Walking in my front yard I spied a line of fire ants. Despite my best efforts, I could not find the mound. Thus, I did what every red-blooded American would do; I grabbed one of the little guys and initiated a field interrogation. “Where’s your queen, mother fucker?” “I will pull your antennae off one by one until you tell me where you live!”
Apparently drilled to withstand my relatively amateurish technique, he just stared at me confident he would never give “up the mound”. Then I remembered last night’s infomercial.
Since the closure of the Black Site secret interrogation centers in Eastern Europe and elsewhere, those locations have been sorely lacking for business. So one of these places, somewhere in Romania I think, is now offering to interrogate anyone or anything for a fee on a sliding scale basis (don’t ask). Travel is of course extra and kidnapping across boundaries commands a hefty premium. You have a kid who won’t fess up to his or her whereabouts last night, put’em on a plane to Sofia. An employee denies skimming the books; say hello to Dante’s fifth level of hell.
I must say that for an infomercial, it was quite tastefully done. No actual blood or torture; just focused on the results, including testimonials from both clients and former guests. It’s not cheap buts beats the heck out of talking. As for my ant, he is in route. Presuming he survives the trip, I should get results in a year or two.