Hungry Enough To Eat A Capibarra

 Chapter 15 (3rd part) -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The Pongo Menseriche

Remember yesterday I said the explorers were looking at food problems again, shortages? That happens today. In fact, I just ate an apple because I knew what I'd be facing, even Old Mother Hubbard sympathetic to Up de Graff, Game, Rouse, and the others, although I could never look down at a dog and tell her there wasn't enough food. That'd be terrible. I'd go without food myself rather than have a dog that doesn't understand go hungry.

On the seventh day near the Pongo Menseriche, a gorge with floods of rushing water passing through it, the water had fallen considerably. They decided to send the advance guard in a 20-foot canoe with 10 days rations to get in touch with the Antipas, who would supply them with fresh fruit and veggies and help paddle the heavy Exploradora super canoe beyond the Pongo.

Game and Up de Graff set off with a plan of passing the whirlpool. The water being reasonably low, they knew that was the best time to pass it. They steered near the outer edge and let themselves be carried around the rim -- dangerous. Then as they swung round toward one cliff, they paddled hard to avoid destruction. Swinging clear, they shot within landing distance of a sandspit, the only place within five or six miles where they could get ashore safely. I know if I'd been there I would've lightened things considerably by asking, "What would you rather have, a rimshot or a shot of rum?"

They camped there that night. The next day they made their way beyond the canon, fighting upstream with pole, paddle, and rope. But Up de Graff knew that troubles were looming fresh ahead of them. The first day they passed in the head-hunters' country, things went well. But progress was slow with the river difficult to navigate, the bed being stony and rough. That had to use the pole a lot. My thought on this is to look for food, fish, something. Turn over rocks, kick up a snake and shoot it, anything. Then worry about making nice with the head-hunters. If you're going to die, leave with a fully tummy.

But everything was a struggle, day after day. There was no game to be had. The food supplies became lower and lower until they literally had nothing but salt. On the sixth or seventh day, Up de Graff shot a capubara*, the only living thing they'd seen in a while. But it's flesh was revolting and virtually inedible. Still, it kept them alive three days. The bottoms of their feet were extremely sore, and they were crawling. They decided, "If at the end of this stretch [just ahead] there is nothing, we turn about."

As they went on, though, about two hundred yards from the bank, on a hillside, they saw a bright yellow Jivaro shack.

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*The capybara, spelled capibarra in the book, is a mammal native to South America. It's the largest living rodent in the world, excluding Mickey Mouse.

Day After Day, Misery

 

Chapter 7 (2nd part) of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

Hunger

Of course yesterday they found the canoe, but if you yourself would like to test your jungle sleuthing skills and see how hard it was, I challenge you to traverse the intricacies of the forest maze above. It's not as hard as it looks.

But something seemed hopeless, the outlook Jack and Up de Graff had after the canoe tipped. They had no hope of recovering a single thing from the deep muddy stream. The things that floated were miles away. The rifles and provisions were embedded in the silt under very deep, swift moving water. Had they tried to dive for things, the muddy current would have been too strong. It's hard for me writing the blog today to come up with funny stuff. I have a feeling this is going to be brutal.

Their immediate problem was food. They decided their only hope was to pick a trail and get going on foot. So, barefoot, no hats, only pants and cotton shirts, blankets, machetes, and a bottle of molasses to their name, they set off. Thorns gave them a lot of trouble. Then it was ceaseless rain. The ground was swampy. They slept on a more or less clear patch of ground, but woke up itching. OK, not too tough, thorns, rain, swampy, itching. OK, yes, it's tough.

On the second day of the march they swam across a swift stream twice, losing their blankets. Their feet were nearly numb from the thorns, it was nearly as bad as you can imagine. A little later they swam the stream a third time and found their own machete marks from before. They'd gone in a complete circle. It's that deja vu feeling all over. My own sense of direction's getting bad too. Where I live, to me south doesn't feel like south, and north feels east but I know 100% that it's north. This is true.

Jack joked, "If you'd only told me you were coming back for another dip, I'd have waited for you." OK, back to the suffering: On the third day, the pangs of hunger left them, but they knew they'd only get weaker if they didn't eat. They tried something from the top of a palm tree, looking like celery. But they couldn't keep it down, being nauseated. Awaking on the fourth morning, their scratches were infected, causing a maddening irritation, breaking out like ring-worms. The third day, the fourth day, everything's getting worse. Probably should've bargained with the Yumbos not to run out on them, had they only known.

They struggled ahead, Jack finally killing a turkey with a machete. But they couldn't eat it for sickness. The fifth morning they woke up in a puddle. Trying to go on, Up de Graff sank to the ground. But Jack went on, then came back excited, shouting, "Get up, for God's sake, man; I've found a trail -- as big as Broadway!" I'm not peeking ahead. I hope his news is as good as it sounds!

