Saturday, March 20, 2010


Good Lord, who does a guy have to blow in this place to get a beer?

It's pretty much eight and I'm sweltering in this weird bar in Tangiers.

I've been here for years and nothing's coming up right.

I sell tables out of the back of an unknown van and have a habit of forgetting why the hell I'm here.

I've got two insane Moroccans pointing guns at me and I don't know why.

Something about drugs comes to mind, but I've paid everyone off in beads and trinkets long ago.

One of them is mumbling something about me being American and I snarl at him.

I hate racism in all its forms, especially when it's directed my way.

He snarls back at me and I yell "White power!" as loud as I can.

The white barbarian overlords that rule this nation with their Walmarts and McDonalds come and ask in Ned Flander's voices "What's the trouble."

I exclaim "By Zeus! These savages are trying to steal my camera!"

The white folk lose appetite and put the old Afrikkkaner ramsickele down on my Negroid friends.

I feel guilty as I owed the fuckers money, but this is Africa, right?

I sip the rest of my whiskey and rape a prostitute in broad daylight.

I enjoy the wildlife.

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