My adventures in the putrid hellhole known as Arizona have come to an end. It turns out that Senator McCain was none too pleased with last night’s speech, and ordered his staff to put me on the first plane out of Phoenix this morning.
Not a moment too soon as far as I’m concerned. For one thing, no one involved with the reelection campaign was able to point me in the direction of a decent whorehouse — a completely unacceptable situation in which to find oneself.
For another, I lost my stash of OxyContin at some point during the night, and my usual connection, Skynyrd Dave, was unwilling to fly in for a resupply mission. Given that I’m in a constant state of pain, this simply would not do. No, really. Pain all the time. Honest. Stop looking at me like that, goddammit.
Anyhow, I’m now comfortably ensconced in the first class section of an Airbus A380, quaffing Old Fashioneds and enjoying the amazing view. And by “view” I mean “perky young stewardesses,” who are going to give me a priapism if they’re not careful. Hopefully one of them will be willing to provide emergency medical treatment if it comes to that. It is, after all, a five-hour flight, and I’m sure they wouldn’t want a man’s death on their conscience. Wink wink nudge nudge, eh?