Hey! Errbody! This is really super duper importante! Hecka!

Dear good folks of the Emerald City (Eugene, not Seattle because fuck Seattle! JK, JK, Love you Seattle),

I will be hopping on a jet plane this Sunday the 13th in the two-thousand and tenth year of our good Lord, and headed your way. Ahhh yeah! Barring any potential flight complications such as terrorism, mechanical issues, pilot error or an act of God I should be landing all up in the 5 fo’ whizzle—as they say in the Yay, okay, they don’t say that, I say that, but I bet they would say that if they were half as cool as me, which they aren’t and never will be, duh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, comin’ in hot at 18 hundred hours—that’s military time in case you didn’t know it. If you’re not hella down with the super top-secret time format that’s 6 PM, dummy, if you are—congratulations, you’re probably pretty radical. I know that there are a great deal of you that want to hang-out with me hella effin’ bad because duh, why wouldn’t you? Other than the fact that I tend to get a little touchy feely sometimes. Sorry. Grab somebody in the fun bags one time and all of a sudden you’re Mr. Creeper-McWeird-Pants and you have to tell all your neighbors about it. Whatevs. She totally liked it - loved it prolly. Prolly.

There are a couple of things I would like provided upon my arrival and those things include: a single, cold Ninkasi Total Domination brew in a frosty 22 oz bottle, a bowl of Runts but none of the stupid banana ones because the banana ones are hecka lame and a waste of time, hecka, a box of bendy straws, an assortment of groovy chicks, a blow dryer, two boxes of condoms: one XXL Magnums (for me) and something with the de-sensitizer for my entourage (they’re pre-ejaculators, poor guys), I would like the climate control in my ride to be set at a comfortable 68.4 degrees—any other temperature makes my roids flair up something fierce and you do not want to be around for that business—I get a little crabby, one copy of John Tesh’s self-titled album "John Tesh," a jar of Clausen dill pickles, a 12’ boa constrictor, and finally a toothless hooker—preferably female or of mixed-gender (weiner on top 'cause otherwise stuff gets hecka weird). Now that we have that business out of the way—bring on the good times, brahs! Totally!

I wouldn’t say I have an itinerary for the week but there are a few things that I would like to do while back in the ol’ Track Town City USA, and those things include but are not limited to the following: hand holding, skipping, pillow fighting, french kissing—hard, Twister, Jenga!, blanket fort construction, cuddling, taco eating, freeze tag, double dutch, high fives, low fives, pretty much any kind of fives, catfish noodling, dance party—preferably of the pajami-jami-jam variety, spit dope rhymes, play video games, read High Times, give each other a makeover, holler at some hotties, get our titties out, climb some trees, and prolly some other stuff too! I’m open to suggestions—as long as you don’t suggest anything stupid, mom! No, I don’t want to go get hot apple sauce enemas together. Gross! For reallyz though, I’m pretty much down for whatevs. Maybe we can just get mad faded on some High Lifes and talk about back in the days when we were young and ish, and that time you pooped in yer Spidy undies, so funny! Whatever we do it’s gonna be mad stupid dope, yo. Radical. Well, that’s settled. I’ll see you when I get there, if I ever get there. . . I like your butts, wimps.

Love always,

Jacob Kjaorn Gunderson, Esquire

Comments

[vibram five fingers]

hand holding, skipping, pillow fighting, french kissing—hard, Twister, Jenga!, blanket fort construction, cuddling

[vibram five fingers]

play video games, read High Times, give each other a makeover, holler at some hotties, get our titties out, climb some trees, and prolly some other stuff too!