(Apologies for taking a month to post this piece from the National Enquirer)Earlier this week, upon arriving at the airport in Georgetown, I was met by a blurry eyed charismatic looking man donning a Hawaiian type shirt who called himself “Mr. Jones”. He asked if I would be interested in joining him to visit his “community” somewhere in the idyllic countryside of Guyana. He said there would be women, tall grass and tasty drinks. Since I am a curious man at heart, and I had never been to Guyana before, I rejoiced in this invitation and headed towards his car. As I was about to get in, a tall, rather good looking man jumped out in front of me screaming “David, don’t drink the Kool-Aid.” And thank God I was saved, and by no less than a fine newcomer to the Country Club, Chris Brady. Chris whisked me away in his limo, without my even being able to bid farewell to “Jim” -and thank God he did. The rest of my sojourn in this South American/Caribbean nation was peaceful, and, most importantly, I am back stateside to be able to tell you about it. And yes, Chris did suggest we indulge in local Guyanese Bank’s beer (as the attached photo attests to) rather than drinking Jim Jones “Kool-Aid” and your never hearing from me, the Country Club Founder, Governor and sometimes Benevolent Dictator, again.
