Afghan Tigers

I was taken to a secret mountain hideout (seen here) by my Afghan-Thai Guide, Hopsing Hamchuck, to attend what I thought was to be a meeting of tribal elders in this impoverished region. And by impoverished, I mean really poor--they not only can't afford copies of Danger Close (available new, in paperback, on Amazon for $39.50, or Hardcover, for $10 less, used for $2)--these people are educationally impoverished too; They have never even heard of Mike Yawn.

Anyway, we trekked into the rugged terrain for what seemed like hours, but was really only twenty minutes. It seemed longer because I had on 100 pounds of body armor and d-rings, 65 pounds of camera gear, thirty signed hardback copies of "Danger Close" for gifts and Ipods with all of my TV and Radio interviews on them for gifts to the tribal elders. I am suitably impressed by the safety in this region, last time I was here there wasn't anywhere I could go and not feel spiders crawling on my neck. Now, it seems like the only occasionally crawl on my neck. Must be because McChrystal and Menard stopped having them sprayed on me from black helicopters while I slept.

So we arrive at the secret mountain hideout, and I am quickly brought into a room with a green flag, a picture of Daniel Pearl, and guys with knives and guns. I am not worried, because unlike Daniel Pearl, I am not a journalist--I am a writer. They can have no reason to harm me.

Naturally, as my seventh sense about these things plays out, after interviewing me at great length, my host, Stephan brought tea and twinkies and he decided that I was too important to kill; I suppose because I am the only one telling the truth about the war. Stephan and his co-leader Blaine invited me to stay the night, but I wasn't sure if I should--I'd forgotten my hoodie footie back at the brothel--I mean at my base of operations.

They said they had something very special planned for later in the evening--that I would be joining a select group of fighters known as "The Afghan Tigers." Since I am already a member of a select group of warriors--I was the youngest person to ever get peered out of Field Sanitation School--I knew what a great honor this would be. I was given more tea, and snuck another twinkie, and led to my room.

Some time in the middle of the night I awoke in my now-dark room to the familiar feeling of rough hands pulling off my clothes, then rubbing me down. I asked what the sticky lotion they were using was... Tiger's Milk, I was told. This made sense, and seemed like a cool tradition. Only when weaned on the milk of the tiger can the cub become the mighty hunter.

After my rub-down, I was stood, and dressed in their warrior uniform. This, too was done in the dark. The rough fur on the uniform felt exhilarating--I knew it had to be from the hide of the feared Afghan Mountain Tiger, passed down through the ages from warrior to warrior. I was told that I had to remain in the dark for the remainder of the night--I agreed, but I always pack my trusty night vision camera. I set it up to snap a picture, making sure the auto-focu was set this time, and linking in to my sattelite phone to send it directly to my blog. I'll look at it later, but for now I wanted all my loyal fans to see just how awesome and fearsome I am in my new brotherhood uniform: The Afghan Tigers: Me-Yow!