This morning as I was sitting serenely under the fig tree, I became witness to a most incredible occurence. It is impossible to describe the magnitude of it all, but I felt it imperative to relay the happenings of this event to you as quickly as possible.

At precisely nine o'clock, I was quietly practising my handwriting - as a young lady ought to do as often as possible in order to perfect her hand - when I heard the most displeasing sound of violent rustling that arose from a nearby bush. Naturally, I fixed my eyes upon the disturbance, when suddenly the entire bush underwent a tremendous explosion. To my amazement, a disheveled, blonde-headed young lad stormed from under the cloud of flying leaves, twigs, and roly polys. His cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes shone bright, and his manner was quite impertinent as the brute roared (upon noticing my presence), "Where is the Jew?!"

Now, I was already quite offended because his interruption had caused my quill to slip and bleed an ugly blot on my page of meticulously written lines. However, at the mention of the vulgar, three-letter word that no proper citizen dares to utter, I was transported into a fit of silent rage. "Who are you?" I demanded, "Why have to come to disturb the peace of this garden with the name of the unmentionable?"

"I have only been hunting one," He replied, "It escaped from Well Number Two Thousand Seventy Three."

"Escaped?" I screeched, "That is not possible! Our Artisans have produced the most secure holdings ever known to man!"

"Oh, but you are mistaken," He answered drily, "The Chinese have crafted fine railroads, but the design of wells still have several holes."

I stared, speechless, at the Aryan. He glanced at me impatiently, finally asking, "So you don't know where it went?"

"No," I answered, suddenly uneasy at the thought of the escaped. "How did it get out in the first place?"

"Used a rope fashioned from yarmulkes and dollar bills."

A piercing ring suddenly cut through the air. The Aryan plunged his hand into his pocket and whipped out the blinking iPhone. "We've got a clue!" He shouted, looking intently at the glossy screen, "It is making for the bank!"

With that, the lad galloped away, too hurried to even adjust his collar, which had been unpopped by a wayward bramble.

This incident, as I have described as best as a female of color possibly can, is now under your discretion. I urge you to wield your power as an agent of law, and take measures to prevent such disagreeable happenings in the future. If not for the sake of humanity, then for the sake of my nearly-immaculate cursive, which is, in my humble opinion, rival to humanity in importance.

Ps. Send the most tender of hugs to Nihig.

Charmingly yours,
Monique Yang