Dear Uncle Fredrick,

Hollywood smells like waffles. I know it’s because so many damn Belgians live here. The muscles from Brussles, he must smell like ninja waffles. When it’s time for supper though, the smell isn’t as appetizing as you’d think.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve been out deer hunting several times: on Sunset, and along Venice Beach. I Never bagged a thing; but one time seven bejeweled rajahs picked me up in some sort of four-wheeled elephant buggy. I said, you must be insane to wander around LA like that, you all need psychiatrists. They just looked at each other and said “Awkward…” They took me to their fortress and gave me, guess what, waffles; then they let me go.

I have been very industrious since I moved here. I’ve made carved soap figurines of each finger of my hand, separately, and mailed them to various members of the bilderbergs. Nobody ever responds. But frankly, the taste of the soap shavings is addictive, so I’m going to keep at it. Write back soon!

Your Nephew,

Andy