A LETTER FROM BALI

Dear Sir,

Ratna's Devotion shows that she is ready to receive The Invitation from Ganesha to discard the colors of mourning and wear her jewelry again except her underwear because the Vikings in Valhalla don't do that and she needs flowing air to temper the wetness she felt for you and your hardness for her.   

Yours is almost My Wriggly Friend whom Ratna adored and pampered with a casserole of river snails from Guilin and beef sapie from Wugang that were lard-stirred with mutton and seafood then boiled by an old friend in chicken soup and cattail root before being served in a cloth of rice noodles, Tengchong rice lumps and rice pellets that were harvested at the Tegalalang Rice Terraces here in Ubud.

She ate her meals on the kitchen floor after serving you the violent pork kidneys she restrained with beef and pig entrails then stuffed in a braised crucian carp head that fed on mushrooms grown on a Korean claypot in Yunnan and yet, her widowed passion stirred your depressed loins like a shot of whiskey spiking the wine and beer of the airport lounge in Manila where the Thursday Group convened on Monday for a sour cabbage dressed in chicken oil and the Tuesday Group had tofu fish and Gangshan lamb brisket on Wednesday, variations of douchi-flavored poon choi that became famous as the bobo dish of rock stars and the murderous Huns with silver nose earings that are depicted in the oil paintings and wood carvings of Ubud as connoisseurs of kopi luwak.   

She is the MILF of Bakal 2, widowed and deserted at the same time who now Hunt for gratification by interpreting babi guling into four ways: plain and dressed in sambal, battered and fried, sausaged blood and crispy skin with vegetable soup and lawar on the side as presented at the Warung Babi Guling Ibu Oca for the great and the late Anthony Bourdain whom Ratna will rub forever.

 

In parting, I urge you to to ask Ratna to remove her dupatta but you yourself should take off her choli to prove that the only person she ever nursed is her deceased husband, then feel through her lehenga to confirm that there's nothing underneath and that no human has ever passed there before, or she would be forever humping through the trails with the Phantom Biker.    

Truly yours,

Codename: Emperor