Thursday night was quite a doozy...
I had a dinner party at the princely LeBlanc family estate and the cream of European aristicratic society was in attendence. There was Lord and Lady Effingham, the Duke of Asbury, my intellectual sparring partner Sir Gordon Charles, Gerry Adams, Charles Bonaparte, Corsican mafioso Allesandro Montella, Christopher Hitchens, Laetitia Casta, Aribert Heim, and a dozen others.
After a feast of crêpes and frog legs, we moved to my parlor room for wine and opium. As things were winding down, I decided to liven things up by dazzling them takes of my most recent African safari adventure.
"So I followed the natives back to their village, feeling safe in the belief that they had accepted me as one of their own. But upon arriving, I quickly discovered that I was not to be the guest of honor for their dinner. Rather, they intended for me to be the main course!"
"Good heavens, Travis!" cried Lord Asbury, "Do you mean to tell us that they were cannibals?"
"Indeed I do. And they believe that eating the flesh of a white man will give them great powers."
My audience gasped in near unison before I continued.
"I saw a large boiling pot in the middle of the village. And as they pushed me towards it, I noticed on the ground the half-eaten remains of Kumal, my guide and interpreter that vanished in the night a week before."
One woman in the room fainted. Lady Effingham covered her eyes and exclaimed "Oh, it is all too ghastly!" So vivid was my description and colorful my language, that the women felt as though the savages of my story were in the very same room with us.
"I do apologize" I said, attempting to restore calm "But I did warn you that parts of this story were not suitable for those of delicate feminine sensibilities."
"My goodness, Travis," said Sir Gordon Charles, eager for me to continue my tale. "You must have been scared out of your wits!"
"Well, I had been in some tight spots before but I must confess that this one presented quite a challenge. There I was. Hundreds of miles from civilization and surrounded by 30 blood-thirsty savages. Each one with a lustful craving for my flesh. I knew it was going to require something extraordinary to get out of this predicament in one piece."
"You had your revolver, did you not?" Lord Effingham queried.
"Yes but I had used the last of my ammunition during the hippo stampede that killed the rest of the expedition."
"So tell us, Travis" Gerry Adams, quiet until this time, demanded "How did you manage to escape?"
"Not tonight. Next time." I said, "It's getting quite late..."
There was a roar of disaproval through out the room and even the frightened ladies would not be satisfied until I finished the tale. Eventually I relelnted and continued.
"Okay, do you remember that tiger I befriended the day before? Well, as they were prodding me with their spears and urging me towards the boiling pot, who should I see out of the corner of my eye?"
"No..." the group spoke in low mix of surprise and astonishment.
"But yes!" I declared "It was none other than the very same tiger out with his family on a hunting expedition of their own!"
"What fortune!" Lord Effingham cried.
"Yes and right before I was about to put my first leg into the boiling pot, I yelled his name-"
At that very moment, my undocumented Puerto Rican poolboy and man-servant Miguel Valentino burst into the room in a complete panic. He was stark naked, his arms were handcuffed behind his back and he was wearing a ball gag.
"Miguel, what have you gotten yourself into this time!"
I unfastened the ball gag and he spoke "Twavith! Twavith! Someone has broken into the vineyard and mixed up the colors on all the marshmellows. Now there are pink diamonds, purple clovers, and red horseshoes!"
Who would do such a thing? Well, just last night, I found out. The answer would shock you.
I had a dinner party at the princely LeBlanc family estate and the cream of European aristicratic society was in attendence. There was Lord and Lady Effingham, the Duke of Asbury, my intellectual sparring partner Sir Gordon Charles, Gerry Adams, Charles Bonaparte, Corsican mafioso Allesandro Montella, Christopher Hitchens, Laetitia Casta, Aribert Heim, and a dozen others.
After a feast of crêpes and frog legs, we moved to my parlor room for wine and opium. As things were winding down, I decided to liven things up by dazzling them takes of my most recent African safari adventure.
"So I followed the natives back to their village, feeling safe in the belief that they had accepted me as one of their own. But upon arriving, I quickly discovered that I was not to be the guest of honor for their dinner. Rather, they intended for me to be the main course!"
"Good heavens, Travis!" cried Lord Asbury, "Do you mean to tell us that they were cannibals?"
"Indeed I do. And they believe that eating the flesh of a white man will give them great powers."
My audience gasped in near unison before I continued.
"I saw a large boiling pot in the middle of the village. And as they pushed me towards it, I noticed on the ground the half-eaten remains of Kumal, my guide and interpreter that vanished in the night a week before."
One woman in the room fainted. Lady Effingham covered her eyes and exclaimed "Oh, it is all too ghastly!" So vivid was my description and colorful my language, that the women felt as though the savages of my story were in the very same room with us.
"I do apologize" I said, attempting to restore calm "But I did warn you that parts of this story were not suitable for those of delicate feminine sensibilities."
"My goodness, Travis," said Sir Gordon Charles, eager for me to continue my tale. "You must have been scared out of your wits!"
"Well, I had been in some tight spots before but I must confess that this one presented quite a challenge. There I was. Hundreds of miles from civilization and surrounded by 30 blood-thirsty savages. Each one with a lustful craving for my flesh. I knew it was going to require something extraordinary to get out of this predicament in one piece."
"You had your revolver, did you not?" Lord Effingham queried.
"Yes but I had used the last of my ammunition during the hippo stampede that killed the rest of the expedition."
"So tell us, Travis" Gerry Adams, quiet until this time, demanded "How did you manage to escape?"
"Not tonight. Next time." I said, "It's getting quite late..."
There was a roar of disaproval through out the room and even the frightened ladies would not be satisfied until I finished the tale. Eventually I relelnted and continued.
"Okay, do you remember that tiger I befriended the day before? Well, as they were prodding me with their spears and urging me towards the boiling pot, who should I see out of the corner of my eye?"
"No..." the group spoke in low mix of surprise and astonishment.
"But yes!" I declared "It was none other than the very same tiger out with his family on a hunting expedition of their own!"
"What fortune!" Lord Effingham cried.
"Yes and right before I was about to put my first leg into the boiling pot, I yelled his name-"
At that very moment, my undocumented Puerto Rican poolboy and man-servant Miguel Valentino burst into the room in a complete panic. He was stark naked, his arms were handcuffed behind his back and he was wearing a ball gag.
"Miguel, what have you gotten yourself into this time!"
I unfastened the ball gag and he spoke "Twavith! Twavith! Someone has broken into the vineyard and mixed up the colors on all the marshmellows. Now there are pink diamonds, purple clovers, and red horseshoes!"
Who would do such a thing? Well, just last night, I found out. The answer would shock you.