Travel

Communique from Cómpeta – #4

Pablo de Pato, left: “Hold up. Who are you and why are you in my kingdom?”

Scotch the Duck, right: “I’m not sure how I got here. I was sunning in my favorite spot at Casa Bonnywood and then I woke up in a suitcase. It was dark and there was no kibble and I wasn’t happy.”

Pablo: “That sounds like the work of infidels.”

Scotch: “It sounds like the work of my Daddies. They think things are funny when no one else does. I didn’t like being shoved between underwear and sunscreen. There are better things in life.”

Pablo: “Then you will join me in suppressing the usurpers.”

Scotch: “I’m not really sure what two of those words are. But if it means talking to my Daddies about boundaries and poor decisions, then I’m all in. Wait, will there be snacks?”

Pablo: “The usurpers have massive reserves of rations in yonder villa. It reeks of self-absorption and gluttony. No one needs 36 kinds of potato chips, mounds of skewered things that can be barbecued, and massive vats of unnaturally-distilled alcohol.”

Scotch: “Then you’ve never been to Bonnywood Manor.”

Pablo: “It sounds like this Bonnywood enclave is a cesspool of inequity and random uselessness. All the more reason we should quash the evildoers.”

Scotch: “You sound a lot like someone I know. Are you the press secretary for the White House?”

Pablo: “All of the houses in Cómpeta are white. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Scotch: “I’ve never been very good at being specific. Let’s just get this done so I can eat something and then sleep for 12 hours.”

Pablo: “Great. Now, let’s go find the illegal immigrants and treat them inhumanely so my followers can work themselves into a frenzy of self-righteous indecency.”

Scotch: “I say we figure out where that Madonna music is coming from and then follow the trail of potato chip crumbs…”

 

Greetings from Cómpeta, Spain. More to follow. Assuming that I survive the War of the Poses…

 

17 replies »

  1. I’ve got a dreadfully unpleasant image forming of how those demented devotees work themselves into their self-righteous frenzy. Please excuse me for a moment – I need to divest myself of breakfast. I will be back in just a jiffy and napkining (that’s a form of kidnap involving stealth and a serviette) Scotch the Duck and keeping him hostage in my designer handbag until you are ready to squish him back in your valise for the return. This is for his own good though I do expect him to get a little squeaky. Be glad you have a stalker handy whilst you partake in hedonistic jollity 😉

    Liked by 2 people

    • Ah, I knew I could count on you. Let’s meet at the special place so we can review further plans whilst we swill modest cocktails. We must align proper stratagems that will not arouse suspicion. But be sure to wear the red chemise if you suspect our cover has been blown, and I will slip away into the night…

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I am concerned that both your Cat and your Duck are called Scotch. Could this be sign that you are imbibing to much of the aforementined spirit – or are you just lacking imagination (raised eyebrow).

    Liked by 3 people

    • Well, it’s always a good plan to be suspicious of improper imbibing at Bonnywood, but in this case I was merely trying to be clever with the duality of the naming. On hindsight, though, it does appear a bit lazy on my part… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Neil. In one sense, it will be good to get back home. In another sense, I am scouring my retirement accounts to see if there might be some way to never leave southern Spain. I’ll keep you posted… 😉

      Like

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