Last Saturday night I went out on the piss for a friend’s birthday.

We ended up in a bar in Dublin. Closing time came and people were being asked to leave. I went to the bathroom, and when I emerged two asshole bouncers grabbed me.

“Relax.. What’s your problem?” I protested.

The Slavic dicks offered no explanation and showed me the door.

“Fuck off!” they told me, slamming the door in my face. They didn’t even afford me the time to grab my jacket.

I felt disrespected, emasculated and frankly… a little chilly.

My frustration turned to anger.

I started smacking hard on the window, demanding my jacket, but to no avail. I wanted to maim those pricks.

Red-blooded and in a drunken stupor, I picked up bottle and smashed the window into a million pieces.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the smartest move.

Within a minute I was apprehended and arrested.

The gardaí (police) hauled my into the station,  took all my belongings and read me my rights…

Fuck sake.

In fairness, the police were really cool about it. It looks like I won’t face charges pending I pay for damages. Unfortunately, a custom-made branded window and associated costs and going to cost me a small fortune – hampering my mid-term travel plans.

Anyway, enough doom and gloom…

The good news is I still flying off the Middle East in three days!

Let’s hope I can do some damage over there too..

How do I tell this story?

I have managed (yet again) to leave fire in my wake, this time in Freetown, Sierra Leone.

This is a tale of death threats, arrests, virgins, exile and chicken. Revenge is a dish best served cold…

Ingredients

• 1 freshly prepared chicken with rice
• 1 fish dish with West African plantain
• A spicy blue-eyed chick (1/2 Saudi, 1/2 Liberian mixture)
• A delicious bite-sized Blasian virgin, matured 16 years (1/2 Chinese, 1/2 Sierra Leonian mixture)
• An angry mother hen (virgin’s mother)
• 100% premium Irish Beef (aka myself)

Appetizers

Step 1

Allow the Saudi to prepare chicken dinner. After enjoying food, insert penis. After all, she deserves it after slaving in the kitchen.

Step 2

The following night, allow Blasian virgin to prepare fish dinner before bringing it to your place (aka the slaughterhouse). Be warned, mother hen is lurking in the shadows, wary of her young offspring playing by  the slaughterhouse.

Step 3

Time the meal with the Blasian precisely at the moment the Saudi from the night before walks right by your door.

Step 4

Place Blasian inside to avoid Saudi attack. Mix remaining ingredients. Unleash hell.

Results

The Saudi spice overpowers the Irish beef and everything gets ruined. The heat rises and shit turns nasty. Irish beef becomes mince meat. To compensate, add angry mother hen to counteract the Saudi spice. A violence reaction occurs, the street turns into a warzone with twenty people trying to kill each other. The police become involved and assault charges are filed against the mother hen for her vicious attack on the Saudi. Irish beef escapes with a few bruises, consoles the Saudi and once again inserts penis.

Main Course

Step 1

Allow thing to cool down for one day. After which, attempt fish again with ultra-cute Blasian virgin.

Step 2

Spend amazing night with Blasian. Glaze with honey, sweeten with sugar and leave over night. By morning, the sweet 16yo should be de-virgined after being stuffed with Irish beef. Make sure to use oil and cook with love. Add reggae music to make ‘the belly full’.

Step 3

The Blasian beef combo already make a delicious dish. The aftertaste is to die for. To enrich flavour, appease mother hen. This is done by ringing up the Saudi and threatening to file your own assault charges unless the charges against the mother are withdrawn.

Results

The Saudi explodes. The mother hen is arrested anyway and a death threat is issued. The Irish beef is fast approaching it’s expiry date. With corrupt police being allies of the Saudi this is likely to be very soon. Saudi hires beach boys to do the washing up. Go to the Irish consulate and follow his recommendations.

Dessert

There is no dessert for you, just leave to country as soon as fucking possible. Let’s see what Liberia has on the menu…

What have we learned?

Avoid stuffing your face with chicks who live close your slaughterhouse. Hazards include death, mad cow disease and diarrhea.