I'm Hungry, Lock Me Up

Part 18 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

Sometimes I want to know more about my readers. So consider these questions and if you want to tell me about them. I wouldn’t mind an avalanche of responses, millions of replies, requiring a bank of highly paid good-looking secretaries.

What kind of appetite do you have? Are you extremely hungry, totally hungry, or as hungry as anyone ever? After you’ve had even the slightest food, are you totally satisfied, always satisfied, or both totally and always satisfied? Do you hope satisfaction goes away very quickly, very very quickly, or never arrives so you can constantly eat? Do you know the purpose of eating, the purpose of consuming food, and why we eat? Are you embarrassed about normal digestion processes and do you realize that the mere act of eating anything is a blatant admission that you eventually poop? Or do you wantonly go, instantly digesting, even if you've taken nothing more than a tiny pickle?

I’ll tell you what’s normal: What I do. Generally I have three meals a day, which we used to call breakfast, num num, and dinner. Now, with everyone TV-crazy these meals are called morning cartoons, num num cartoons, and evening cartoons. People are TV-happy, cartoon happy, and sitting there with huge bags of fast food, gobbling it down, and throwing the bags across the room at each other! Dogs forage through the mess and never go out to do their business, so it’s a pit. But they're mostly satisfied. As are the flies streaming through the cracks in the house, making a cesspool of filth everywhere. The people who live there are terrible people, saying mean things to each other in a mean way, “Gimme the remote, you shit!”

Anyway, back to my normal home, I shoot for breakfast, lunch, dinner. All done responsibly, in good order. Toast, bacon, cereal, sandwich, baked potato, and maybe something light for dinner. I still take the dog out — she's not shy about going — and I get some exercise along the way, then watch TV within limits. Something to make me laugh, perhaps. Other times, something serious so I’m well-informed, but I scrupulously avoid all news! I remember watching the news just a few years ago and not losing my num num, but I guess it's my age...

I’m just going to say what I always think and let the chips fall where they may: When it comes to normal, I'm about it. And even with the Psycho Squad work — which could jade anyone — I keep my equilibrium, more than any man's entitled to, taking my half out of the middle. Because I need a clear head when dealing with people that don’t. These bastards will jump you in a heartbeat and when they do I lose my num num.

There's one case I remember fondly, Stub's his name. Stub wanted to be taken in because he'd had a hunger for food since he was a teenager. And remembered that the detention center had the best food ever. And it probably did, so he got hooked on it. But when we released him he’d act out again and be recommitted. The way we handled Stub was with great creativity and mercy. We swung by the thrift store and bought him a cheap discarded cookbook. He didn’t know such knowledge existed, so he was thrilled! And now he has his own food truck across town. But he's still a psycho, never opens for business, just stays there cooking and eating oatmeal.

I've Got Free Meal Tickets For You!

I was down at the meal site today, as I am most days. Because of my disability (game toe), I qualify for free meals. Lately, I've been thinking of those more unfortunate than myself, and, somehow, I don't know how, four meal tickets mysteriously, miraculously, exited their perch on the cash register when the guy's back was turned and ended up in my pocket!

Seriously, I looked every direction and no one seemed to notice. Just like it was meant to be! I glanced up at the corners for video surveillance, but seeing none, I figured, Their loss, my gain! And guess what, this place has a sticker on the door advertising it's protected by some security service! Unfortunately, as we all know, most of those stickers are dummy stickers, or were genuine a long time ago until they quit the service.

I felt a little nervous leaving the facility, since it's when you exit the doors that they can actually do anything about it. Up to that point, you can plead ignorance, but for a smart guy like me, pleading ignorance isn't even believable. Anyway, I made it through the doors, shaking in my boots, my heart pounding like native drums, sweat running in rivulets down my forehead, and just for good measure I pissed my pants.

Once I got to the car, I prayed to the key, "Please start." It took a while, and I was restraining myself to keep from flooding it, but it finally rumbled into life. I kissed St. Christopher and told him I owed him one. Then it was a matter of getting out of the parking lot. I scooched down in the seat, trying to look inconspicuous. Then I was mortified to look up and see the guy from the cash register with four other disabled guys lined up against the building, frisking them. It would seem he noticed!

I didn't think I'd ever get home! Surely, I'd be pulled over and searched! But it didn't happen, thank the Lord. Speaking of whom, didn't the Lord liberate some little boy's lunch to feed the five thousand? Why, yes, He did, thank you very much!

So there they are, my hungry friends! Four liberated meal tickets! Easy as pie, which we might have tomorrow. All you have to do is print them on medium weight paper, maybe fudge the serial numbers a little, cut them out, and I'll see you there tomorrow.

But please, and I think this is important to stress, don't all of you show up tomorrow! We need to space it out and keep it on the QT, keep it on the down low, so they don't get suspicious and arrest us all!