Episode 50

Reflections from the life and times of Mr. Smith. So there I was in Africa. Somewhere in Africa. It’s hot here. I’m hot here. At least the natives think I’m hot…for a 52 year old balding white guy from America. I think its supposed to be a compliment. I was staying in a grass hut made of…grass. They had lots of interesting types of food, too. Like chicken-soup, made with goat. And pork broth, made with chicken. Every evening, the whole tribe gathered around the camp-fire and danced and sang songs, and sprinkled powder over me. It was some type of honorary new-comers thing. They kept on feeding me lots and lots of food. Lots of cornbread made of rice. Huge hunks of wild boar, made of domesticated pigs. I stuffed my face every night, and they continued to sprinkle white powder on me. One day they brought out a huge black pot, big enough to fit Elvis in it. As they danced around the pot, they poured water in it. Then they showed me a cool hut, in which there were several strikingly beautiful females who gave me a massage. After that, they invited me to come sit in an honorary place – above the great big black pot full of boiling hot water. I could tell it was reserved for very important people only. Then as I sat in my throne, I enjoyed watching a game of ball, played by the young children. I couldn’t quite grasp the purpose of this game, but it seemed they were aiming for this little round target, down to my right, which was connected to the bottom of my chair. One of the boys hit the target. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the boiling pot. Then I realized it was just a fun way of getting me into a Jacuzzi! Then, because the vents apparently weren’t working, they took two large wooden spoons and spun me around. I could have sat there for hours. In fact I did. It was very nice and warm. I couldn’t quite understand the looks on the faces of the natives, when I stood up and got out of the pot. Had they never seen a duct tape suit before? I had been wearing it underneath my clothes, which had boiled off. The natives all dropped on their hands and knees and started singing something in some strange language I couldn’t understand. As I walked towards the edge of the village, I raised my arms and said in a loud voice, “Thank you for the food and the Jacuzzi!” They all shuddered and ran. I never understand strange natives, except for the blond-haired one. In Fiji.
Thus ends this week’s reflections. And then my mirror image disappeared.