Part II:
(Our Friends at Paladin Press
Take up Drug Smuggling)
Paladin Press-- your book catalog for men of adventure! Stroking their jaw, narrow-minded, wondering if it could really be done for "livin' off the grid" profit. What does the author of "Drug Smuggling: The Forbidden Book" actually have to say?
"The Vietcong couldn't be stopped, and neither can drugs. I never felt good about the missions I flew in Vietnam when I was a warrior supposedly on the side of truth and the American way. However, my marijuana-smuggling trips were entirely different. I almost felt like I was the Vietcong, once again challenging the flawed thinking of the seventy year-old, conservative multi-millionaires who run the United States. The only thing I salute today is the free enterprise system! That, and a small plane flyin' off into the Caribbean sunset with all the money. . . . ."
God smile upon this man, for all the lives he has touched-- such as Buford Christenson's and Caleb Durupee's, who host their own video series on the Paladin Press smorgasboard of cuddly flower-power social responsibility!
So they went down to Barbados, seeking out "a connection". The friendly islanders excitably rented out stools, cell phones, and shady umbrellas, but these touristas shook 'em off with a snarl. Nor could they be enticed to come dance the Heeva-Heeva in the zesty salsa clubs, but sucked back on their beers and wiped down their mouths with the back of their sweaty hands.
Eventually they found their men--
-- who turned out to be informants for the Drug Enforcement Agency!
"Oh no! Whut am I gonna do? I have a daughter at home!"
Buford Christenson lamented as they handcuffed him and his scared-shitless accomplice.
"I could spend YEARS in a foreign jail! Whut was I thinkin'?".
Cliff Barnes the
scowling, beret-wearin' mercenary was asking himself nearly the same question too in a Third World land, after he got carried away readin' a Paladin Press release about sellin' desperately-needed supplies along the border of a poverty-ravaged war zone. That is, when a howling nonwhite mob dragged his mutilated corpse through the streets and mounted his head up on a stake for the flies. The beret was placed up there on the festering swarm for ironic effect, incidentally. So in terms of an action-filled career, why don't you become a librarian instead?
(A Very
Pathetic End)
(Back to
"Buford Sounds Off")
*******************
"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Rheeee of Crickets)
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("I heard that, Missy!")
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