Mads: Misunderstanding

I woke up the other day rather late, and the first thing my Boston friend greeted me with was the mail.

"This came for you."

It was a letter from Corey Feldman. Apparently he's been popping up in the tabloids lately. In fact, it isn't him, it's me. Especially distressing to him were the reports of me eating meat, because he's a vegetarian. It took a fair amount explaining to PETA to keep he and his wife in their good graces.

I sat down at the computer to draft a reply:

Dear Mr. Feldman,

I am very sorry that we look similar. I will do my best in the future to make sure people distinguish myself from you. You must remember that I am a Nobel Prize winning ornithologist, if you conceive my meaning.

Thank you, and good luck,
Mads Olafsson.

Mads: Giant-Size 50th Issue

The boys saw the humor that everyone else couldn't with my shirt. Hugo got nostalgic and threw on Dream a Little Dream. We smoked some cigars and drank some nice rum. Castro didn't want the night to end, and he sent some people out to get more films with the Coreys.

That's when things took a turn for the worse. Someone came back with National Lampoon's Last Resort. It was atrocious. Hugo, Castro, and I all sat there with dazed looks on our faces. Castro called the guy in that brought the film, and he pulled out a pistol and shot him. Things were getting heavy.

I tried to sneak out, but Chavez caught me and asked what I thought of G.W. Bush. I think he wanted me to call him the Great Satin or something. My first instinct in cases like that is to play Devil's Advocate and say what the person doesn't want me to say just for argument's sake. But I was in the Lion's Den, and I had no desire to stir the beast.

"He's a bad, bad man," I said.

He laughed and slapped me really hard on the back. I was worried I'd never make it out of there alive. They pulled out more rum and cigars, and got pissed when I wouldn't take as much as they did. I thought all hope was lost...

Then there was a phone call. I heard Castro say in Spanish:

"The Norwegian Embassy? Yes, we have Mads here. You want us to let him go? Fine, we'll help you out."

My country had not forgotten me! I was allowed to leave, on one condition: I leave my shirt. I relented without hesitation. In a place like this, you don't push your luck.

I was placed on a cruise ship bound for the Bahamas. I couldn't get a direct ship to the States because of that damned embargo. I thought about the invite from my Boston friend, and decided to book a flight there instead of hang in the Caribbean for a few days.

When I got my luggage in Logan, a man in a suit with a little cap held a sign that read "Mads, my Norwegian companion". It was good to be home.

Mads: Corey Feldman as Che Guevara

I looked around my suite one last time. There was nothing left for me here in Rio, and it was time to move on. I went through a stack of invitations to see where I might go next. My Boston friend had sent me one for his 200th Blog Spectacular. That sounded like fun to me. But I had a Giant Sized 50th Blog of my own to do first.

I hopped in a plane and flew out to Cuba. Being that I'm a Norwegian citizen, the trade embargo doesn't affect me, so I can spend as much cash as I want there. I checked in at a nice beachside resort, the kind they don't let the natives into, and shot down to the bar.

I didn't even notice that I was wearing my Corey Feldman as Che Guevara T-Shirt. With things being as hectic as they were the past few days, it's no surprise. Just the same, no one thought it was funny, and I ended up in jail.

After a day, I was taken from my cell and put into a state limo. Something was up, and I was a little leery. Would Norway recognize my existence and bail me out? It turned out I wouldn't need them. We went to a huge mansion, and some soldiers took me into a large recreational room, where Castro and Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez were smoking cigars. They took one look at my shirt, and laughed hysterically.