The Jungles and Before

Hello my friends.
I have been gone for months, and I apologize to all of you for not saying "so long", as that is what this simply is, not a "good bye" at all. I currently have been able to send this communication to you purely by the luck of good atmospheric conditions. Where I am, there is no internet connectivity at all, and I have no access to satellite uplinks, orbiting spacecraft or carrier pigeons. Well I did have the pigeons, but they continually shredded my papyrus, and hands for that matter, every time I tried to tie a note to their little pigeon ankles... or would that be pankles? Regardless, the locals would not help, as they fled screaming into the trees and lighting themselves on fire each and every time one of these seven-foot pigeons would show itself.

So how am I sending this? Well, I currently am receiving a wifi signal that is bouncing off of the stratosphere and funelling down through the small circular opening in the clouds just perfectly to my hPhoneV8. Lucky for me I can type 784 words per minute with my thumbs. No, it is not a world record, as I have not been able to achieve that extra word. Some day... but a boy can dream, can he not?
I know you are also wondering about the similarity in name to the "iPhone", and no that was not a typo at all. This particular culture that I have come in contact with has phenomenal technological know-how, yet keeps themselves cut off from the rest of the world, and do not use toilet paper based on principle. They named this device the hPhoneV8 because it is their 16th iteration of their molecular phone / music player / internet (which they call "Luther") hybrid device. They started with the "aPhone", then "bPhone" and onward. Unfortunately when they got to "h" in the alphabet, they ran out of letters in succession. You see, 33 years ago, their king, King Jameson Bartholemew Radnow Gustafssen Boner Archibald Westwardbreeze Tom Fangdazzlebroad was alerted that his servents were making fun of his name. After three years of intense name inspection, Lord Tom (he changed his name) realized it was the letter "i" in "Archibald" that was causing himself such torment. So on Aprl 28th of that year, Lord Tom outlawed each and every "i" in his kngdom.
Thus the conundrum for the potential follow-up to the overly-successful hPhone. I am able to use this device only for a very short amount of time to communicate with Luther. But I digress.

I am currently in the Moravian jungles, in pursuit of the extremely elusive, yet tantalizingly familiar, three-toed leaping spider. I did not set out on this journey intentionally or with aplomb, but simply, as many of my great adventures, by complete and total stupidity.
On a breezy Thursday morning, I awoke with a slight twinge of pain coming from my right foot. Upon further inspection, I revealed I had a hang nail. I flew into a panicked frenzy and eventually realized I needed to depart my surroundings and seek happiness that will allow me the perfect freedom and rapture.
After leaving Dunkin Donuts full of rapture, I dropped a penny from my change. Said penny might just be the 2003 "D" penny that would complete my vast collection of American pennies post-1999. I ran after it (of course I was on a hill), for two blocks, my caffe macchiato scorching my hands along the way. It finally came to rest next to the tire of an old, beat-up car. I stooped and picked it up, and though it was a 2003 penny, alas it was not my elusive "D".
Not one to either litter nor waste money, I slid the penny in my pocket. Upon removing my hand, my watch caught my belt, which pulled upward and caught my hand holding the caffe macchiato cup, which caused me to lose my grip. As I tried to catch the cup, my watch-belt caught hand pulled on the belt, which dislodged from my pants, and the almost-full cup hit the ground a fraction of a second before my pants. Through the laws of liquid dynamics, which I will not get into here, the full contents of the caffe macchiato launched towards my very exposed, yet supple, skin. My gnat-like reflexes allowed me to dodge the invading fluid, but unfortunately I was unaware of my surroundings, and I was launched directly into the side of a bike messenger.
We both careened to the ground in a pile of metal, skin and spandex (and no, this does not involve my trusted friend Cornelius as you would expect). The bike messenger looked up at me in a very tender way, fighting through what must surely be much pain, and through her beautiful, pouty lips, she screamed like a banshee at me. Stumbling backward, I tripped over my pants, now tangled around my man-slippers and fell. She came at me, and the last I remember is her standing over me with a bent tire and her water bottle.
I awoke here in the jungles, dressed in a very stylish zoot suit, with a note in my pocket that read, "If you want to live, you have 18.65 hours to find the three-toed leaping spider."

Yours in Nebuchadnezzar,
Horatio