She rolled towards me, her little piggy eyes staring out from rolls of pink flesh, her body covered in thick black sticky goo, it was all quite filthy, nay, appalling, I was in bed with a large agitated sow; she was lolloping and rolling across the bed and the life was about to squeezed from me by her bulk. I woke with a start. I was sweating. Just outside my window a pig was screaming the scream of a pig toward whom the world is being a little less than agreeable. I moved my hand arcross the bed, I was alone, I breathed a sigh of relief. I remembered the girl with the beautiful eyes who had been flirting with me last nigh, I heaved a sigh of disappointment. The pig went on squealing, I pressed a small button and the pleasing green glow of my watch told me that it was way too early for agitated swine, it was three in the morning. I went back to sleep.
Exactly one hour and forty-five minutes later I was once again stirred into untimely consciousness. Not this time by an agitated farm yard beast but by a broadcast on behalf of the local Communist Party. Four forty-five AM, in the morning, the first 4:45 of the day, that is to say a full one hour and forty five minutes before the sun sees fit to cajole the day into action the local authority saw fit to broadcast jolly military marching music to the entire town of Tu Le in back end of beyond Vietnam. Un-bloody-believable. I clambered out of bed and pulled the wooden window shutters to. By this time a lady was being broadcast who’s goal seemed to be to teach the citizens of Tu Le to count to ten. She relentlessly counted in time to the music over and over for what seemed like days as I sandwiched my head twixt two pillows. Admitting defeat I clambered from beneath my duvet, slipped on a pair of shorts and made my way along the open corridor to the front of the hotel. I was now quite convinced that the street would be full of happy communist children all dressed in matching uniforms with little red neck scarfs engaged in early morning military style aerobics. The streets were deserted. The only lights were the neon sign of a restaurant and those illuminating the local government administration office. This was quite remarkable. These people stood up for themselves with such vigour that they became the first, and to date I believe only nation to give a sound thrashing to the world’s mightiest war machine, and yet they are prepared to be woken before five every morning with marching music and a lunatic teaching them to count from one to ten – in their own language!
The counting stopped and was quickly replaced by the broadcast of a clearly drunken man eager to introduce to the town a different song than that being played by the marching band. It was truly awful and caused deep distress to the town’s canine population. Within minutes of the heartless man bursting into dis-tune every dog in the valley was howling its protest. A cockerel crowed, once, and then gave in. I mean to say, even the roosters found it an ungodly hour to disturb the population.
And so, dear reader, this morning I have finally reached an unambiguous conclusion that despite any attempts I may have previously made to see some good or sense in communism I am now firmly of the opinion that it is nothing short of mindlessly and bewilderingly moronic.