The call came through Friday evening - "Bob, we need you to go to an undisclosed location in the Caribbean, strictly hush-hush, stock up on the flavoured, ribbed and ultra safe, pack your trunks and leave plenty room for a quart or too of duty free pina colada" - the usual...
Well, no sooner had I leaped in the cab and yelled to the Latino driver "Logan Intl. - and step on it!" (did I tell you guys I'd moved to Boston, already?? Maybe I didn't...) than the anti-malarial tablets started to kick in and I don't remember much else about the airport or the flight. Just thank heavens I didn't try to post anything on the blog from one of those airport PC terminals - I don't think it would have made much sense if I had!! Remind me never to mix qualuudes, anti-M and a litre and a half of Jim Beam.....
Anyways, next thing I know, I'm in a darkened room that smells of faeces and damp paper with a bag over my head and a choker at the neck with some redneck joker saying stuff like, "OK Mohammad, we know where your friends are we just want to hear it from your own pretty little lips..." and then I feel something unnatural and hot entering me at a very unpleasant angle... I waited several days for them to offer me the traditional call to my lawyer but to no avail. And that was the state of play for the next 2 weeks. Still, it's amazing what you can get used to.
Then, yesterday, they finally remove the hood and turn down the Marilyn Manson CD they've been pumping out for the last couple days (just before the standout track too!) and some GI joe and a suit are standing before me saying we are soooooooooooo sorry Mr. Swipe and treating me like royalty and asking me if I've ever had an all over baby lotion body rub from a Nubian Queen....? (Er, not that I can recall....) So now I'm here:
...and they're filling me with as much Rum Collins as I can fit in a size 12 stiletto. Jeez guys - you're the tops! More later - Negrita says she's not through with me yet...
Love on y'all,
Bob
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