So there I was, abandoned the previous night by Jreg, watching TV and trying to get over a hangover. Then someone knocks rather loudly on my fuckin’ door. It was Bruce, informing me that Jreg was sick and we needed to get on a thing called a Trike to get “some work” done. First of all, I had no fucking idea what a Trike was. Second of all, I wasn’t keen on getting any “work” done. Bruce gave me the explanation of a Trike, and I gotta tell you that it seemed like a bad idea to get on something that was a) homemade, b) welded to the side of a fuckin’ motorcycle and c) to go cruising around in a 3rd world country in said contraption. Bruce assured me it was fine and we were going to pick up girls. Amazing how once someone mentions pussy, we forget our hangovers and points a, b and c.