Pull out now

“I need to tell you something. I can’t do this anymore. I’m actually a journalist trying to go undercover to learn more about hucows. I was wondering if you could let me go. I didn’t sign the contract with my real name.”

The worker looks at you irritated. He unlatches the gate, unlocks your collar, shakes his head, calls in the secretary with your clothes, and gives you a small pill. Once you swallow it, he says it will knock you out and the doctor will be able to operate and remove the changes. You pop the pill in and drift off to sleep. You awake on the bed, the doctor and secretary looking at you. All of your clothes are back on.

“I assure you, the changes are fixed, save for a pierced ear.” The doctor calmly informs you.

“Can I speak with a business man here about the possibility of a tour?” You implore aloud.

The secretary sighs and says “Whatever. Follow me.”

She leads you out the door and down the hall. You fall in place behind her. She leads you to a large spruce door and opens it. She walks inside and beckons you to follow suit. You slide into the room and see a large, study like office, as the secretary speaks to a tall, thin, bookish man behind his ornate desk. Many plaques, medals, certificates, and awards decorate the room. Just above him on the wall behind his desk, you see a picture of a red headed woman with pigtails, naked on her hands and knees, sporting enormous breasts. Above the picture reads ‘Buttercup Creamy Acres’ and beneath reads ‘Highest International Milk Yield 2016’. As you look around at all of the oohs and ahhs of the office, the slender man approaches you. He thrusts out his hand and you shake it.

“Pleasure meetin’ ya, darlin! I hear you plannin’ on writin’ a book ‘bout ‘dis ‘ere islan’! Why, I’d be delighted to lend ya a hand on that there project o’ yours! Lemme give ya a tour!”

You wonder where this man is from, as his southern U.S. accent is very thick. A moment later, as if reading your mind, he answers.

“I was born down in da Deep South! Yessir! Biloxi was my birthplace. Ya know Biloxi, donchu? It’s in Mississippi. Anywho, my parents packed us up and sent us east o’er to Birmingham when I was 8. Ya gotta know Birmingham. Alabama. All of that black people rights stuff. I read a book ‘bout dat town in 6th grade. Watsons something Birmingham. Good book. Anywho, let’s start in here, how ‘bout it, darlin?”

He opens a door and the two of you step inside.