A letter from Away

Dear Kiddies, Dane,

As I embarked upon this journey to the mystical land that the frenchie in my party calls "Lan of da Hanuck" I though it would be an easy trek into the wilds of a land where snow shovels are endangered. Instead its bee sheer hell. Everyone seems to speak a tongue that neither I nor my party can decipher and their writing is a riddle locked in an enigma thrown under the bed. The only saving grace is the pictures that provide some idea of what is what. Also this land seems to be in love with acroynms...PST and GST? How can I loose?

But alas our supplies are running short and they have no trustworthy source for resupply. One man drank this "Molson" they have here and promptly stayed sober...the rest of us have not approached it since. I fear we may perish here because all of the communist supply depots are open from 9-2 and closed on god's day...making it impossible for us to celebrate his day in drunken glory. We are also lacking adequate ponchos, sandals and an adequate supply of news.....though we could use a USA Today if we become desperate.

So my friends this may be the last you here of me. Make sure you come well supplied if you come looking for me. And bring oil and money to trade with the natives...they are friendly and always eager to get some oil and sit down to share a peace pipe....

Yours in Permadrunkeness,

Sports Ross