Peter Weller's Cigar Paradise
Africa, or finding the Founding Fathers (Rolling in Their Graves) While Smoking my Way Through Post-Apartheid Cape Town
From the Print Edition:
Tyson vs. King, Jan/Feb 04
(continued from page 6)
"No, it is exactly the point. How much money do you make?"
"That's a &^%$ addendum!" yells Benedict (Rick).
"NO IT AIN'T," shouts Roger. "How much money YOU got? Where do you live?"
"He lives in a triplex in Paris, France, with his own personal wine cellar," I yell, looking for the easy kill, now that Lafayette is to the rescue.
"Holy Geez, MATE! A f*&$#ing wine cellar!? You're the f*&%$ing CULTURAL ELITE! Give up all your loot to these doctors' AIDS project here, and I'll listen to ya, but right now, all your backwash is making my teeth ache."
"And while you're at it, pay your per diem on time!" another volley from me at Rick who, two years earlier, had produced a fun miniseries in which I had starred, although the company was consistently late with per diem; that was probably because we were in the Sahara Desert, but I used it as ammunition anyway.
"You don't work for me now, you contemptuous bastard!" Rick shoots back.
And we are off, in a screamfest that I have never witnessed before or since. The battle lines are drawn. I torch up another D.C. for war.
And we are off, in a screamfest that I have never witnessed before or since. The battle lines are drawn. I torch up another D.C. for war. One side shouts down the other. The African-American exchange students each take their turn. As do my assistant, Marie, and driver, Pete, with his horrific experiences in Angola. Then they begin yelling at each other about the European imperialism in other countries in Africa. The three exchange students, having parents who suffered under this problem, chime in, and the whole shebang turns into an unimaginable, politically incorrect Armageddon.
"The U.S. is forcing its self-aggrandizing agenda on the Third World, and only if there's a financial interest at stake!" raves Dave.
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