"I Can Explain,...No Really I Can"

Way back in 1974 I gets this call from Abbie Hoffman when he was on the lam from da Feds. Well he tells me about that fucking giant UFO them feds is sitting out in Montana.

He gives me coordinates the works.
Sez he want's me to give the low down to the Dali Lama.

Then I hears shots on the line,...bleep!

Still I has to get this shit to the frigging Dali Lama in bleeping India,...I ain't been west of Chicago at the time. While I'm standing there with a dead phone in my hand, and a possible dead Abbie at the other end.

Then a flaming pouch tied to a brick shaped like a birthday cake comes fly'n through my window. Aw Com'on!
Anyway I Opens it, and there's a note from Holden Caulfield who everybody, and their indicted uncle thinks is fictional,...but ain't.

There's also a ticket to Geneva with a re-route to Somalia then another direct to New Deli. That plus a load 'a passports, and a big bunch of money,...cash!
Holden sez to contact some Midwestern crooked politico fixer named Clinton in Geneva.
Btw there's a gun in that bag too. Ol' Holden sez to shoot the "fixer" once business is done,...bleep!
I ain't shoot'n shit.

I took the dough shit canned them hot passports which probably would've got me stuck up against the first handy wall, and split the hell out'a there. Every phone booth I ran pass was ringing,...they had me spotted covered sighted, and bleeped up the tail light with no grease in sight!
Fuck, and I thought I was gonna get laid,...another story.

*To be continued.