A thick gorilla-like arm wrapped around my waist from behind and a meaty palm covered my mouth. Against my instincts I put up very little fight. It wouldn’t have taken much effort on my part to escape, but that would defeat the purpose of this half-assed scheme.

“Bobo” the Ape-man, who was currently attached to my back, dragged me out of the nasty motel room that I’d been staying in for the past two days. This snatch and run was a relief after having to spend so much time in a place that smelled of old pizza and a bar room floor-it’s sad that I know what that smells like. The room was decorated in a late 70’s palette of earth tones, with a mattress that sagged in the middle and aid of a forensic team’s / given the right lighting, every kind of bodily fluid ever produced by man or beast covering the walls.

A van door slammed open with an alarming bang. The force with which I was thrown into the vehicle showed a complete lack of subtlety on Bobo’s part, and I flopped appropriately to the floor. Seriously, Academy Award winning performance.

Duct tape was slapped indelicately over my mouth and zip ties secured my arms and legs. A dark pillowcase was thrown over my head and unnecessarily zip tied around my neck, presumably to ensure the disgusting smell of the last oily head that had slept on it would not be contaminated by fresh air.

As was necessary for my performance, the dialog, muffled by tape and the head covering included a whine here and there, a feminine grunt, and the sound one makes when they cry. That part was a real stretch. I don’t cry.