My friends, it’s been a while since I have felt safe enough to tell you all what the hell is going on.  About two months ago, I was stolen from my home and taken to a top secret intelligence barracks and grilled day and night for three days about my uncanny knowledge of government horseplay and its flagrant disregard of the rights afforded to its citizens by the Constitution. 

 I have been laying low, living off of weeds and crickets in a dense forest near my home ever since my escape for fear that they would find me again and not use the same “gentle touch” as they did before.  After my daring and harrowing escape from the clutches of government malfeasance, I have been told by a couple of my closest friends that I was really on vacation in South Carolina, but I don’t believe that…South Carolina hasn’t raked me over the coals since 1989 when they thought I had found out why tourists were all so stupid (they’re not, they just seem that way because of South Carolina’s use of mind control and catchy brochures, but that’s for another time). 

My friends don’t believe me, and I am helpless to explain what really happened for fear of endangering their lives.  For this same reason, I will only recount some of the details of my escape, and hold back on the questions I was asked until a later date.

So there I was, belted to a steel chair in a room that they had doctored up to look like my basement…an obvious tactic used to make me feel more at home and loosen my tongue.  The head guy, I think I heard them call him Bruce, was really lacing into me, asking all sorts of different questions on all sorts of different subjects.  I remained strong, reciting nothing but my name and special recipe for pineapple upside-down cake (delicious). 

After they had heard my recipe for about sixty-five hours, they let up, most likely to take a step back and assess the situation.  When they did that, I knew that I had to make my play for freedom from their steel-chaired tyranny.  When the agents weren’t looking, I used my hands to unfasten the belt that was holding me to the chair (they didn’t restrain my hands because I told them I had arthritis) then, I bucked up like a prancing pony and tipped over the table in front of me to use as cover.  Before they knew what had happened, I had busted through the first floor window (which was much higher than it sounds) and shimmied down a length of drainpipe conveniently situated at the window’s right side.  From there, I ran into the main compound, faked like I was a mechanic, and commandeered a small dirt bike. 

 Before I could even take a breath (it seemed) I was home where I quickly grabbed a few things and lit out for the forest, where I had remained until just recently.  I hope that this “How-To” story will aid any of you who find yourselves kidnapped by the government to escape, and remember…If anyone tells you that you have been on vacation in South Carolina, they’re trying to sell you a bill of goods that you don’t want to buy.  I know it.  –Roy Bancroft, Jr.