NOTE: a letter to Meeschooll von Bulstecomit, in the vein of his great, infamous, MvB letter, from the days when people still wrote and mailed letters on paper.

I'm on a return flight from Texas.
(flashback happens now. prepare.)

Thursday, Somewhere-in-San Antonio, late.

Strange city, strange place, too many Holiday Inns. The first car I've ever rented takes me to a Cajun royale with no cheese, no lettuce. A late night flip through tv encounters a woman's voice, speaking Spanish, and her advice to press "select" on the remote--for a preview of adult-only programming.

I do this and see a beautiful cave girl. When prompted I opt not to buy.