I am a big fan of solo travel and really enjoy archaeological sites in Africa and South America. Which reminds me of something really incredible...
After flying back to Rio from Macchu Picchu, I saw a flier advertising a kayak eco-tour of the Amazon. I brought along all of the necessities for such a trip: Water, hunting knife, waterproof matches, musclephone, compass, and bug spray. Anyway, with the exception of the pygmies firing poison darts from blowguns, the trip was going great until I saw what appeared to be a black cloud moving in very low.
When I saw the pygmies running for their lives and screaming "!Buzos! !BUZOS! !!BUZOS!!" it dawned on me that perhaps this particular pygmy tribe was afraid of dark clouds ("Buzces" in Portuguese). That's when I noticed the cloud breaking into smaller 'clouds' and heard the cacophony of a million killer bees about to set upon me.
Sitting in my kayak with nowhere to go except for the Caiman-infested waters of the Amazon, I threw my arms up over my face and curled forward into the fetal position as the swarm blacked out the sun and overtook me.
Suddenly, amidst the orchestral buzzes of the killer bees, I heard a single, solitary higher-pitched 'BUZZ' that seemed out of place in this madness. Briefly looking up to try to find this "Blechman Bee", I immediately caught two insidious insects in my mouth, paralyzing my tongue and completely severing my oral ability to earn bodybuilding income. Then the funny 'BUZZ' again. I retrieved my exhausted musclephone from my supply bag and held it up to try to read the latest news about which 77-year old former bodybuilder would be this week's guest on PBW when I got stung on my hand and dropped musclephone onto my lap, buzzing away in musclephonian bliss. That's when it happened: Suddenly the bees all stopped buzzing!
It was almost as if they were waiting in anticipation for musclephone to "speak" to them. They began landing on my crotch, where musclephone had fallen, and invading my fumunda cheese-ridden undergarments. I could do nothing but wait and enjoy the curiously pleasurable feeling of having hundreds of bees tiptoeing around my anus.
At the one-minute interval, the bees were rewarded with another Musclephone BUZZ and I realized that they considered the musclephone to be their Queen Bee. I was torn about what to do next: Do I sit here covered with thousands of happy but deadly bees and start a new civilization with my musclephone and a steady supply of bodybuilding news sustenance or do I risk it all and throw my musclephone into the jungle and take my chances in a dangerous environment without Phil Heath updates?
I chose the latter and with my working hand, gently nuzzled the bees aside to grab and toss musclephone to the shore. As it landed amidst the jungle brush, I saw a scrawny pygmy boy with epic 8-inch arms pick it up and shout,"Thank you!" as he was mauled by the vicious swarm stinging every muscle of his swimmer's physique with thousands of tiny site injections of bee toxin.
"Help!" he screamed, but there was nothing I could do. He collapsed, Ronnie Coleman-style, to the ground.
Down river, I was saved by a nice pygymy couple named the Samuels who fixed me a protein shake while they waited for their son to return home. By dark, it was clear he wasn't coming home. "Oh my Savior", his mother cried. "Oh my Silvio", his father cried.
Epilogue
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They say "In space no one can hear you scream", but in the Amazon jungles, you can always hear your Musclephone scream - and usually it's something gay like "Paco Bautista's legs are more Vascular than ever!"
Thanks Musclephone!
