In which FHC claims that he is still alive

I have now been touring aimlessly the unnamed destination for about three weeks and am now used to have my skin covered in a moist mix of sweat and red dust. This distinctive glow makes white boys look desperately ill and young local boys sexy and tempting. I went through five countries, stopped at six border posts and even re-entered the scary portion of the unnamed destination today just to leave a few minutes later. Along the way, I drank 33 beers, 6 Cointreau on piled ice and half a bottle of Saint Emilion. I did not get laid once but went in two night clubs and met one friendly prostitute called “Francine”. I did not see any Kangaroo, no, thank you for asking though. I am now clearly on the fat side, my westons are destroyed and I have holes in my shirts. I also lost various items along the way mostly in planes and conference rooms. To summarize I quickly turned into a fat, impoverished, drunk bastard.

In the last few days, the conditions of my trip got a little rougher and I did not have access to the internet which actually got in the way of some strategic purchases on e-bay, the unhealthy correspondence I like to keep with my ex-husband and a discussion with Fagat on the various STDs that afflict him. Thank god, dearest LL posted very regularly on really interesting topics and my readership seems to have completely forgotten my existence. I might be able to convince him to take charge of the blog forever as we all know that 3L have a lot of free time.

Let me take this opportunity to congratulate you for your recent political turmoil: with the democrats in the Hizzay, it might be easier for everybody to get laid in DC. 

Comments

[Old Fagat]

You did not just use the term "hizzay."

Also, thank you very much, you'll be pleased to find out that it was just a skin rash.

[LL]

We sense only a bit of sarcasm in your paragraph about us.