Greetings. I’m not near you. I’m up in the mountains. Sometimes I do things like this. I pack my car with stuff I need and drive far away to a place where I don’t know anyone. But I bring along my family because I know them and it’s fun.
Special thanks to that person who transcribed my handwritten letter into this digital form. I hope my letter arrived in a timely manner. I gave it to a man riding a horse. He was pushing aggressively southward and was supposed to be passing through the area sometime this week to drop off the letter.
Here’s a rundown of what has happened up here.
Woke up and ate tree bark. Drank a quart of molasses. Ready to go. Went to the Jacklacken Market down the road and the lady talked me into buying a dream catcher with purple feathers. Waved it around aimlessly and caught a moth. Hooked the moth on my fishing line and cast it into the shallow river. Snagged a dreamfish (Sarpa salpa), which causes days-long hallucinations when ingested and was used as a recreational drug in ancient Rome. That dream catcher has a sense of humor.
Went to Santa’s Village. Rode the Peppermint Twist. Should’ve waited a little longer to let my corndog and ice cream settle. Vomited violently at the ride’s crescendo when we were really spinning around. Was like that Bonzai Wiggling Octopus Sprinkler except I sprayed puke on everyone instead of refreshing water on a hot day. Crying children. Hallucinations coming on strong. Meeting elves. Eating peanut shells off the ground. Santa is driving a train.
Saw a moose. Talked to it. No response.
I don’t know what day it is. I am wearing Dutch shoes and floating in water. Or urine. No. It’s too cool to be urine. Unless it’s from last night. I fell off the bench at the Whistle Stop Ice Cream shack and the EMT was the pirate who sailed me around the lagoon. The grandfather tree told me it would be OK. I am lost and desperate to survive. I smeared goose poop on my face to blend in with my surroundings. Mustn’t be found by Pinocchio and Señor Munchéro. Took a wrong turn near the Cuckoo Clockenspiel and ended up at granny’s cottage. “You’re on next! You’re on next!” they shouted into my tangled brain.
They dress me like Curious George with a large cartoon head. I am dehydrated and wilting inside this heavy suit of monkey fur. My languid limbs move like drunken noodles on the hot asphalt. Children are shouting, “More, more, more, Curious George!” I attempt a pirouette near the potted begonias and face plant in front of horrified parents.
Then I get my picture taken at the DMV with an animated ear of corn and a butternut squash. I think I can legally drive the antique cars. They just keep going around and around and nowhere. Leave me here for eternity and float my euphoric body down Dr. Geyser’s Raft Ride, O Captain, my Captain!