Tales of a Wandering Warlord Part 8: Git Outta Gitmo Ya Git!

NOVEMBER 8th, 2006.

"All right prisoners," called a rough voice from outside my cell, "it's time for waterboarding!"

I went to the bars and looked out in the hall, a burly Marine Corps Sergeant was walking down the hall carrying a large flat gym bag. Prisoners hurled insults in Arabic, spit, urine, feces, and semen at the Sergeant, but he just blocked their attacks with the bag.

"Settle down boys," said the Sergeant with gentle good humour, "if you keep acting up, they're won't be any sprinkles for your sundaes tonight."

The barrage stopped as quickly as it started.

"You must be the new guy," said the Sergeant. "So this will be your first waterboarding."

"I guess," I said, not knowing exactly what 'waterboarding' was outside of media speculations.

"You're gonna need this," said the Sergeant as he zipped open the gym bag. He then pulled out a florescent green boogie board. "Now get into your swim trunks double time."

I took the boogie board. My head was still spinning from the explosion and my telekinetic powers would be useless for another day or two. There was no way I could escape this place the media and Democrats had hailed as the 'New Gulag.'

What horror did I find myself trapped in?


"Everybody into the pool!" barked the Sergeant.

"What the hell is going on here?" I asked. My Marine-issue swimwear was a tad small for my rather robust frame, and resembled a speedo that bulged in all the right places, if you're paying attention ladies...

"We live in an area prone to hurricanes," declared the Sergeant as the other prisoners climbed into the pool, "we are bound by regulations to ensure that every prisoner has a minimum amount of swimming experience in case they get blown out to sea. And since most of our prisoners are from desert countries they need to use these 'waterboards' to help learn how to swim properly. Now get in the pool. Or they'll be no sundae for you!"

I got into the pool. The other prisoners, being mostly from dessert countries sort of flopped around, while Navy divers tried to teach them how to swim. Being able to breathe underwater it wasn't exactly a worry for me, so I decided to cool off a little and do a few laps.


"Lunch time!" bellowed another Marine as myself and the other prisoners came out of the dressing room by the pool. A row of guards double timed us to a long cafeteria hall. There I was pushed into line and handed a plastic tray.

"Is that a sloppy joe?" I asked the lady at the counter.

"It is Wednesday," she explained, "that's sloppy joe day. Would you like regular or chocolate milk?"

I looked around, if the place had a few more and heavier armed guards, it would looked exactly like the cafeteria in my old junior high. I expected Suzi FaxOrbat to come swanning by any minute.

"So new guy," said a bearded fellow named Achmed as I sat at a table, "you do realize that you are in a death camp."

"Death camp?"

"That's what you must tell everyone you write to," declared Achmed. "We must get this place as much bad publicity as possible so it will be shut down."

"Wait a minute," I said, "a death camp isn't a place where you gain weight, and judging by the spread of your hindquarters you've been here a while."

"Aren't you a soldier of Allah?"

"Dude," I answered, "I ain't even from this frikkin' planet. I don't even know why I'm here. DAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMNNNN!!!! That's a great sloppy joe!"

After lunch I volunteered to help move some boxes from a truck to one of the camp buildings, it was a good excuse to get a look around so I'd be ready when my strength came back. I picked up a box labelled 'Halal Ketchup Packets' and walked into a room.

What I saw shocked me.

In one corner was a bunch of naked prisoners, piled on top of each other in a human pyramid. In another corner a man clad in a black hood and garbage stood on a box. A burly Marine Colonel stood at the centre of the room shaking his head.

"You call this a production of 'Oklahoma!'" bellowed the Colonel. "All this artsy-fartsy art direction does not invoke a sense of the American west!" As the human pyramid disassembled itself the Colonel then turned his rage to the man in the corner. "And what's with this costume!?! Curly McLain's supposed to be a free-spirited cowboy, not a goddamn German performance artist! This isn't rocket science this is Rodgers & Hammerstein! Now I want you to go over the barn dance number again, and by the time I get back you better get me starstruck, or I'll cancel the whole production! I will not see you butcher this show they way you butchered 'The King & I' last year."

"We did not butcher that!" said a prisoner named Abdul.

"Your portrayal of the King of Siam couldn't have been more lifeless if we had dug the corpse of Yul Brynner to replace you!"

Abdul ran away crying.

The prisoners grumbled, and started digging out their cowboy costumes.

This place was getting weirder all the time.

NOVEMBER 12th, 2006.

"There he is," said a guard, pointing to me as I made an yet another three point shot, completely crushing the team of Yemeni Al Qaida. "He's the big blue fellow."

A smart looking Army officer came into the gym and he strode right towards me.

"I would like to extend my most sincere apologies sir," said the Army Officer.

"For what?"

"Your incarceration here," said the Officer. "It seems that you were captured and sent here by mistake."

"I already knew that," I said. "Who caught me, anyway?"

"Keifer Sutherland," answered the Army Officer.

"The guy from '24'?"

"Yessir," answered the Officer, "every once and a while he gets so into his role that he occassionally.....well let's just say he captures people that he thinks are terrorists. That is: If they survive the explosion."

"And you just accepted a prisoner from an actor?"

"He's really good at it," answered the Officer, "I think he won an Emmy, and he just happened to convince the right people. So I'm here to take you back the USA."

"No thanks," I said, "I'll stay here a while."

"Why do you want to stay here?"

"Good grub," I answered, "my own room, and I get a lap dance from a hot female naval officer as some form of interrogation. No responsibilities, no worries, it's the best vacation I've had in a long time."

"I'm sorry," he said, "you can't stay here in a prison full of hard core killers. Or we'll have to bill you."

"Fine," I sighed, "can you drop me off at Area 51, I've got a ride there."


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

What is the next production at Gitmo? Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?