Mads: Mayor McCheese

When someone has pulled a gun on you, it is most imperative to act calm. This is especially true when the one wielding the gun is high on who knows what, upping his unpredictability level exponentially. I was faced with this situation, as Mayor McCheese pointed a gun in my face in a dingy hotel room, calling me a dirty seal killer.

Everything began when I decided a needed a break from the campus at Norman, so I gave myself the afternoon off, and had my TA show a video in my intro to ornithology class. I borrowed Pageant Girl's car, and drove down to Dallas, looking for a good time. I thought I'd found it when Mayor McCheese invited me into his VIP booth at a popular club. He had tons of chicks, booze, and drugs, and he was more than willing to share.

But when we got to the cheap hotel, the night took a ludicrous and atavistic turn. He started making outrageous clams like he was Tom Cruise's spiritual adviser, and he could predict the future using grapefruit rinds. He was adamant that his new name was Kevin. That's when the maid made her ill-timed appearance. She spoke almost no English, and had no idea what was going on when The Mayor started accusing her of being a spy. He then pulled out his gun and ordered me to tie her to a chair using the chord to the alarm clock radio, and to gag her with a washcloth from the bathroom. I spoke to her in Spanish to try and reassure her as I did it, and that was a mistake. He thought I was giving her signals.

That is when he pointed the gun at me. He was only a few feet away. He started calling me a dirty seal killer and saying it was just like me to be in league with a spy like that. He turned to one of his women, asking her if shooting me would turn her on, and I knew that was my chance. He gave me his back, and as a black belt in Brazilian jujitsu, that was all I needed. I pounced on him, and even though the size of his head made it difficult, I managed to clamp on the rear naked choke. He was too proud to tap out, so I had to wait until I felt him go to sleep. I got up and untied the maid, and told her in Spanish we needed to get out of there. She nodded and we ran.

When we made the street, she explained that we couldn't call the police, because she was an illegal immigrant. She asked if we could get married, but I told her that would do no good, as I am not an American citizen. We parted ways, and I had to walk five miles to the nearest Bank of America to take out enough money to catch a bus home. I'd lost my wallet and had no idea where I'd parked the car. I also bought a copy of Richard Hughes's A High Wind in Jamaica so I'd have something to read during long the ride.