While trekking Lombok’s famous Mt. Rinjani in search of Magic Mushrooms and his own “Double Rainbow” moment, The Public Apology’s Al McClintock stumbled upon a decomposing corpse in the undergrowth. Surprised not only by the discovery – but also by the synthetic Sydney Roosters’ jersey worn by the corpse, which had remained perfectly intact – a penniless McClintock rifled furiously through its pockets for identification (read: valuables and/or cash).
The horror! I write this a quivering mess, in fear of what mystical force has been toying with me!
I had chosen to sleep on the floor last night lest Mad Dog’s wandering hands slipped around my waist and his meandering member up my anus, but how I wish I had risked the sodomy!
In the middle of the night I awoke in a cold sweat with a small child-like figure hovering above me. Given the stature of these people it was quite possibly a grown man, but in the shadows I could not make out a face – although it was almost certainly male. I attempted to scream, but no sound was forthcoming. It was as if some invisible force had bound me to the ground and rendered me mute. I fought internally with all my might and eventually broke free, lashing out at the man creature, but scampered out of reach quick as you like and scaled the bungalow’s outer wall almost inhumanly.
I could not get back to sleep, but dawn soon broke so I arose, reluctantly. The midget rooster was waiting for me and crowed as I stepped outside. I feel like he has something to do with all of this…
No room for us at the Flowerbed so we undertook a short march down the hill to the Sea-View – where, ironically, we can not see the sea. I am glad to be rid of that place, to be honest. Its midget roosters and ghostly man-children were all too much for me.
The walk allowed me to view the surrounding area properly for the first time; the arid landscape is strangely beautiful, despite the rubbish. A perfectly green golf course sits atop a cliff overhanging the main beach and it jutters out against the horizon in a most surreal fashion. Like a mirage for the myriads of the white and wealthy who travel the world chasing a tiny pock-marked ball.
There is no pressure in the shower of our new room and I was forced to hack into the faint signal of our previous hotel’s bungalow to access email, but there was none. I had a brief look for any gossip on the wedding location, but the slowness of it all gave me the shits and I gave in.
We headed down to the beach for lunch and a swim and a small secluded cove caught our attention. The swim over proved easier than it looked and we promptly found more rubbish and a golf club (perhaps hurled down in anger?). The contrast between natural beauty and the worst of man in this country is really quite striking.
Once again a quiet night by the pool-side, but my evening is ruined by the attention of a Dutch child that looks like it crawled directly from the fires of Satan’s womb. It follows me with its eyes as I swim from end to end and I can’t help but recognise the same glint possessed by my nemesis The Midget Rooster. Perhaps the heat is causing me to drift into madness, but I cannot help but perceive these evil things as omens for impending doom.
The child continues to stare as I write. Its wild white hair and elongated forehead lead down to sparkling blue eyes that seem to be reading my very thoughts. I feel a great desire to hurl my Bintang (large) at it, but there are far too many witnesses.
By Al McClintock