Man, it seems like only yesterday that I finished Part Three, but where the fuck did I leave off? Oh yeah, both Felix and MBL were laughing at me and my Mobile Command Center on Hooker Beach. Here I am stuck on the beach with all this aluminum chair interference, and both of them think it’s a riot. Fortunately, I have something to take my mind off their childish behavior; I have to get ready for my debriefing of Don and Wally when they return. I immediately start scribbling down some notes of important questions to ask them like: How many bribes did you have to pay? Were there any hot women in any of the offices you visited? And finally, when is Bob going home?

Actually, I was a little more thorough than that, but not by much. I figured I’d just wing it at the debriefing because that’s what I do best. Remember, planning is not my strong point After all, Bob was already dead and not going anywhere soon unless Don could work a miracle downtown. At least that’s what I could glean from my numerous conversations with Don and Roberto involving the intricacies of the Brazilian bureaucracy and, as Don puts it, the “Ways of the Third World.”

Since I was having trouble with Miss Bubble Lip’s phone (Vivo) and mine (TIM), I decided to ask Felix to call Don on his lousy fucking worthless Claro phone. I know you won’t believe this, but Felix was able to reach Don almost instantly. How strange! I ripped the phone out of his hand and asked Don, “When and where do you want me to debrief you and Wally?” “Who is this?” he asked. “It’s me, Jag.” “Oh shit!” was all Don said, followed by a long pregnant pause.

“God damn it Jag, we’ve had a long aggravating day interrupted by some asshole calling us all day long; do we really need to do it tonight?” he pleaded. Why the fuck would Ken phone him so much, I wondered? Everything fell into place when I remembered that Ken was upset at me being put in charge of the Mobile Command Center instead of him and he was probably bitching to Don. He really shouldn’t bother Don with such trivial things and be more like me—independent, discrete and professional. Maybe I should talk to him tomorrow; better yet, I’ll let Don ream him out.

Where was I? Oh yeah, talking with Don on the phone. “Of course we have to, otherwise your memories will fade,” I replied. “Okay, meet us at Alcazar at 7:30 PM, but make it quick, we’re frustrated and exhausted.” As I hung up, I realized that the two of them are probably just as anxious as I am to start this debriefing.

As soon as I get off the phone with Don, Felix asks me about our conversation and I explain to him how Ken’s bugging Wally and Don all day long. "Are you sure he is referring to Ken?" He asks. "Of course he is. Who else could it be?" I replied. He then picks up my phone and scrolls through the call history. "It looks like you've called Don eighteen times in the past 24 hours." "So, I didn't reach him every time because of the fucking chair interference, but I bet Ken did," I said as I snapped at him for erroneously implying that I was the stupid culprit. "Anyway, Don referred to this guy as an “asshole” and we both know that Don would never refer to me as one, would he?" I asked.

"Oh no Jag, was all Felix said as he sat in his aluminum chair fucking up my phone reception with a shit eating grin on his face. I’ve finally come to the conclusion that Felix is a true "paradox." Why do I say that? Well, listen up. As you all know, Felix doesn't have a cell phone in the states or even an answering machine for that matter. In other words, he's a technological Neanderthal compared to me. But somehow, within seconds of looking at a rented cellular-phone, he can figure out every little nuance and make it work instantly. Shit, by the time I figure out how to operate mine or even manage to put credits on my rented phone, I'm getting on a plane headed back to the states.

Speaking of a paradox; that reminds me of an incident I once had with a beautiful woman many years ago. I met her in a bar in Philadelphia shortly after the Bitch, my ex-wife, left me with the kids and the Labrador retriever. She was an absolutely stunning girl, we exchange phone numbers and I left figuring that I would never ever hear from her again. The next day my phone rang and it was her wanting to get together. That night I left the kids with a babysitter and explained to them that it was a business meeting that might last all night, so don't expect me home.

As you guys know, I always have to give you a little background information to fill in the low points of a story, so here goes. She was from the upper Midwest, of Scandinavian descent, extremely fair skin with delicate light blonde hair, 6'1" tall, and weighed 130 pounds. Simply put, she was built like a shapely runway model with great tits. Her face was magnificent. As a matter of fact, she looked almost exactly like the actress Julie Newmar did when she played the first Cat Woman on the original Batman series in the late 1960s. Because of her Scandinavian origins, I nicknamed her the "Nordic Queen."