 

 

EVERY VISITOR TO SUDAN MUST REGISTER WITH AN OFFICIAL ALIEN REGISTRATION OFFICE WITHIN 3 DAYS.

Most people register upon entry.

We didn’t.

Making our way from Cairo to Cape Town, Danny and I refused to pay an inflated premium to entertain the bureaucrats at the border of Wadi Halfa. We insisted we would make arrangements in the capital Khartoum.

We didn’t .

Three days elapsed and the window closed. We remained apathetic. 8 Epic Arabian Nights passed. On the 9th day, we awoke in a merchant’s shed in Gallabat, the border town before Ethiopia.

A narrow bridge occupied by heavily armed Sudanese soldiers separated us from the next realm of Africa.

6AM: We attempted to cross, but a quick glance at our passports landed us in trouble.

Inevitability, we found ourselves in the custody of  some rather uncouth army officals.

“You did not regisister! This is unacceptable”

“But we, we thought…” Our excuses fell on deaf hears.

“You must pay $70 each.” He demanded.

“But we don’t have that kind of money and the only ATM is in Khartoum.” I protested.

“We then enjoy Sudan.”

7AM: We were released and told to return with the money. Things looked grim. Khartoum was at least a day’s travel and $70 felt like a fortune on our budget. Fuck that.

“What do we do now?” Danny asked.

“Follow me” I said.

The border bridge hung over a deep trench where a small stream meandered. I followed the stream as far out of sight from the bridge as possible. A small Sudanese kid followed us.

“Hey kid, where’s the nearest town in Ethiopia?” I asked.

The boy picked up a stone and threw it across the stream to the other side. Ethiopia was only a few metres away.

I scanned the trench; it looked an easy obstacle. But that wasn’t my concern. The bridge was being patrolled by a lone sentry who’s shadow stalked the land in the dusty dawn light. A watchman, armed with a shimmering ambassador of death; an AK-47. His back was turned.  I had a momentary lapse in reason. Seizing the opportunity,  I began descending into the trench.  It was a reckless decision…

“What the fuck are you doing?” Danny whispered.

“Come on, it’ll be grand”

With barely a moment’s hesitation he followed. I wasn’t the only one with looking for an adrenaline rush; Danny was no stranger to danger. Time was of the essence.

We reached the bottom, crossed the stream and started scrambling up the other side, becoming alarmingly visible. If any of the guards saw us, there was a good chance we could be shot in the back.

We stayed silent, kept our bodies low and moved in a stealthy manner.

My heart was pounding so heart I thought the noise would give us away.

We made a last dash to take cover in the shrubbery across the border.

In the safety of an African bush, I savoured the moment of relief. We had evaded capture.

Navigating our way through the bushes we eventually stepped out to Metema, the Ethiopian border town!

But alas, our troubles were anything from over…

7.10 AM: We enter the border office to validate our Ethiopian visas, a small hut with no electricity. The border official, a stoutly gentleman, sporting a large moustache greeted us. He asked us to sit down and took our passports. Investigating the pages, he  looked increasingly puzzled.

“OH! You did not leave Sudan. You must GO BACK. You must GO BACK NOW!”

Our faces dropped and our stomachs tightened. I panicked. Not only did we deify the authorities with registration, we also just jumped the border illegally. That meant prison. Prison in one of the most oppressive countries in the world. A country that stones adulterers to death; where Sharia law reigns supreme. Weeks before, the Sudanese authorities had even jailed a women for calling a teddy bear Muhammed. Our lives were over.

“WE CAN’T GO BACK! THEY WILL ARREST US!” I pleaded, explaining how the Sudanese  authorities had stopped us crossing. I broke down and told a tale of woe; a tale of extortion; a tale of two young infidels being exploited by corrupt officials…

We were on trial. Our prison: Sudan. We had made our defence but the odds were against us – we had blatantly broken the law.  We sat in despair awaiting the verdict.

Our judge held a stern deposition.

The tension was soul destroying.

“Ehh.. Sudanese!” He laughed, stamping our passports.

7.18AM: “WELCOME TO ETHIOPIA!”