Rumors have been flying across the internet regarding the whereabouts of Jimmy Gabacho.  He hasn’t posted anything since March and was last seen in a seedy airport in San Juan, Puerto Rico, getting ready to catch the Cape Air flight 269 heading to the West Indies.  When this reporter spotted him, he declined to comment about his recent activities, which set off shock waves of speculation about his recent work chasing down money launderers from the Cayman Islands, Panama and South America. When pressed for comment, he politely responded, “Fuck you! If you want a quote leave your number at my office” and then he turned his attention back to his urinal, finished his business, zipped up and headed for the gate.

This reporter also noticed that Gabacho was in such a hurry that he didn’t even take time to wash his hands. But, what did it mean? Was it a sign that the water at public restrooms in San Juan was sub-par? Has Gabacho lost his faith in soap and water? Did he carry his own hand sanitizer? We may never know.

This correspondent followed up and left a message at his office. A week later, I received his cryptic response, which I reprint in its entirety below.

Dear Ass Bag:

The next time you tap someone on the shoulder when he’s taking a piss, get ready to lights punched out. I figured you were one of those pervs that hang out in men’s restrooms waiting for the chance to expose your junk in public.

In answer to your questions, I was on my way to Nevis and St. Kitts for a week of relaxation. I was to board an eight-seat Cessna and fly right into a tropical rain storm. I was in no mood for bullshit. Despite having logging thousands of miles over the last ten years, I still hate to fly. The only thing I hate more is being in a small boat in the Pacific. Given my luck, the only seat available was the co-pilot’s seat, so I rode shotgun from Puerto Rico to Nevis, which wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t had to fly into clouds.  In any case, the week off did me some good. My wife and I sat on the beach and our daughters hung out with the local Rastafarians and, praising Ja and communing with Mother Nature’s favorite herb.

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I managed to do a little writing, but most of my time has been taken up by teaching.  My day job stuck me with a group of kids that can’t write a decent paragraph. So, I spent the entire semester trying to convince the little bastards that they need to spend some time working on their essays. By the end of the semester, I’d flogged the little shits into shape, and the last two essays were actually acceptable. The course also cut into my reading time. The week in Nevis did me some good. I caught up on my reading and finished Gary Buslik’s A Rotten Person Travels the Caribbean, Chuck Thompson’s To Hell Holes and Back, and David Foster Wallace’s Oblivion.

About the money laundering question, I can neither confirm nor deny the allegation, but if those rat-bastard cocksuckers are reading this response, they’d better watch their asses. We’re about to drop the thousand pound shit hammer on their heads and rich people will have a hell of a time in Shawshank.

The other reason I haven’t been writing lately is because the administration at my university decided to change course management systems.  This is the fourth change in the last ten years. Every time we get a new technology administrator we change systems. These idiots claim that they will save money by shifting the system to a new open format. It works for a few years, but then the company goes public and starts changing licensing fees. Who gets shafted? Faculty, of course! So, I’ve spent the last two months reconstructing my data base of 3500 question database, online quizzes and home work assignments. As of Monday, I have the system up and running.

In any case, I am back at the Guttenberg, typing away, trying to finish this manuscript. The title of the book is Lunch with Harold Hecuba. It covers a friendship that has endured drugs, alcohol, violence and a few stints in the joint. As they say, no good story ever started with a salad. I’ve also got a few travel pieces that I will post over the summer.

It’s good to be back.

Jimmy

Gabacho– according to the Dictionary of the Spanish Royal Academy– is derived from an old Provençal word “gavach,” meaning a person from the foothills of the Pyrenees who spoke incorrectly. These days, it means “outsider,” somebody who just doesn’t fit in.

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