Two years ago Osama Bin laden escaped from a White House detention cell. Neither the FBI, CIA, NSA, or Boy Scouts have a clue as to his whereabouts. Several talent agencies interest in booking the terrorists on Oprah and BBC’s Hardline have also failed to find the Saudi warlord as will as a dozen credit card companies seeking payment for the 9/11 flights. Seems the hijackers credit cards bounced a week later.
Rumors have placed the world’s most wanted man in the tribal areas of Pakistan, Elton John’s penthouse as well as GW Bush’s Crawford, Texas ranch and the Breakers in Palm Beach.
I actually met one of his brothers in London during the 80s. Bought us drinks at Annabelle’s.
Nice guy. He died in a plane crash. In the 1980s. Not 9/11.
Anyway I was surprised to overhear Osama Bin Ladin’s name at the Buffalo Bar the other night.
Tuk was telling about an Arab trying to recruit girls to be celestial virgins for a training camp of religious devotees. Seems he was seeking to replicate the Muslim version of heaven on earth for his followers. Heaven A Go Go might have been a candidate, except the present clientele of Western go-go aficionados weren’t surrendering their stools to towel heads.
I interrupted Tuk’s telling the new girls to ignore the Arab’s offers.
“Osama Bin Laden?” I couldn’t believe my ears.
“He come three nights.” She showed me a photo of them together. “Bought me many lady drinks. Asked me to go to camp.”
“And why didn’t you?” It was Osama.
“He not tip. I think he Cheap Charlie.” Three other girls said the same thing.
“You know the whole world is looking for him.”
“He stay here. Have many farang in bar. Not one care about him. Only care about lady. Care about get drunk.” Tuk shrugged, because Thais are the most zenotrophic race on the planet this side of the frogs. “Police want I find him. Any Thai lady can. He not pay her. She find him with brother. Beat him with shoes. Me, I can find him one minute.”
“You know where he is.” The reward was a million dollars. That works out to one million beers, which would take me about 300 years to drink.
“Not anymore.” Tuk smiled knowingly. “But he come back. Where he find 77 virgins in Pattaya?”
Certainly not in the Marine Plaza where his cohorts hang out.
I called the American embassy with this information and was put on hold.
The music during the wait was mostly western. Finally a recorded voice came on line and said, “Sorry, your call is important. Please leave a message. Someone will get back to you after the end of the NBA play-offs.”
I hung up and decided to mind my own business.
Maybe I’ll run into Osama. Take him to a bar. They know how to handle his type there. Especially if he doesn’t tip or is kee-nio.
By the way if Playboy can find his niece why can’t the CIA find him?
The answer; because he is CIA?