Dearest Timothy

Dearest Timothy,

I've been meaning to write you for a while. Many a thing has happened in these past weeks...
Mother was eaten by an elephant on the 24th and, yes, we had been expecting this ever since she began attempting to paint their tusks. Brother Wilbur and I noticed the depleating stock of paint cans in the garage and decided to take action. We followed her on one of her bewilderingly silly excursions, hiding behind the acacia trees, but by the time we caught up with her the elephant was parading around with mother's ravaged corpse held high with its trunk. We insulted the beast from afar until it chased Wilbur up a baobab tree and I down an uncharacteristically large burrow in which I found a delicious collection of Lindor chocolates. Brother found me some time later, my sweet tooth having been satisfied, and we returned home to the pumpkin patch.
Next day was the safari, of course, which went quite alright, I must say. It reminded me of Christmas with the Robertson family last June. Oh how I miss Dolores, her cranberry gravy was delectable. But never mind that, that was the past. Ah yes, the safari; we met up with ol' Jimmy boy. Oh how he rides those hippopotamuses! Back and forth, back and forth-*gasp* pardon me, I tend to ramble off-topically. So, after many irksome (and therefor humanely euthanized) Oompa Loompas, we hopped on the back of the nearest leviathan and set sail for India. We are currently in very calm waters, which is why I write now, and I have found a wanderring pelican willing to carry my message to you for a small fee of fish.
See you in Iceland!

Yours falsely,
Roger

PS-Don't send word back with this bird; he's considered a delicacy in India.