My Darling Gloria,

I am no longer fond of the brigantine and I pray for it to sink. I fear that I'm becoming a monster. I drank 5 biers in as many days, and although I did not drink a single bier on Thur'sday, I drank two biers on Fri'sday. Do not hate me, love.

Some gentlemen from the galley went abaft to smoke cigar'reettes this morn. They invited me. I inspected the cigar'reete and rolled it betwixt my thumb and erst finger. I sniffed my erst finger and was disgusted. But the sniffing triggered something in my brain! I sniffed the cigar'reete thrice more, Gloria! They used swearing words...

O' do not hate me!

We are expected to hijack a sailing vessel this eve but I haven't the fortitude. I've been unable to contain my urine. It has fallen upon the deck several a-time. I nonchalantly sopped it up with my socked-foot and I do not believe anyone made note of my ill-breeding... but each time I did so, I compulsively retired to my bunk and sniffed the sweet socky. There is something the matter. The sniffing cannot be stopped. I would rather die.

Please give me a signal. A sign of life. Blink your eyes, Gloria. Nod your head. Encircle your areola with a damp thimble which smells like vegetable soup and then sniff your fingers. Blast! ...It's no good. Please prove this letter finds you safely, for it is unclear how long Osama Bin Laden shall remain at large.

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