When Bob was fourteen, he and his thirteen-year old brother, Jim, learned what a gynecologist was. They both determined right then and there that they would do whatever was necessary to become one. But after learning how many years of college, how much study, and how much money was required to become one, they realized that that much money would pay for enough whores to last them a lifetime, provided they kept it down to one whore per week which they would share. So they decided to go with plan-B instead.
Plan-B was hatched after Jim reminded Bob of the National Geographic program they’d caught a glimpse of a few weeks earlier. In the time it took for their mother to get up, cross the room, and quickly change the channel, Bob and Jim had clearly seen some young native African females walking around naked in their village. So they decided to do whatever it took to get enough money to buy an airplane so that they could fly to Africa, kidnap a couple of the younger girls from such a tribe, and fly them to a deserted tropical island.
Their plan was to drop the girls off and then visit them periodically for conjugal purposes, and to provide them with food and to do repairs on the huts we would build for them--or better yet, the huts that the girls would build for themselves. But the bottom (no pun intended) fell out of that plan, too. When they realized just how much an airplane--even a used one--would cost them, and just how long it would take to save enough money to buy one, they again determined that that kind of money would keep them in whores for a lifetime. After that, they never talked about it again.
Bob’s brother, Jim, died nine years later when he was forced to make an emergency landing in his two-seater, single engine plane after running out of gas somewhere over the African Bush (pun intended) and was killed by lions on his way to a nearby village. Jim learned the hard way that a six-shot revolver is powerless against eight lions. It was a mystery to all who knew him just what the hell he was doing flying over no-man’s land in Africa, but Bob was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.
Plan-B was hatched after Jim reminded Bob of the National Geographic program they’d caught a glimpse of a few weeks earlier. In the time it took for their mother to get up, cross the room, and quickly change the channel, Bob and Jim had clearly seen some young native African females walking around naked in their village. So they decided to do whatever it took to get enough money to buy an airplane so that they could fly to Africa, kidnap a couple of the younger girls from such a tribe, and fly them to a deserted tropical island.
Their plan was to drop the girls off and then visit them periodically for conjugal purposes, and to provide them with food and to do repairs on the huts we would build for them--or better yet, the huts that the girls would build for themselves. But the bottom (no pun intended) fell out of that plan, too. When they realized just how much an airplane--even a used one--would cost them, and just how long it would take to save enough money to buy one, they again determined that that kind of money would keep them in whores for a lifetime. After that, they never talked about it again.
Bob’s brother, Jim, died nine years later when he was forced to make an emergency landing in his two-seater, single engine plane after running out of gas somewhere over the African Bush (pun intended) and was killed by lions on his way to a nearby village. Jim learned the hard way that a six-shot revolver is powerless against eight lions. It was a mystery to all who knew him just what the hell he was doing flying over no-man’s land in Africa, but Bob was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.