Since she had never seen the Atlantic Ocean before, I decided to take her to the Jersey shore for our first date. When it got late, I suggested we get two hotel rooms in one of the Casinos and spend the night. Within minutes of turning out my light, I heard a knock on my door. Sure enough it was her. She took me by the hand into her room and started sexually attacking me.

You guys have to understand that my wife had just left me months before and this was the first woman, other than my wife, that I'd been with in 24 years, so as you can imagine, I was somewhat timid. When I finally figured out what was going on, I gently mounted her and we slowly started to make love. Within 15 seconds of entering her, she started writhing around and then bucking like a wild Mustang. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Nothing, I just had two orgasms," she replied. “Two orgasms? Holy shit!” What a coincidence; that's exactly the same number of orgasms the Bitch, my ex-wife, claimed to have had in the last 10 years of our marriage. I knew it wasn’t my fault; the Bitch was frigid!

Not only was the Nordic Queen fantastic in bed and multi-orgasmic, she even had a tight bubble butt just like the Brazilian garotas. I was in heaven and things were about to get better or so I thought. After all, we were deeply in love; what could possibly go wrong? Unfortunately, she lived in South Dakota, was working temporarily in Philadelphia and her assignment was about to end. Within weeks she's back in South Dakota and we talked about three or four times a day. Yep, that's right, about as often as I speak to MBL daily.

Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching and she called, asking me out to South Dakota to celebrate her upcoming 27th birthday. Since this was the first Thanksgiving after the Bitch left, I explained her that I couldn't very well leave the kids alone on this important holiday. That's when the Nordic Queen said, "I want you to take my ass; I've dreamed of you going there ever since I met you." What a coincidence, I had the exact same dream!

I couldn't believe what she said and asked her to repeat it, slowly so there would be absolutely no misunderstandings whatsoever. After she repeated it twice slowly, I couldn't believe my ears. And within minutes, I couldn’t believe that I forked over $2100 to Northwest Airlines for a round-trip ticket leaving the very next day. It's taken a couple years, but my kids have finally forgiven me for that Thanksgiving. I think they fondly refer to it as their meatloaf Thanksgiving!

Needless to say, within weeks of that wonderful Thanksgiving trip, she moved into my house and I was getting "laid" daily. To keep her busy, I arranged a job for her with one of my friends who owns a company locally. After about two weeks, we weren't friends anymore because he fired her saying, "She's the dumbest bitch I have ever met." I figured he was just being harsh, but after fucking up four more friendships within several months, I started to pay closer attention to her, other than her ass that is.

For some apparent reason she would piss off each of them professionally, but I knew deep down inside they really liked her. You’re probably wondering why I would say that, don’t you? Well, because whenever any of them saw the two of us together, they would always say; "You two make the perfect couple; you’re made for each other!"

Where the hell was I going with this? Oh yeah, the "Paradox" incident. Well, one night my oldest daughter went to the movies with the two of us. I don't remember exactly which movie was playing, it's immaterial anyway. At the end of a very confusing script with many plot twists, I said, "Wow, that's quite a paradox." Without missing a beat, she said, "I have a pair of them!" "Say what?" I replied. "Oh yeah, I have a pair of Doc’s on right now," she said as she pointed to her feet. "What the fuck do you mean?" I asked. "See, I have a pair of Doc’s on; you know, Doc Martens!" My daughter groaned and said, "I hope you wearing rubbers dad." It took me two years to get her out of my house, but I'm sure that comes as no shock to all of you.


Where did I leave off before digressing on this God-awful tangent? Oh yeah, it's Tuesday afternoon and I'm sitting in my Mobile Command Center with Felix and MBL bugging the shit out of me. As you all know, Felix likes to meticulously plan out every day and right about now he's recapping what we have already accomplished so far. Soon he'll start talking about what we plan to do for the rest of the day, minute by minute. He drives me nuts and he knows it.

He’s worse than having your mother around all day long. Your Mom, at least, lets you have some fun every once in awhile. Felix, on the other hand, wants to keep everything on schedule at all times, regardless of what’s going on around you. At this very minute, he’s talking about going to the super market to buy the ingredients to make Farmer’s Chicken soup for dinner tonight. I’d love to strangle him just to shut him up, but then I wouldn’t be able to use his cell phone because he’s the only one who knows how to operate it.

As he telling me each and every fucking ingredient in the chicken soup, he suddenly stops and I momentarily welcome the peaceful silence. It was too short lived a silence for my liking as he leaned over, nudged me and said, "Look at that girl over there." She was tall, thin, with tanned fair skin, shapely and absolutely gorgeous. In other words, she wasn't my type at all. After all, I was sitting here on the beach next to the love of my life, the "African Queen," I mean Miss Bubble Lips, so why did I need to look at this bitch? As soon as I turned my head, MBL snapped at me, "Which garota you look at?" "That one over there," I innocently replied.


