DEAR READER. THIS ENTIRE STORY IS IN CAPS.

DEAR READER. THIS ENTIRE STORY IS IN CAPS. IF YOU ARE ALLERGIC TO LARGE LETTERS, PLEASE ADOPT FOETAL POSITION AND CRY IN A CORNER. MY STORY BEGAN IN VIETNAM,

Where there was no English spoken. I left Saigon and went to Chicago. On Argyle there is a restaurant my aunt ran. 777 was the top pho noodles so I left the 888 and went there.

I wanted to try new inventive pho recipes at My Aunt Hoa's restaurant, the 777. I added pheasant and red wine. I tried duck and mushrooms. But my best Pho fusion recipe was

lobster and lemongrass. I sipped a cup of hot lotus tea and breathed in the marvelous aromas. I was sitting at my own booth near the back of my Aunt Hoa's restaurant. She was

chatting up her long-time customer, Alfred Johnson. It was obvious to everyone that he liked her (Hoa), and that she liked him, but reasons unbeknownst kept the two apart until

their pairing was announced. See, the gods loved to mess with mortals, and one of their pastimes was shipping them and forcing them to be together. Luckily, for Alfred and Hoa,

they arrived unbroken in their crate, to the destination that the gods had sent them. When Hoa and Alfred climbed from the box, they found themselves in the British Virgin Islands.

They paddled a canoe over to Mosquito Island, but that's when tragedy struck, literally. Barrack O'bama accidentally landed his kiteboard on Hoa's head, killing him. Alfred cried

Alfred was lying on the floor of the bedroom again. Drenched in sweat and pee again. Stupid nightmares! He looked at his desk and smiled at his picture of O'Bama. You sly ol'