"International playboy".  "Black market pistachio smuggler".  "Scumbag extraordinaire".

These were all names that I was known by as I travelled the world breaking hearts and antique lighting fixtures.

I was a fugitive, being pursued by the police, the IRS, and Danny Bonaduce.

I was a nocturnal marsupial, carrying all my belongings in a small pouch, moving with the speed and dexterity of an ambidextrous centipede.

I found myself in Calcutta.  I chatted up an attractive woman and soon we were back at her flat doing the "wild thing" (insert Tone Loc's voice).

Just as we "came" together, there was a loud banging and shouting outside the door.

"That is my boyfriend Fernando.  He will kill you if he finds you here," panted the gold-toothed, asthmatic siren."

"Quick.  Jump out the window."

I flew gracefully over the balcony, propelled by her tender touch, bounced off an awning and landed in the street.  That is the last thing I remember until I woke up in a soft bed.  Standing beside the bed, staring intently at me was a woman whose face looked vaguely familiar.

"Is that you Aunt Gertrude?  Listen.  I'm really sorry about that time I "borrowed" your car and never returned it." 

"I am not your Aunt Gertrude.  I am Mother Teresa."

"Yea right.  And I'm Michael Jordan."  She seemed puzzled and annoyed by the basketball refernce.

"Hey Gertie.  Where can a guy get some grub around here?  I'm starvin'."

"You will be provided with a continental breakfast.  Checkout is 11 AM."

A few minutes later, another woman came in with the food.  She left without saying a word but I could tell from her quick glance that she wanted me to ravage her without mercy.

I ate the food and drank the coffee.  My head still hurt from the fall and I became too sleepy even to masterbate.

Why is the bed bouncing?  Who is this woman on top of me riding my cock like John Wayne?

"Aunt Gertrude!  What the hell are you doing?"

"We are all going to Hell.  I will tell you for the last time you fool, I am MOTHER TERESA, not your Aunt Gertrude."

"Wow.  My friends back home will never believe this.  This Mother Teresa can really bump and grind for an old broad."

"Mother Teresa started singing some cool stuff from "Deuteronomy", one of my favorite "Judas Priest" albums.  I could tell that she was close to coming.

"Fruit of thy womb, Jesus!  Fruit of thy loom, Jesus!  Fruit of thy womb, JESUS!!!"

Mother Teresa collapsed on top of me, stuffing her rosary beads in my mouth.  We cuddled for a few minutes because women like to do that kind of shit.

I stayed a few more wonderful days with Mother Teresa.  We held hands as we listened to Taco Bell's Canon.  I brought out my well-worn copy of the Kamel Sutra and we tried different sexual positions which stretched my endurance and hamstrings.

I was shocked the day Mother Teresa turned me over to the authorities.  She used me for sexual gratification and threw me out when the "honeymoon" was over.  Who would believe the word of a scumbag pistachio smuggler against the word of Mother Teresa?

I still love her.