"Why you look at her?" she asked. “Felix told me to look at her." She looked at Felix and he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head from side to side, acting as if I initiated the whole thing. A few minutes later when Bubble Lips was done interrogating me and I calmed down, I asked him why he did that to me? "Because, it’s fun getting you into trouble with MBL and then watching you dig yourself only deeper while trying to extricate yourself. Jag, you're so fucking pussy whipped; you might need to change your Kotex when you leave the beach today."


“Pussy Whipped? You say I’m pussy whipped; well, what about you?” I shouted at him. “What do you mean Jag?” “You know what I’m referring to—the fact that you met a girl on your second night here and you’re spending every night with her. Aren’t you?” I had the bastard by the short hairs till he replied; “At least I didn’t have some women meet me at the airport like what happened to you. I had twenty-four hours of freedom. You had what—thirty seconds?” “Fuck you Felix!”

Again, he nudged me to look at her and I snuck another peek. "She's signaling me," Felix said as he was starting to get a little anxious, if you know what I mean. "Hey Fernando, come over here and cool Felix down with your watering can," I shouted. "I'm not that excited, you asshole," Felix replied. "Oh yeah, then why do you have a tent in your bathing suit?" "I don't, the suit's just bulky, that's all," Felix replied. "Felix, I hate to tell you this, but your bulky suit has me worried because you're sitting right next to me with a fucking hard-on. If things were reversed, you'd be worried too."

Within minutes he was all animated, telling me that she was continuing to give him signals. I looked over and sure enough, she's holding out two fingers between her legs, just like a catcher signaling the pitcher. Years ago, when he was athletic, Felix was a catcher in the semi pro league, so I asked him what her signals meant. Felix said, "I think she wants a curveball, at least that's what she's calling for." "You fucking idiot! It means she wants 200 of something or other, probably dollars, for a quickie; go for it," I told him.

Like Felix almost always does, he thinks things to death. Nobody has ever accused me of having that problem, so I don’t quite understand why he does it, but he does it with increasing frequency. Anyway, by the time he has taken into consideration that fact that he has to go to the grocery store, make soup, shower and arrange to meet his girl, the whole fucking moment has past him by. As he finally decides to make his move, she was departing the beach. I gave him one more verbal jab to the ribs, “You think too much,” I scolded him. “At least I think before I act, unlike someone I know,” he replied. Now, why in the world would Felix get on Ken’s case too,” I wondered?

“What time do you want us over for dinner? I asked. “That depends. How long will it take you to debrief Wally and Don?” he replied. Rather than give him the satisfaction of learning how extensive my debriefing would be, I said, “We’ll come over around 9:00 PM.” I’ve found that it’s best to keep some people in the dark, like everyone usually does with me. In other words, I was going to do my best to keep Felix from learning anything about what I was doing, otherwise he would question me to death.

For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Felix wanted to make soup, but if he wanted to do it, I’d eat it. Since I forgot to shave this morning, I decided to grab a shave at my favorite place across from Don’s office. As I shuffled back to the last barber, I told him I wanted three hot towels and no fucking Bling—Bling this time. Christ, the last time he did that my ears hurt for a week.

Half an hour later, when I’m leaving the Barber shop and crossing the street to go to Don’s office, I run into TheRightWay and tell him about my great shave. He explains that he has a tough beard and has trouble getting a close shave. I look at his face and see that his beard is about as rough as 80 grit sandpaper. My beard is more like 150 grit. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I have the same fucking problem; that’s why I get a shave in there,” I tell him as I point out my barber. “Get a close shave tomorrow, you won’t regret it,” I say with a wide grin on my face. Oh boy, I can’t wait till I see him tomorrow and he thanks me for suggesting a shave.

When I get back to the apartment MBL is waiting there for me. “When you meet Don?” she asks. “Don’t worry Honey, I have just enough time to fuck you before I leave,” I said with a great big smile on my face. She grinned back at me and said three words that collapsed my world and put me in a foul mood for the rest of the day, “Special Day here!” God damn it! I don’t know which she has more of in a year—Birthdays or periods. Since I’ve know her, she’s had three periods and three different birthdays. Things sure are strange on this side of the Equator, aren’t they?

