by Harold Worth on 14/06/14 at 11:51 am
Rio de Janiro, Brazil – (satireworld.com)
British reporter Harold Worth was in his 6th day of an South American fact finding and a vist to thje FIFA World Cup when, as fate would have it, he made a wrong turn on one of Rio’s numerous freeway off ramps. Soon, after a myriad of turns and one-way streets, Worth found himself deep with-in Rio’s notorious gang-ridden eastside.
Confused, and now very thirsty, Worth decided to park his rented Mini Cooper and visit La Cucuracha a quaint Churo themed bar. Thinking to himself that with a crowd of locals standing outside, it must be a popular destination and surely they would have a pot of tea brewing for a thirsty traveler. Worth pushed aside two large latino men with tattoos and entered the smoke filled building. Through the dim, hazy light Worth could make out a makeshift bar and he pulled up a tattered bar stool to place his order.
“A hot cup of tea, please me mate.”
The rather angry looking man behind the bar scowled a mouthful of gold front teeth in his direction saying, “No speaka da portugeuse el shithead!”
Undeterred, Worth merely unfurled his rolled up umbrella. pointing to a photo on the on the top portion displaying a fine English tea cup with steam erupting from the rim. “OK One of these please.”
Moments later Worth was surrounded by a group of men curiously looking at him. Several had handguns in their belts, two fingered sharp looking switchblade knives. One man called ‘El Arana” came forward and spoke perfect English…”You want ‘tea’ huh?”
Worth smiled and nodded his agreement, glad to have a new Brazilian friend to help him with the rather nasty linquistic attitude of the man behind the bar. In the distance, a Brazilian love song teeming with brass horns and strumming guitars could be heard playing on the jukebox.
The man called El Arana (the Spider) politely said they didn’t serve tea, but had cold cervza and pulled one from the cooler…”Oh my, do you happen to have maybe a Stella Artois my good man?”
“That’s fag shit…Just drink amigo!”
Several beers later, and after relating numerous stories of the confusing experiences he had while crossing America to his newfound friends, Worth noticed what appeared to be the tires and rims from his rental car being carried to the bar’s back room, followed by pieces of the car itself. Soon, another cold beer was pressed into his hand and the conversation continued.
El Arana smiled with a flash of gold capped teeth and pushed a paper and pen over the bar toward Worth. “Here sign and you join.” Worth now fully three sheets to the wind, laughed and pretended to read the document, although written fully in Portuguese. Feeling the building tension, and glancing at the time on his watch, Worth signed his name and handed the document back hoping he could get on his way…But things were a little more complicated now.
A short woman named Carmen complete with a head bandana and scores of tattoos came up with some odd looking clothing and curious little device with an ink bottle on top. She beckoned Worth to follow her to the back room. The gang smiled and waited, drinking more beer and laughing between themselves.
After about an hour, and 10 painful tattoos on rather unwilling flesh, the newest member of the Rio 18th Street Gang emerged wearing tight leather pants and a sombrero.
“Amigos, meet El Skoobo!” Clanks of bottles and grunts of approval filled the stifiling air.
Harold Worth was transformed. Sporting an inked chest and neck, complete with other tattoos up and down each arm, the newest member called ‘El Skoobo’ meekly tied an over-sized bandana around his forehead and then clumsily attempted a few hastily taught gang signs to the amusement of his new brothers.
“I’d like to say I am proud to be a member and want to offer each of you a place to stay if you ever visit England. Taco Ole…hasta la vista…or whatever. Now, I must be on my way, I have to meet an old friend.”
Gladly helping their newest member with his rather urgent transportation needs, Worth stepped into a low rider 1964 Chevy and was driven back to his hotel by El Arana and another dude called Crazy Juan who gladly emptied his room self-service bar.
Worth forgot his umbrella.