Omar Relief

Recently, I was reminded of the time Omar Sharif and I were in Brazil.

We were smuggling cachaca back to the States. That's a kind of rum.

He'd gotten the dysentery. Montezuma's Revenge. The shits.

We were almost to the border, when we were attacked by jaguars.

Omar took off running, but his legs were buckling. He was weak.

Crap stained his linen pants, like two giant eclairs.

I acted quickly, and chopped our native guide's arm off with my machete.

I can still hear his screams as they tore him apart.

Moral of the story?

When you travel, bring your own ice.
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