Within minutes I left the apartment and headed for Alcazar to meet Don and Wally. As I’m walking along Av. Atlantico at around 7:00 PM, I see Roberto go by with Don and Wally in the back seat of his taxi. I shout out, “Hey Don,” and for some strange reason they lean over and I loose sight of both of them. They get stuck in traffic and Roberto meekly waves at me as I approach his taxi. Since I still can’t see either Don or Wally in the backseat, I figure that they must have dropped their money and were trying to find it to pay Roberto. When I got close, both guys popped up and said hello. “Did you find your money,” I asked. “What money? Yeah, oh yeah, we found the money,” Don enthusiastically replied. I could tell by the surprised look on his face that he was definitely glad to see me again.

I suggested that we walk the remaining half block to Alcazar, but for some odd reason they didn’t want to get out. “Okay,” I said as I opened the backdoor to the taxi and climbed in with them to go the remaining distance. I must have stepped on one of them because I remember hearing someone groan loudly as I got in the taxi. Two minutes later we were at Alcazar and the fun was about to begin. Wally and I had beers; Don had a full bottle of Teacher’s Scotch brought over to the table.

Boy, were those two guys thirsty! You should have seen how quickly they drank their first two drinks. Wally then complained that one of the buildings they were in didn’t have air-conditioning. Shit, they had it easy downtown; I didn’t have any fucking air conditioning in my Mobile command center all day long. If they only knew what I had to go through on the beach today, they’d certainly appreciate my efforts and give me a little more respect.

After several minutes of questioning, both guys grabbed their heads in agony and claimed to have acute migraine headaches. Rather than get upset at each for letting the unbearable stress get to them, I was very sympathetic because my youngest daughter gets migraines all the time. She must be allergic to something in Pennsylvania because as soon as she went to college out of state, her migraines stopped. Yep, that’s also right! As soon as she comes home on vacation, she gets them again. Although it still has me completely baffled, I’m confident that we’ll eventually isolate the fucking allergen and figure out a way to keep her from coming into contact with it. I think she already has a suspicion as to what triggers them, but for some strange reason she’s reluctant to tell me. Young girls—who can figure them out?

Where was I? Oh yeah, that’s right, debriefing Don and Wally. Rather than go into a great deal of detail, I think it would be more instructive if I distillate it down into one simple sentence. “Whatever you do, don’t die in Brazil!” There, that’s it in a nutshell—a very good piece of advice, if I do say so myself. Alright, if you want more information, I’ll give you a few of the torturous details just to give you an indication of how fucking complicated it is dealing with the Brazilian legal system.

First of all, Don had to get a copy of Bob’s Last Will and Testament faxed to the consulate and then have it translated into Portuguese for the local Brazilian courts to interpret. There was a wrinkle in Bob’s Will and it had to do with cremation. As you all know, Brazil is a predominantly Roman Catholic country (about 95%) and Roman Catholics aren’t very fond of cremation. It’s not impossible to cremate someone in Brazil, but pretty close to it. Most of you are probably asking yourself—why not ship the body back to the states for cremation here? Well, listen up and you’ll learn something.

First, Don called one funeral home and asked in perfect English the following question: How much is the cost to pick up an American at the City Morgue, transport it to the airport and place it on a plane for the US? The answer was $7,000 Yep, that’s right, seven thousand US dollars or, at the current conversion rate of 2.40, about R$16,800. An hour later, Don called the same funeral home and asked the following question in perfect Portuguese: How much to pick up a Brazilian at the City Morgue, transport the body to the airport and place it on a plane for the US? The answer to that question stunned us all: R$2000.

Shit, these funeral guys made the banditos in Copacabana look like modern day versions of Robin Hood in comparison. Christ, even Fernando looked like a Saint when compared to these guys. I told Don to just claim that Bob was a Brazilian and get the Funeral home to put him on a plane for R$2000. Don looked at me like I was stupid or something and then said, “What do I tell them when they see his American Passport?” “Just tell them that he has dual citizenship,” I quickly replied. “You fucking idiot, come up with something better than that,” was all he said to me.

All day long I sat around on the beach and pondered that question, only to come up empty at the end of the day. Then I got pissed because every stupid movie I’ve seen that has some impossible problem confronting the protagonist, somehow he’s able to come up with a unique solution within minutes. Me, I strain my brain for eight hours and I’ve gotten nowhere. I hate fucking movies! How the fuck did I get transitioned on to movies and away from the problem at hand?

