Brock's adventure

I'd like to take a moment and apologize. It has been a while since I last wrote an article but I think I can explain. Now, bear in mind that what you're about to read could easily get me into some serious trouble if it gets out (not to mention that it is very embarrassing). So with the same good sense that got me into the following situation I figured that you'd all like to hear it.

See it all started about four months ago. I received an e-mail from a disposed middle eastern dictator that was looking to move several million dollars from his private account into a U.S. account that hadn't been frozen. His name was Durka-Durka Mohammad Jihad and he explained that a socialist revolt in his country had forced him to flee and his secret accounts in the bank there had been frozen. What he needed was a trusting soul to help him move the money and in return he would split the cash that he had been siphoning off the blood of his people for several decades with yours truly. A chance to pull in millions while thumbing my nose at Marxist rebels seemed like a win-win to me so I pulled the trigger.

He responded that he'd need a relatively small amount of money up-front for transfer fees. Let me tell you right off the bat that a guy who has millions of dollars has a whole different idea of what relatively small means, but I figured the $10,000 investment was well worth it. I sent the money to the European capital where Mr. Jihad had taken refuge. The city's name shall remain nameless to protect my partner, but it starts with a P and ends with an S, has great food, and a snotty attitude.

About a month later I get a phone call from my good buddy Durka-Durka saying that he has the cash and would like to me outside the CIA headquarters in Virginia to make the exchange. I told him I didn't really think that was the best place for such a deal, but he assured me that it was the perfect place since all the employees were in foreign countries fighting a war on terror and that the parking lot is abandoned.

I had my doubts, but it all seemed reasonably. As I left to pick up my newfound treasure, I teased my wife that her fears of a "Spam Scam" were foolish and if she was lucky, I might just share some of my wealth with her. She flipped me off as I walked out the door.

I arrived at the spot and immediately found Durka-Durka. He looked just like a disposed dictator should with his military uniform and medals for being a ruthless thug.

"You got the cash?" I asked.

Now, this where it all starts getting fuzzy - a Black Van, ex-Saturday Night Live cast members with pantyhose on their heads, a cattle prod and a potato sack are all I can recall, but then again it all happened really fast.

When I finally came too I was in a room straight out of an Oliver Stone Turkish prison. Exposed light bulb, urine and crap filled bucket, concrete floor. Check. I'd just gone through the rabbit hole.

All the voices I heard were American English with southern/Texan accent. They came in and offered me a cigarette. I accepted and suddenly Denzel Washington was asking me if I liked getting "wet." I'd see this movie before and knew if I responded like a punk ass he was just gonna try and kill me. So I said, "Of course I like getting wet."

Next thing I knew I was upside down with a t-shirt pulled over my face while water was being poured over my head. I remembered Chuck Norris's training in the Delta Force movies and knew it was all a trick and I wasn't actually going to drown. When this failed to break me my captors decided to turn up the heat.

I was forced to watch hours of Bono and some fat woman named Sally talk about poor people in the third world that were starving and tortured daily and that somehow the price of a cup of coffee a day could save them all. Well, I drink Starbucks so I'm thinking "no shit," I could eat lots of rice for $6.00 a day too. At any rate, the guys that were holding me kept asking me questions about a bunch of crap I had never heard of ...

"How long have you been working for the DDMJ Liberation Front?"

"We've got you on tape!"

"When is your next operation?"

To which I replied that the only thing I was trying to liberate was some passwords for "Free Barely Legal Porn" and I'm not sure what tape they had, but if it was the Paris Hilton one (the good one with regular lighting, not that night vision cell phone crap), that I'd like it back when this was finished. As far as an operation, I had nothing scheduled, but I was thinking about getting some nose work done in a few years.

Well, this went on for like two weeks. Finally, I guess they gave up. One day I woke up and the door to my cell was opened. No one was there and I walked out into a busy street full of poor third world people wearing turbans and veils.

As I gathered my bearings, I noticed that right across the street was the Durka-Durkastan National bank. I just happened to remember the account number I had gotten from Mr. Jihad and figured I'd pull out enough money to get home if not just clear that damn thing out to compensate for my trouble. I walked into the bank and demanded everything that was left in cash. It worked out to $7.24 cents. I started to cry and when a bank employee asks what was wrong, I explained I was stuck and wouldn't get home on $7.00. The employee laughed and told me to take a seat.

A 40 minute Limo ride later, I was sitting in first class on Jihadi Airlines direct to D.C. Apparently, $7.00 is a lot of money in Durkastani currency.

I walked in the door three weeks after trying to make a fortune on a shady deal to find a pissed off wife and thirty e-mails from Hobotrashcan wanting to know why I hadn't written an article in the past month.

Everyone has been very understanding since my return and I owe a lot to my friends and family for helping me deal with all this. I truly appreciate all your support. Oh, and if you happen to see something in the news about a crazy Gringo that went on a wild sex binge in "Boystown" Mexico, remember that I've never had pink hair so there is no way that can be me. And if anyone doubts my story ... well, just watch the Senate hearings on Intelligence Reform that should be coming any month now.

I'll get back to writing a regular column as soon as I finish working through the serious mental trauma that I've sustained. Thank you and God Bless the NSA.

Brock Tanner has never been to Mexico but does have an affinity for waterboarding and donkeys. He can be reached at brocktanner@hobotrashcan.com.