I don’t have a lot of time here, so I’m gonna make this quick. Almost a month ago, I was abducted by the Swiss mafia. Why they wanted me, I’m not quite sure. But for the past few weeks, I’ve been forced into slave labor at a well-known watch factory, sustaining myself on nothing but chocolate.
Aside from the strict diet, they’ve been pretty good to me here. Sure, I’ve received a couple beatings, but I can’t say they weren’t deserved.
The first pummeling I received was when I requested a plate of those delicious meatballs like they serve at Ikea. Apparently, those aren’t Swiss. They’re Swedish. How the fuck was I supposed to know?
But I received the biggest bruises last week. There I was, carefully jamming tiny springs into another overpriced watch, when I turned to my supervisor and casually asked why a neutral country advertises their army so much. I mean, you’ve got your Swiss Army watches, the nail files, the wallets. What the fuck? Anyhow, he apparently didn’t appreciate my query and proceeded to beat me within an inch (or 2.54 centimeters) of my life. Not too coincidentally, it was with a Swiss Army backpack stuffed with 20 pounds (or 9.0718474 kilograms) of chocolate.
Since then, I’ve learned to keep my questions and comments to myself, and they’ve been treating me a lot better. In fact, I had a slight cough a couple days ago, but they gave me a couple of those Riccola lozenges and I was better in no time.
Some of you may be wondering how I could be held captive and still manage to post a new blog entry every week. Well, let me tell you, it’s total bullshit. I wrote that stuff months ago. They found my archive of stories and post them regularly to make it look like I’m still living in California. Pretty clever.
In reality, I’m far away from home, nowhere near a computer. . . Well, I have managed to slip into the office to send this message to you while one of the guards is out using the can. Oh, don’t worry. He’ll be in there for hours. This all-chocolate diet they’ve got us on wreaks havoc on the colon. Apparently, you really can have too much of a good thing. Believe me, I know. Man, I know.
In any case, I better get back to work. If you could, please send help. I’m not expecting some kind of elaborate rescue or anything. I’d be happy if you could just mail me a care package with some Rye Vita crackers in it. Hell, anything with some fiber would be great.
What’s that? My address? Fuck. I guess I should have thought of that before I started writing this. I mean, the only reason I know I’m in Switzerland is because I can look out this window and see the majestic Matterhorn off in the distance: the tiny track running around it, carrying packs of screaming tourists down to its base where . . . Wait a minute. This isn’t Switzerland! MotherFUCKER! I’ve been punked!
8 Comments