JUNGLE BABE SURVIVAL.
Today – May 20th 2014, marks the 30th anniversary of the day I had to evacuate my cargo plane filled with cocaine-filled faux bananas and was left stranded in the godforsaken jungles of Colombia.
Let me back it up for a moment. The cocaine-filled faux bananas were exactly what you’re probably picturing. Actual bananas with the fruit removed, and densely packed blow inside of them. Everything was going to plan until a surprise pack of devil’s dandruff-sniffing dogs were released from cargo and headed straight for my case of exotic narcotics. I had no other choice but to evacuate…so I grabbed my emergency Johnny Utah-licensed parachute pack, broke a window and leaped out.
I landed in a remote rainforest, with nothing but the clothes on my back and crocodile loafers on my feet. At first glance I thought this change of scenery might be beneficial to my lifestyle at the time. I would be on my own in the jungles of no man’s land, far away from the hoards of henchmen that were constantly out for my blood. Plus, I had seen Blue Lagoon and Romancing the Stone enough times to figure out how to survive in the wilderness, or so I thought…
My positive outlook would soon be shot down as several days passed and I hadn’t come across any food. I came to the realization that I may not see a slice of pizza for the rest of my life, so naturally depression set in pretty thick. I made several attempts at hunting and fishing, but my skills had weakened over the years from living in the big city. Even the chimpanzee I had made friends with named Markus eventually deserted me and stole the little clothes I had left. The fauna and flora of the jungle became my only source of nutrition. I ate berries in the morning and mushrooms in the evening. My nights turned into a swirl of hallucinations and feverish night terrors.
Now naked, starved and dehydrated, I laid my body down on a bed of wet palms and prepared to meet my reaper. Sometime during the evening my usual nightmarish paranoia subsided and I awoke with strange female voices echoing through the vast canopies of trees. The voices became louder, more coherent and I could even make out what appeared to be a melody. There was a rhythmic beat, but it wasn’t tribal so I knew it wasn’t primitive flesh-eaters coming to cannibalize on Uncle T’s loins. I started to make out the words…the voices were repeating something about a “jungle man”.
Suddenly appearing from the bundles of ferns were dozens of gorgeous, scantily-clad women. They wore loincloth bikinis made out of twine and coca leaves. Their hair was teased, feathered and ever-flowing. Their eyes like rubies and emeralds. As they stood before me, singing this jungle hymn, I could feel myself getting stronger. As each minute passed my body seemed to be growing healthier. It was as though these wild love tigresses were putting nutrients back into my system. I stood up and one of them passed me a custom-made loincloth with the letters T-N-U-C etched onto the butt. Then she handed me a spear, six coconuts and a large cheese pizza. She whispered softly in my ear and repeated, “you are the jungle man” and this is the song that followed:
From that day forward I was king of all beasts. The leopards, toucans, chimps, geckos and pythons followed me around all day, showing me where to hunt boar and spear fish by the waterfalls. As for the phantom jungle babes that I have to thank for my survival, I met them on a nightly basis in the misty rainforest to listen to music and dance for a number of years, until I was captured by a National Geographic search party and taken back to Los Angeles against my will! All I have left for tangible evidence of my life in the jungles is the music, a few coca leaves and these photos…