My name is Kan Go Vyrawl and I write in easy-to-comprehend layman’s terms. I report when needed to my rabble. And my needs are never not needed. For I am…”A Rabble Rouser.” Join me now, as I journey south of the equator to view for myself, Utopia’s unique non-pear-shaped beauties. A fantasy firmly embedded in every man’s mind. It was last described by Adam in “Garden Temptations.” He failed his temptation test miserably however, God also knew his biological experiment was an astounding success.
Dateline: Cartagena, Columbia
As the 535 congressional members and the Joint Chiefs disembark down the ramp of the newly refurbished Costa Concordia, thong-clad Latin ladies hang lush green coca wreaths around their necks. On each is a business card with wreath chewing and seeping instructions and their room key. Security leads them to the debriefing area, a large hot-tub/wave-pool tiki bar complete with discreet poolside masseuse cabanas.
The House of Representatives leader addresses the group: “Let us all now walk in their footsteps, those who failed us, those who have disrespected our great country and strayed, wandered down the forsaken path of unimaginable wonderful lust. Let us discover for ourselves, to prevent further disintegration of out great society why, in this miserable third-world country, this Latin lust, a tourist-attractant, stress relieving, free-for-all frolic is legal…and why we as Americans, living in the freest country on earth have to travel all this damn way, to experience our god-given right of mind-blowing release. Are we not all emotional human beings…with needs. He begins to blubber and with tears flowing down both cheeks, he raises his rum-filled coconut. “To the people, for the people”! The dignitaries erupt in applause.
The contingent begins to trace said tracks and orders drinks at noon. In the unfortunate event of any of the more elderly statesmen veering down the already-been-blazon path, several high-ranking pharmaceutical reps (a permanent poolside presents) offer up 4-hour-boner samples to all in attendance. If mistakenly combined with a “Columbian wake-up call,” (coffee seeped in crushed coca and Latin America’s version of 5-Hour Energy) stationed nearby was the 16th-century blood-letting table, for those rulers who may lose the resolve test and require the age-old remedy to resume a normal penile profile and to prevent further AD disaster.
Fact finders view a large yacht moored off the beach next to a large US Navy ship. Rumors abound that it belongs to the current top-transgressor/down-on-his-luck (yeah right) billionaire professional golfer. He is seen in the distance surrounded by an entourage of ex-pro b-ball players. His hold is said to hold reps from Go Daddy, Dancing with the Stars, and executives of beer companies, most reality TV shows including Survivor and every prominent weather channel. They are all being ferried ashore by the yacht’s skiff when a joint Columbian and American “Military Show of Mighty Morals” begins to the delight of the Hotel Caribe’s guests.
Several WW-II landing craft are released from a US Navy vessel anchored near the yacht and make their way through calm seas, beaching on the sugar sand. When the crafts dropped their large front hatches, camouflaged, bikini-clad marines waving AKs from Columbia’s elite “Lady Seals” emerge with team leader Major Dania leading the charge to the Caribe. Dignitaries and military commanders cheer wildly and congratulate each other. The joint military-civilian morals exercise proved highly effective during the 2-week-long “sting” to weed out the wienies.
Columbian mountain music fills the air. Life is once again back to normal in the bougainvillea-scented trade-windy, Caribbean port.
Listen closely, you can hear the sound of the sunshine, sizzlin’ slightly, as it goes down, extinguished by the warm aqua sea.
Color me gone,