Last night was complete and utter madness. The type of madness where your head twictches, and your eyes feel like tiny throbbing baloons ready to blow out of there sockets. I`ve never drank a cocktail of pure excitment, fear and relief, like it in my life.
It started with rat hunting on the orange farm i`m on. They have the biggest rats in the world over here the size of small dogs. I can`t remember their names but their meat tastes really nice, so i believe. And even though it`s illegal, Brazilians hunt them, boil them and eat them with fried onions, chips and a couple of glasses of coke. They then go to work on their teeth with tooth picks. It`s supposed to be sticky kind of flesh if cooked properly. We went hunting them down near a river bank, have it on my camcorder. Almost wet myself when we came over a nest of them. I was like Ryan Giggs leggin it up the wing when the patriarch stared at me. Ominous, pitch black eyes, that looked like black diamonds, long pointy teeth that looked like a crocadiles smile. And a hiss like a cat. The weirdest thing happened when they attacked Dido, the farm caretaker (the most knowledgeable man i know abour oranges, he`s got an MBA in orange growing). He got away by jumping over a fence. When he landed his leg fell into a little hole through a plank of wood. He didn`t hurt himself but he took out a small bag from the hole. A full, big, buldging, bag of coke. Dido wanted to bring it to the cops, and they did but before it was handed over one of the boys took a tiny bag for himself; i know i shouldn`t have, but i closed my ears to Eusebius and opened them to Brutos, and said to hell with it, time is a dart thrown only once, and decided to break my Class A virginity and take aim at the bulls eye. We drove around the city centre for a few hours with a bit of sepultura heavy metal banging and blaring. It was hilarious. Eventually we saw some hookers on the side of the street and one of the lads who will remain nameless strated shouting over them at the top of his voice. 'Free coke for free action.' We didn`t get far as the cops pulled us in and searched us and the car for 15 minutes. I had to go down with the boys to the police station to get my passport copied. That was it for me, beside a heavy, intrusive body search, by a crusty looking, dodgy barnet, dodgy smiling, dodgy gold ring wearing, fag copper. I didn't really get much verbal abuse as they knew i understood nothing but the boys were interrogated. Not badly, but for a long time. Eventually after three hours in a dingy little room we were let go. We had got free! I couldn`t believe it! They hadn`t found the coke? It didn`t add up? Outside the answer was revealed. One of the boys had cleverly shoved the bag up his ass. It had been a moment of pure clarity, pure Grade A genius. Razor sharp, credit card thinking, under huge pressure. He said he had been thought the technique in Colombia by his grandmother and that he won`t have done it only for the plastic bag was made out of very good materials. A mixture of Argentinian and Japanese production, he said (this guy seemed to have a MBA in synthetics to rival Didos). The funniest thing of the entire night happened before we had another few lines on the way home and picked up the hookers. It was something the head policeman said to me before we were kicked out. He turned to the boys, smiled incessantly, cackling like a fat rat just fed on oranges, and pointed to me with his two index fingers and said, `1-0 to the gringo, 1-0 to the gringo. happy april`s fool!The rat hunting was kind of true!?!
