Monday, April 18, 2011
The Ghaddafi Dream
One of the elevator shafts in my apartment is actually a missile silo. It belongs to Ghaddafi, who secretly happens to be hiding out in Indonesia, right in my apartment complex, but of course in French Walk, the fancier units. Me and some friends decided to put a bee in his bonnet by sneaking into the missile silo and disabling the firing mechanism. Elevators are from transportation, not raining death and destruction on people, got it Muammar! After the successful completion of this James Bond like mission, me and my team were discussing our coup at a cafe. Across from us, there were a suspicious looking group of Arab guys. When I left, I tried to look nonchalant as I passed them, by casually maintaining my head at a 90 degree angle in the opposite direction, but through a window, I made out their reflection and noticed all their eyes riveted on me! The next day, I was heading to work when I noticed some special Indonesian guards, they had real high falutin' uniforms, but both were speaking English and looked more like grad students than elite guards. I was pretty sure that if worst came to worst, they wouldn't be able to protect me from Ghaddafi's men. One morning I was staring out my window when I saw, sitting atop a patio in lux leather chairs, a dark curly haired guy making out with a mediterranean looking woman. I had my suspicions that it was Ghaddafi's son. The odd thing was, the guy was sitting right beside another guy who seemed to be totally ignoring the show going on immediately to his right. Suddenly, the woman noticed me watching. The woman said something to the man, and nodded her head in my direction. The two men conferred in whispers for a moment. I decided that was a good time to stop staring and ducked out of sight. When I looked up again, the make out guy was gone! A few minutes later, Ghaddafi son started smashing through my door! I put a bunch of furniture in the way to block it, but to no avail, he smashed a hole where the door knob was, reached in and unlatched the door. Luckily, neither of us had realized it was a pull door, not a push door and so he still couldn't get through. I was safe for the moment, but would he be back with guns? Would he be waiting outside for me? If Ghaddafi can inspire this much fear in me, half a world away, just think what it must be like to live under his regime.