Kolonel and the J-Man head to Afghanistan for Pub Crawl
For the past two months now, the J-Man and the Kolonel have been wondering what the hell all the hulla-ballu is out in the sticks of Afghanistan. With absolutely no avenues to pursue, the J-Man decided the only way to ascertain what was going on, was for the two "generals of rock" to go on a pub crawl.
J-Man: "From what I can work out, apparently some dude has got lost in the hills somewhere, and everyone is trying to find him. If I know lost people, he’ll be somewhere in a pub. We’ll obviously go incognito, to avoid getting hurt. Frankly, unless I’m armed to the teeth with assault rifles, I don’t even feel safe going to the bank link on the Lisburn Road."
The Kolonel: "We can help. And help we will. Mexico has ….Afghanistan, that’s right, Afghanistan". [Kolonel falls over].
The American embassy was not impressed with the Kolonel and J-mans offer of assistance, but refused to make any comments "on the record."
Rumsfield: "I’ll punch him"
Undeterred the Kolonel and the J-man set out on their drunken quest. The J-Man had to of course make some minor modifications to his car. Armed only with a monkey wrench, the modification were complete in a matter of hours.
J-Man: "MOT boys wont stand a chance of catching me now".
The Kolonel whistled in amazement. "Infringe my rights will they?" [This time last year, customs officers found nearly 6,000 cigarettes, 35 kilograms of rolling tobacco and 45 bottles of spirits in the Kolonel’s camper van, in a return trip from France. His load and van were seized. The Kolonel tried to take HM customs to court, claiming they had infringed on his civil liberties. Although he insisted all contents were for personal use, he lost. He lost his van, dignity, wife, kids and watch. The Kolonel didn’t feel customs would be able to catch him this time.]
The trip to Afghanistan was a relatively uneventful one, despite the Kolonel insisting they go to Mexico. Within minutes of arriving, the Whiterussian boys were already blending in with the local population.
The Kolonel blends in.
After joining a street rally and kicking the shit out of a number of strangers in an effort to blend in, the boys began their search in the first pub they came across. It was a cosy little place know as "Nubblinnipple". The trick, as always was to get nicely blasted, and allow the solution to present itself.
"Crap pints… but colourful" remarked the J-Man.
After finishing in the Nubblinnipple, the boys headed onto "The Masochistic Iraqi", and finally wound up in "Assama’s Inn". The Kolonel’s vision had begun to deteriorate, the pints losing their lovely colours, and stark outlines.
The Kolonel: "This isn’t Mexico. It can’t be Mexico"
The J-man was having the time of his life with the owner of the Inn. An oddly familiar man, who in a way, scared the shit out of him. This guy owned a lot of tanks, but the J-man still couldn’t place a name on him. After the J-Man’s crooning of "nowhere to run" by Martha and the Vandellas, the owner became even more distant, and even more scary. The J-Man decided the only way to get to the bottom of this, was to challenge the scary, bearded man to a game of strip poker.
The Kolonel, however was not helping the situation. His cool was deteriorating rapidly, along with his vision. In a matter of minutes of the J-Man commencing his game, the Kolonel became pale, pointing at an object in the distance. "Orrararay!!!!" cried the Kolonel.
Artist’s impression of what the Kolonel saw
The Kolonel was becoming hysterical, clawing at his robes, desperate for air. The J-Man raced over to ease his friend’s fear, but to no avail. Fitting, and clawing at the air, the Kolonel ripped off his towel.
The Mission was in dire straits.
The kind inn-keeper was pointing at the Whiterussian boys, screaming his lungs off. They had been rumbled. With all the agility of a drunken elephant, the J-man grabbed the Kolonel, dragging him onto the street where an undercover MOT man, working for the fifth division of road safety NI, spotted the J-Man.
MOT undercover agent Black "Get him boys".
Grabbing the Kolonel by the scruff of his neck, the J-Man raced down the street at flank speed. The Kolonel drunkenly swung his bottle at the pursuing crowd screaming "Fararagone!!!" like a Banshee in heat. The J-Mans fear proved the best fuel for speed. Clambering into J-Mans renovated car the boys were airborne in no time. Unfortunately, agent Black pursued them in a heavily armed MOT patrol vehicle, and pursued them in Afghan airspace.
Agent Black - raging.
Kolonel panics and hits every button in arms reach
It was only when DOV opened communications with agent Black from a remote location, did the boys secure their escape. Threatening all sorts of atrocities, (e.g. shaving his wife’s beard) agent Black was forced to land.
DOV "Back off man, I’m a scientist".
The boys gave a sigh of relief, soiled themselves, and went back to what they do best - drinking.
A lot of questions plagued J-Mans mind - who was the inn-keeper, how did the MOT officials know to find him in Afghanistan, and where did that itch (which bore all the hallmarks of syphilitic illness) come from. Shrugging, he necked the Powers, safe in the knowledge that through drinking, the solution would present itself.
