Hector tells Sunday about his trip to Mt Rushmore

My dearest Sunday,

I read your email enraptured at the adventures you are having in the various exotic places around the world and i am so envious of your travels, although i must say as much as this email excited me, it also saddened me. I knew at some point `Americas next top model` would have a swimwear episode and for some reason i felt from the heart of my bottom that something would go wrong.

It must have been around the same time i saw the virgin Mary's face in a tortilla i had at taco bills that i felt this psychic ability started. It wasn't long after i had devoured the virgins meaty interior (still talking about the tortilla. just in case you thought that was some sexual analogy of me chomping down on the beef curtains of some sexy virgin, which it wasn't, as a matter of fact, the mere thought of burying my face in some bearded clam makes me dry reach..and the whole concept leaves a nasty taste in my mouth...anyway,anyway...not long after i had eaten the blessed food i found that i had this sick sense. i could predict things that no other people could...i predicted the price increase of postal stamps and 3 months later, sure enough they went up!!!! I dreamt that one of the priests at the mission was actually having sex with a boy, and 2 months later..he was arrested for that very crime..perhaps the most spooky of them all is that i dreamt that `slumdog millionaire` would win Best Picture and it did!!! Call it coincidence, i call it fate..

So it was with a heavy heart that the visuals of you bouncing bareback across the jungles of Thailand on rampant elephant and your gonads bouncing around like those desk ornaments where the silver balls, hung by fishing war all knock together (I`m assuming yours were making a very similar sound) and i hope the trauma of it all has subsided. Not to mention the ant bites. As a wise prophet Bob Dylan once sang `the ants are my friends, they are blowing in the wind` in your case this song was true.

Anyway,anyway..After selling all my body hair to a pillow company, i hitch hiked my way to the foot of Mt Rushmore. It is 8pm at night and i am lying here in my tent, with my bald head sticking out of the flaps (something you as a hermaphrodite must have the same problem with) and staring up at the beautiful night sky typing this missive to you on the lost phone with the pelvic pringle pics on it. As i stare at the monolith that is Mt Rushmore and the shadows bounce off the boogers in Abe Lincolns nose it is with heartfelt conviction that i say to you `there is no farking way in the world i am going to scale that rock!!!!! Holy mother of Vishnu, have you seen the fucker!!!! Its huge. When i was told that Mt Rushmore was carved in the faces of the presidents heads i was thinking it would be to scale..as in the same size as the presidents...nuh -uh!!! Its a goddamn fucking mountain. So it would appear that the only thing i am going to scale is the rocky mountain salmon i caught with my teeth out of the babbling brook nearby. Oh well, it wasn't meant to be...

So i am going to sleep now, and dream of my lovely he/she devil in the tropics with all those other sexy gals and i will bid you adieu. As the coyotes howl i am reminded of the wild dogs of Australia that took a baby from its tent, so i am going to pull my head deep into my sleeping bag and zip myself up good and close my flaps tights (once again having typed that last sentence i have visions of you busting to do a wee?...more psychic visions perhaps??? Who knows..

My love across the miles sweet Sunday,

yours as ever... Hector