The atmosphere within the confines of the
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The atmosphere within the confines of the orange skin was rib-cracking. My body ached as I tried to find my balance and sift the remnants of the night before out of the crevicesof
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my brain. They're all dead! Crocker, Sandra, Jimmy and his crew... this must be a dream. Only yesterday we were all drunk and merry with the victory of the elections, what with
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the case of J&B we found and those pills Sandra had, it was quite a night. We hadn't counted on the militant seizure of the Capitol as we slept it off. I had to get to Bangladesh
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Bob out of the bush league whorehouse. Bangladesh Bob always got sour and weird when alcohol mixes with military action. Sandra and myself watched the capitol burned as Bangladesh
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erupted in civil war. Pakistan, Afghanistan, and India were on tenterhooks. Nuclear conflict seemed certain. We sobered up Bangladesh Bob and got him in front of the nightly news.
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I put apple juice in a whisky bottle & put it in his hand. "Just pretend, Bangladesh Bob, you're our only hope!" Next morning he arrived at the Nepali negotiations with 7 translato
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rs & a colorful dhaka topi perched jauntily on his head. Bangladesh Bob wanted to fit in & thought that between the whiskey & the hat, the Nepalese delegation would be willing to
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Negotiate a treaty where they could trade whiskey for hats. The site where they they sat a table was beautifully embroidered with jealousy. There were free resources to be found at
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the poke-stop, but most of them had already used it and had to wait a good 20 minutes before it was refreshed. The hat whiskey trade hit it's peak, however, when a Mr. James "Bowl
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O'Rama" Johnston ordered a ten gallon hatful and suffered renal failure. Sales went down considerably after that, even though the whiskey was perfectly good in spite of the lint.
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- Started
- 2013-07-10 21:35:41
- Finished
- 2016-08-08 12:11:27
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