It is with a heavy heart that I now write you, my dear friends Back East, to relate the tribulations that afflict us in the fair city of San Francisco. Though it is true our overland journey was quite blessed with luck — we lost none of number to the diptheria — we have arrived to discover this entire Western country in the grips of a devastating bagel crisis.
Upon our arrival I eagerly sought out a coffee shop, and exchanged some of our meager savings for a nice sesame bagel. Imagine my horror to discover that what was returned to me resembled nothing so much as a bun or a roll, mere soft bread with a hole punched in the center. There was no density, no chewiness or substance to this terrible mockery of a bagel.
In the months that followed the situation has only worsened. I have traveled far and wide in search of a bagel that might fill the hunger gnawing inside of me, but every attempt has met with abject failure. In an outpost known as "David's Delicatessen" I was forced to part with $3.75 — three dollars and seventy five cents! — for a toasted "bagel" with cream cheese, only to find myself left with that same wretched bready substance! And I will not even relate to you what transpired at "Noah's Bagels," for I know that you would weep to think of me in such wretched circumstances.
Perhaps worst of all is that the uncivilized inhabitants of this land seem oblivious to the inhumanity of their bagel-making behavior. I think perhaps the decadent, hedonistic California soul simply cannot apprehend the true nature of a bagel. Only a people acquainted with hardship can produce a firm, resilient bagel. I attempted to communicate my distress to one of the natives, and he merely replied, flipping his curls like a modern-day Marie Antoinette: "You're in California now. Eat croissants."
I do not know how much longer we can hold out. I beg of you, send bagels.
The Frisco Kid is generally to be found all likkered up and spoiling for a fight. She's a sexy Wild West gunslinger in the great tradition of Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane, only a little less with the sharpshooting and a little more with the booze-fueled marathons of Star Trek and sodomy.