Sheen and The Prisoners’ Dilemma

Hi there, People. I want to tell you about something that happened to me recently. It was a really scary experience that I wouldn’t wish on my greatest enemy. (Oh well, actually, maybe I would…) Anyway, it goes like this:

 

I was travelling through the hinterlands of Uzbekistan the other day and I decided to get the bus from Yursj to Vngyhu, a journey of about 70 km. As soon as I got settled into my seat I realized that the passenger by my side was, in fact, dead.

 

Yes, I was travelling with a stiff. He’d been dead for a while, I could tell, because he was all waxy and smelly. I also noticed that he was handcuffed…

 

After a few miles, the gentleman in the seat immediately in front of me turned round and asked if I spoke English. He was greasy and smiley. He explained that he was with the secret police and he was taking Jupko to his village where he hoped to get a good price for him or something – the guy’s English wasn’t up to much, level A2 at the outside.

 

Anyway, the thing is, when we reached the village of Shjrxt – we stopped there for petrol and something to eat – the local police pounced, arrested my greasy travelling companion, and left me alone with Jupko, the enchained corpse.

 

The driver informed me that he was entitled to charge 500 USD for delivering Jupko to his destination. I refused any involvement in the operation, me being a poor Spanish tourist and all that. The driver then produced a note from the secret police saying that I, Sheen Martínez, was “helping the Uzbeki police with their enquiries”.

 

So I said to the driver, I said:

 

“Hey, man, the straw is turning to hay, man,

It looks like you lost the way, man,

Don’t think you can lie to me,

Get on your knees and cry to me,

You’re confusing the  milagro de Santa Gema

With the prisoners’ dilemma”.

 

And I got the train back home.