It gets hot in Afghanistani prisons
Given to my daughter on August 29, 1999.
You stay with me and shut up. Doo, doo, ba-doo, bee doo. I am writing this from prison. I got thrown in prison after punching the yak. Hypercube? The Spanish Afghan wasn’t too happy about being punched either.
Someone was knitting in the next cell over. A man with two arms, two hands, ten fingers, and a painting by Caravaggio in his cell, was knitting. How fantastic. I thought it was. Then I seemed to pass out or something, from the heat. It gets hot in Afghanistani prisons.
I hope I can continue writing, and continue my search for the Englebee Troobles. A hypercube would help, as would another yak caravan. Maybe the screaming stars would bounce around in my cell, or something, and help me out of here. Blow the door. I decided to hang myself by my tongue and start screaming like an idiot until they would release me.