Day one

Since they don't allow me any paper in here, I'm just going to memorise this whole blog until I'm released. Of course, that's going to be tricky to do, but hell, what else have I got to work on?

Let me see. I should start with the abduction. I was walking home late one night after work...(I guess that tells you something about me - I don't work in LA, 'cos I'd be driving home, right?). I'm pretty sure there were three guys jumped me. One stopped me to ask the time or something equally lame. I mean, who does that, right? Even if you don't got a watch on, these days everybdy carries a phone. Mine tells me the time and the weather. The weather, for Christ's sake! Who looks on their damn phone to find out what the weather is doing? Can't you look out the damn window? I can't. They taped some cardboard over it when they brought me in here, and I can't reach it from down here where I'm chained to the radiator.

Sorry. Wandered off the plot a bit. I may do that from time to time, unavoidable consequence of being here. Like the beard. Where was I? Oh yeah, the guys who jumped me. I think there were three of them because there was the time guy - who asks for the...wait, did I ask that already? Anyway, him, and while I was looking at him and opening my mouth to say something dumb, someone dropped a bag over my head. At the same time someone grabbed each of my arms. Can't have been the bag guy, and the guy in front can't have reached both arms, so there must have been at least one other person. It's made me rethink my position on gun control. I used to carry a .38 for protection. Lot of good that did me

I struggled, I fought, I called 'em every damn name I could think of, but it didn't make any difference. It did screw up any chance I had of figuring out where they were taking me. I've no idea now how long I was in the car, or where they switched me to another car. I was quiet by then. Too scared to talk. I wanted to talk when the car stopped and they pulled me out 'cos I was damn sure they were going to kill me, but I couldn't make my mouth work. You know a funny thing? Every time I went to speak, I kept thinking, this could be my last words, and bam! I wouldn't be able to form a syllable. There's this Stephen King story where this guy gets stabbed in the head with a butcher knife (no, stay with me, there's a point...) and he says "boot!" and dies. The narrator of the story wonders briefly why he says "boot" then moves on, but that bit stuck with me. I mean, with a butcher knife in your brain you're not going to be composing a moving oratory on leaving the world of men behind and going to the great hereafter, but I was damn sure I wanted to say something more significant than "boot!". Yet there I was, mute and scared, with more than a suggestion of steam rising from my crotch, I'm ashamed to say. I was real happy when they pushed me into the second car and we got moving again. I wasn't saved, but they weren't done with me yet. I was still breathing. Say Hallelujah brothers!