Okay, I’m back on course. To complicate matters and add a significant expense, as soon as a body arrives in the States it has to be picked up by another Funeral Home here and then embalmed. In other words, to get Bob back to Arizona, it would cost approximately $15,000. If Don could get him cremated in Brazil in accordance with Bob’s final wishes, the overall cost would be reduced significantly.

In addition to dealing with the fucking Funeral home, Don had to contact the US Consulate in Rio to start the necessary paperwork to get Bob’s remains into the US. Then to complicate things even more, he had to deal with the Tourista Policia who were handling Bob’s personal effects and conducting a thorough investigation, including an autopsy. I wanted to handle that aspect of this whole affair because I wanted to get another look at that hot female cop, but Don insisted that I continue manning the Mobile Command Center. Guess he knows where my unique talents are needed.

The final piece to this jigsaw puzzle was the Brazilian Court System and a never-ending series of Judges and Clerks that somehow had jurisdiction over various parts of the process. For example, one judge had to certify that Bob was indeed dead and issued a Death Certificate. Another judge had to issue an order allowing the removal of his body from the City Morgue and, finally, another judge had to issue an order to allow his cremation.

That last one was going to be the most difficult and, when I told Don that I personally wanted to deal with that judge, he snorted scotch right through his nose. Once again, he said I had to man the Mobile Command Center. “Alright Don, I’ll take care of the Mobile Command Center, but if I find out that you let Ken talk to that fucking Judge instead of me, I won’t help you anymore and I’ll never talk to you again. As Don and Wally shuffled off with their heads pounding from those damn migraines, I could have sworn I heard one of them mumble, “That sure is food for thought.” What the fuck did they mean by that comment, I wondered?

LMAO(LAUGHING MY ASS OFF),
Farmers chicken soup? That sounds like something Ken would eat instead of his #1 from Mcdonalds every day. I just got this picture in my mind, Jag,MBL&FELIX on the beach and Felix has a hard on staring at Miss Brazil wondering when to make his move, if I could make this into a reality show I would be fucking rich! Great update Jag, The Nordiq Queen sounds like she was alot of fun and as far as that barber recommendation !@#$$%^&*&****()&^%$###### you!

Hi Jag

Nice report LOL. As I plan my first trip to Rio another thing to remember- Don't die in Rio, how am I going to remember all this stuff.

Jag

I posted some pics of the Spyder Hawk for you to take a look at in the "Weapons and other toys for boys" thread take a look aand tell me what you think.

TRW - I haven't had a drink, or a meal from McDonald's, in 2 and a half weeks. By the time you get your ass back down here again, I should be in perfect shape, dressed to the 9s, and will have impregnanted every girl you thought was in love with you on your last trip. Except for Starr. I know how special she was to you, and I just couldn't bear to see Grape Ape cry...

;)

Ken

Shit, Jag. While you're in Rio you seem to spend more time digging yourself into and out of holes, mainly of your own making, and less time fucking than anyone I've ever heard of!

Branquinho,

You forget that I go to Rio to get away from "Princess" and that damn stap-on she threatens to use on me.

For me, Rio is pure relaxation!!

Jag

Your definition of "relaxation" and mine seem rather far apart!!! Dealing with Brazilian bureaucrats and scam artists (no, not Ken) is relaxation? Granted, fending off a crazy woman with a strap-on is not relaxing either, but I prefer fucking 2-3 garotas a day for relaxation to whatever the hell you seem to be doing in Rio

"and less time fucking than anyone I've ever heard of!"

Who says he's not fucking anyone? The careful reader will note that he seems to be doing quite a job on Don, Wally and I...

I think he still doesn't get why we keep muttering, "Presbyterian" whenever he comes around.

;)

Loved it, Jag.

Branquinho,

Perhaps my next report will only include my sexual exploits as you suggest. I can write it in fifteen minutes; it's only one paragraph long!

Jag

GP,

So that's what you guys mumble when I visit your shop!

Jag

Giblet,
Glad to see your style is improving, all you needed was one of my women to clean you up and make you presentable. I guess that's why you're getting in shape but there is only one Grape Ape. Now get yourself a couple of nice sweatsuits, 3 pairs of Air Maxxx 95's all white and a fitted Yankee hat. Walk around like you are the shiznit, grabb your nuts like they are so big they are rubbing together when you strut and you might pass for my homie. DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT CALL ANYONE "MY NIGGA" especially black people, you're still in "brother" training. If you ever lose your opieness I will tell you the secret to having a big dick.

