Dear living thirst traps,
I’m writing to you from Antarctica, my favorite continent in the world, and I don’t just say that about any continent. Let’s finish this message as soon as possible because it’s cold as f*ck. I WOULD say it’s cold enough to freeze your d*ck off, but I don’t have a d*ck. Don’t believe me? Look it up. Male flamingos, like many male birds, don’t have penises. We have cloaca, like female birds. It’s true. And it’s cold enough to freeze your f***ing cloaca off.
I’m here to promote our sunglasses for the annual Antarctica 26.2 Mile Running Race. No, that’s not a joke. This is the 16th year. The registration fee is $17,900. Competitors take a private jet from Punta Arenas, Chile to Union Glacier, Antarctica (the interior). The altitude is 700 meters. The windchill temperature is -20C. There will be snowmobile support and medical aid stations. There will not be crowds, because this is a frozen hellscape. If you die, you get a medal that says “Dying is fun?”
Speaking of death, I want to kill a nasty rumor. You might have heard the gossip that I’ve been stuck in Antarctica for the entire year, because goodr employees were pissed off at me for pulling terrible Valentine's Day pranks and paid off my pilot to strand me here, meaning I just PRETENDED to go to Tokyo, Los Angeles, Boston, London, Berlin, Chicago and New York Ridiculous. Just ridiculous. Don’t believe it!!!
What the hell would I even do in Antarctica for a year? Kayak with whales, climb Mt. Vinson, hang with emperor penguins, witness Blood Falls, scuba dive, visit a scientific research station, explore the active volcano at Deception Island, send a postcard from Port Lockroy, and drink vodka at the southernmost bar in the world, Vernadsky Research Base? Yeah, right. Whatever you say.
I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE.