If You Don't Fuck Frank Haskins,
Then the Terrorists Have Already Won

by Frank Haskins

When you're Frank Haskins, it's not unusual for people to fuck you over. But this winter, even Mother Nature has been hosing me. Been so goddamn cold here my testicles have retreated up to my armpits. And the sweat on my nutsack is frozen, too.

So I get an e-mail from some company telling me I've won a cruise. I figure I'm finally gonna get a break and get the hell out of Mr. Freeze's shithouse for awhile. So when I claim my "free" cruise package, the asshole on the phone tells me they're only giving me a one-way plane ticket. So I figure what the fuck, if I moonlight nights and weekends for a few weeks stocking canned goods and cleaning the johns at the local grocery store, I'll make enough scratch to pay for my return flight.

So after four weeks of opening cases of ketchup and scooping human turds out of the men's room urinal on a daily basis (thank you very fucking much, teenage asshole fellow employees), I figure I've got enough cash. A quick stop at the doctor on the way to the airport for an X-ray, and then I'm off for three days and four nights of non-stop binge-eating and drinking in 90-degree weather.

I figure as soon as I go through airport security, I'm gonna be on the plane drinking like Robert Downey Jr. the day before court-ordered detox. Then suddenly, the goddamn security gate starts beeping and I get tackled and billy-clubbed by six huge bastards. I forgot that when the doc did my X-ray, I had to drink some isotope shit first, which triggered the radioactivity sensor. So these security guys figure I'm smuggling a dirty bomb for al-Qaeda or some shit like that. And let me tell you something, you have not been truly fucked over until you've been fucked over by airport security. After getting completely stripped head-to-toe, my every bodily orifice was spread, probed and permanently enlarged. Ever see one of those porno movies involving "fisting"? I can now verify from first-"hand" experience that those flicks are for real, if you catch my drift.

Well, I told these gorillas about the isotope crap, so they were gonna let me go. But then they find my one-way plane ticket and the goddamn box cutter from the supermarket. So once again, I'm the "belle of the ball" in yet another round of "guys-on-guy action," if you know what I mean. By the time they were through with me, I could've smuggled bin Laden on board by hiding him up my hole.

Long story short: I finally caught a flight to the Caribbean, but not exactly as planned. I'm here in Guantanamo Bay, sporting a "Mini Me" haircut and an orange jumpsuit. But don't worry, my "free" cruise didn't go to waste: My soon-to-be-ex-wife lifted my ticket from my kids. And I know she's having a great time too, because I just got her and her boyfriend's 1,800-fucking-dollar bar-and-room-service bill on my Visa statement.

As a cold rain drenches me by falling through the holes in my chain- link fence ceiling, I reflect upon the words of The Bard: "Some men are born to get fucked, while others have getting fucked thrust upon them."