Dear Mom and Dad,
Wow its been three months since last we spoke to each other. I am sorry for the lack of communication, but as you will read the last three months have not been easy, at all. Well are you sitting down. Good. On February 20th, I was going to get a half gallon of milk at the Jiffy Palace when I was impolitely shot. I think some kids in the neighborhood were having fun shooting guns into the air. Of course when it is your time to go its your time to go. So I died. Bummer.
Wow, what an ordeal the semi-afterlife was. I was semi-excited to see Jesus and thank him for the short life I had on earth. But there was no St. Peter. There was no gate. There was only Vishnu, and his blue hall. If you didn't know, Vishnu is one of those great towel head gods, who sits on a the toilet all day, (but he calls the porcelain Goddess, his thrown). He was sucking on a blow pop, beamed a bluish grin, and then stuck out his shockingly blue tongue at me. "Good grief.", I thought.
Well Vishnu said, "You, Barbara Roja have been a bad monkey."
"Monkey," I thought, "why not a flying squirrel, or even an armadillo? Monkey, A Monkey!"
"Now I must reincarnate you as a frog. Hopefully you will learn your lesson quickly, and then I can return you to the earth with only a minor set back."
"Ribbit" was the only word I could muster in protest, so many other words were in my head, but all I could say was "Ribbit."
Well, the rest of the story about being a frog is one to be told later. But I really most be going to get my Pirate Gear in order, as the seven seas are calling my name. And I hate to smell like I have been bathing in slime water, and that Pod Thai smell from Veshnu's temple, is starting to give me a headache. Veshnu really loves Pod Thai and Curry. I think I will not want Bombay Carry out for awhile.
Mom and Dad lets get together soon. And Dad I really want to play golf. But, if you see a Frog don't show it to me, as my life as a frog was miserable. And Vishnu kept staring at my legs.
Love your unbelievable son (the Pirate),
So begins the tales of Barba Roja (Red Beard) or Rothbard the Pirate. Barba Roja does not mean to offend any readers, he is just blissfully full of himself and his world view. He writes letters to my great aunt who forwards the best ones to me. I do not neccessarily like Barba Roja, but he is family.