No! No! NOOOOOO!
It's not about "
quo(
s)," and it's not "
quads," and for that matter, it certainly isn't about "
quacks!"
Oops.
:o:o
:o
Ahem...
"
Quids" is what this thread is about, as anyone can see in the title and
WHEWWW!!!
It was horrible, but finally, I made it back, friends!
As you can see, I was in the midst of composing a reply to this invaluable, and much-loved thread, when all of a sudden, the front door to my penthouse that overlooks the River Rouge was smashed open and a swarm of sunglass-wearing and shot-gun toting marauders burst in, while from the over head the whirling sound of helicoper blades could be heard as well as the deafening roar from an occasional jet aircraft making a low-level sortie over the parking garage!
Hand-cuffed, gagged, and blindfolded, I was then dragged to the roof, and then lashed to some device unknown to me and then, I could feel myself being hoisted aloft as the mind-numbing buzz of the whirling blades grew increasingly louder. In a matter of less than a minute, I could feel myself being hauled into what with out question was the cabin of a helicoptor and then immediately restrained to the deck by its occupants, who spoke only in brief sentences among themselves. I could then feel the shirt sleeve on my right arm savagely being sliced to pieces as if by a knife, and the acrid smell of burning polyester rent the air at an ungodly one-thousand plus feet above sea level.
With my now bare arm firmly being held by these unknown assailants, I could then feel a sharply pointed device pierce my skin repeatedly, and then… then I rapidly drifted off to an unconscious state, with the only thoughts that I could recall thinking at the time was
“…gee, they didn’t even ask if I have any allergies…”
It was a strange environment that I found myself in, upon regaining consciousness. And as soon as I did, an interrogation most violently commenced! The rubber hose was brought repeatedly against my skin and the searingheat and blinding light from scores of quartz lamps pointed in my direction, as well as the dreaded “
Hamtramck water-torture” made for a most uncomfortable afternoon—or so I though it was, but then again the imposed delirium and the ceaseless physical assault of my person disabled much of my judgment.
And just as incessant was the questions leveled at me that came at such rapid-fire pace that time was not allowed between one question and the one to follow it, were an attempt be made to provide an answer. Again, and again, these “persons” spewed a fusillade of the virtually the same question, after question, after question, and with scant variation with every monotonous volley, that, I soon concluded, these “persons” sorely lacked in the creativity department, and gave serious thoughts to recommending for their collective perusal and personal edification to examine a few of the threads I created at
FreeOnes, but for reasons unknown to me at this time, I apparently neglected to do so.
Hours had passed, and my captors seemed discontent, and slightly perturbed by my attitude, and made accusations directed against my person that I was a “
trader,” which I privately took as a compliment, as I have, in fact, dabbled in the stock market, and with some modest success I shoulkd say, yet I would not allow these rogues have the satisfaction to acknowledge that they had successfully appealed to my favor. With my captors seeming having tired from this desultory, and illegal activity, I deemed, I was then blindfolded, cuffed, etc., and then escorted across a blistering-hot field that reeked of diesel oil and exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke and occasionally a delightful, sweet-scented breeze unlike any that we have in the Wayne County area.
I was then shown to my dormitory, which, much to my dismay, I had to share with another person, a bearded young man who seem less that content with the accommodations both those in our immediate proximity and of those in general, which, as he had related to me, he had taken residency of in late November of 2001. Remarking, in an earnest effort to make “conversation,” that such time was around when my birthday occurs, his reply was cold and distanced, and went to biding his time by animatedly reciting out loud what I perceived to be as some literature endeared to him, that I understood not the language of. In between dodging the various contents of our humble dormitory being thrown at me, I did find out that he and the current President of the United States do share the same middle name. That should have made me feel better, and for a while, it did.
While having been acquainted with this person for only the briefest of time, regardless, I did feel it my right to admonish him for his violent actions and for destroying his own posessions, as few as they were, but he took to heart not these words of wisdom, and instead scoffed, as he threw a perfectly good pair of sandals out the window and snidely remarked with a snort "I know where I can
get mo'." I was hardly a proponent for the acceptance of Ebonics as a recognized language, but I demmured to the situation, and silently resolved to address this matter in the near future.
Having finally settled down in my new home, and having fully agreed to the conditions of residency, alternating on a weekly basis as to which party sleeps on the lower or upper bunk, or which party is entitled to first read the comics in the morning newspaper, etc., and looking forward to my first meal in this new habitat, the sound of pounding feet heading towards us could be heard, and then soon, fists were pounding on the front door, demanding entry— which was entirely unnecessary, as they brought with them the key, and besides, it wasn’t much of a door anyways, and although while being in vogue with the rest of the community, as I could tell, this door consisted of little more than bars of heavy steel welded together, and while perhaps a bit too Victorian for my tastes, it did allow for excellent cross-ventilation in our dormitory—I was again dragged out of my home, and again across the hot field and up and down and who knows where and eventually in to the same room, with the same rubber hose, flood lights and that Geneva Convention-defying Hamtramck water-torture apparatus.
And as if nothing had intervened between sessions, the ruthless interrogation resumed at full force. And again, the same tired, innane questions spewed from the interrogator’s gaping mouth, and just the same, I continued to deny them any solace nor soothing words to succor their overzealously piqued interest that seemingly had overtaken the few remaining remnants of reason like a debilitating fixation:
“Al-Quida (?!) I ain’t never heard of ‘em!"
Michael Chertoff still wants to know!!!