Jag please explain,
I've been reading your reports for a while now and I still don't know, who the fuck is Princess? I thought it was your daughter but obviously that can't be true so tell me before I start ranting about Gibletpies red hair.

TRW,

Princess is the married woman (at the time, now divorced) that I met on a fight from Heathrow who gave me a fantastic blow job over the Atlantic. I think I discussed meeting her in The Dummy Returns. She again reappears in my third Dummy report The Dummy has Landed.

She half West African and half middle eastern, looks like a young Sophia Loren and sucks like a brand new "Oreck."

Jag

As always a pleasure to read your misadventures Good Job try not to make us wait so long for part 5.

Scooby

Scooby,

Half of Part five is complete and it should be posted around Monday or Tuesday. Shit, if I get drunk over the holidays (a given), maybe on Wednesday.

Jag

Fuck Part V, we want to hear about how your weekend with Hep "B" goes. Will you be inviting the entire CH community to the wedding?

Branquinho,

As I told TheRightWay the other night, I'm in hiding for the weekend. I went out of state for a few days. This girl is nutty enough to show up at my front door at the most inopertune time, if you know what I mean. Shit, now for the next several weeks, maybe even the rest of my life, I'm a fucking prisoner in my own house. BTW, there will be no fucking wedding!!

LSG is thoroughly pissed at me for not "nipping this in the bud." Ironically, I thought she was talking about drinking Budweiser, which I hate. When she realized that I was on the wrong track because I said "I prefer Corona," she went thermo-nuclear. Women, who understands them?

Why do women always wind up hating me at one time or another? Right about now, both LSG and Hep "B" want to kill me; that's why I fled Philly.

Jag

Jaguar

Forget all that broyher in training crap stay just the way you are be yourself you wern't born black.. That way you can keep us entertained with your exotic, erotic adventures.

Scooby

Scooby,

I don't quite understand the "broyther(sic) in training" remark. It won't be the first time that something got past me. Kindly explain it for the rest of the guys and put it in real simple terms for me.

Really, I don't know what you're referring to at all. Not one fucking clue!!

Jag

Scooby,

If you're referring to the "nipping this in the bud" remark, I thought she said "nipping bud" and got momentarily confused.

BTW, "nipping this in the bud" or something similar was Barney Fife's (Felix's double)favorite comment. He was the deputy sheriff on a TV show in the 60's called Mayberry RFD. Didn't know he was black.

Am I getting closer to the mark?

Jag

Hi Jag

That are the chances you are going to be in Rio in August? After all with all your "troubles" visiting you in the States it might be time to pull a switch.

Lmao Jag,
The most hilarious nickname ever "Barney Fife" only because I do see a resemblance and I used to watch Mayberry religiously. How do you think I named Gibletpie Opie? Scooby if it's ok with you I will refer to Felix as "B" instead of Barney Fife only because I am black and I can do that. By the way Scoob, if you ever met Jag you would realize he is extremely white, I would venture to say "super white" and he seems to be pretty happy about that fact. The man tucks his shirts into his shorts and wears loafers with no socks, the blackest part about Jag are his girlfriends who are almost the color purple because they are so damn dark.

This reminds me of that famous song:

She was black as the night.
Jaguar was whiter than white.

Jag-

Great Stuff...enjoyed it.

CB

TRW,

Thanks for the gracious compliment. You're the first person to ever call me "super." BTW, I only wear tassel loafers, not the plain ones.

Sandman once told me to wear flip-flops in Rio to blend in more. Unfortunately, I fall a lot when wearing them and it always sounds like someone's coming up behind me. Being slightly paranoid to begin with, flip-flops only accentuate the problem.

Cole-Haan all the way!

Jag

Jag,
You were made for tassels and I would get rid of my Nike's for the TIBURON VENETIAN Collection but I'm afraid of what I would do to the shit flingers if they hit my Cole-Haans.
Does Felix("B") wear sandals? I always thought guys who wear flip flops or showed their toes were gay.
TRW

TRW,

No Felix doesn't wear sandals, but I think he's gay for another reason that will be explained in Part Six.

BTW, I got real drunk over the weekend and then LSG came over for two nights. I couldn't very well write with her around, could I? Consequently, I'm a little behind in my writing with Part Five only half finished. It should be completed in a few days.

Jag

Well my friend,
Just save you're energy for the most anticipated reunion of the year, between you and the relentless Hep B.
-Fingers Crossed
Felix,
If you can get in touch with Hep B and tell her Jaguar has been home all this time and is awaiting her arrival that would be great.
-instigator