me a few hundred dollars for bus fare back to Idaho, but when she emailed me back she said she’s been unemployed since the Department of Homeland Security began to require licenses for exotic dancers.
I wonder, if I adopt Hypatia’s Mexican-born son Manuel, maybe his friend Jesus the Druglord could get me Mexican citizenship? At least Mexican drug lords follow something approximating a rule of law, and their music doesn’t suck juevos.