Karim and his filthy nest

When we had picked up our luggage, we went past customs smoothly, and into a great hall, where the first thing that caught my eye was a big, fat man with a sign that said "Mr George". It turned out to be our ride to the hotel.
-"I am Mr Karim. I will drive you." he said, smelling of sweat and old tobacco.

As we walked towards the cars outside I could barely contain my excitement as we were nearing a white Rolls Royce Phantom. We were going to travel by style, I thougt with relief.
That was until Karim passed it and started to unlock a Lada Niva, a rusty old monument to the Soviet Union.
-"Sorry, no aircondition, not fixed yet!", Karim said.
We barely could fit in it, but soon we were on our way, the heat nearing +50 celsius. Georgie was not really himself after the bad acid trip, staring blankly ahead of him.
-"So, where are we going to stay?", I said, "the Burj Dubai?"
- "Aah...I think..maybe at Karim's place", Georgie said and passed out.

And yes, 55 agonizing, sweaty minutes later we arrived at Karim´s place. And I panicked! It was basically a small cellar with a sink and a hotplate, a broken toilet and a bed wich had seen better days, I had to carry Georgie in, and I dumped him in the bed, only to hear a scream behind me.
-"NO, NO, not your bed, Karim´s bed. You don´t put monkey with shitty bum in my bed,no mr."
He opened a cupboard and dragged out two disgusting sleepingbags.
-"This your bed, yes!", he said, letting go of a big fart and then throwing himself on the bed. -"You sleep now, tomorrow we go see Aswal!.

So there we were. Georgie opened an Elephant beer, gulped it down, burped, and went to sleep in his yucky sleeping bag. I wouldn´t sleep in that if I was threatened with a gun, so I just sat in a corner, putting my head under my wing (because that´s how budgies sleep), and went to sleep.

Because tomorrow, we would meet Aswal.

Airline - a bad trip for Georgie

The Emirates airplane landed in Dubai 18.00 local time. We´d had quite a blast during the flight, sipping Taittinger champagne and chucking down coctail-wieners constantly. Things were cool until about two hours into the flight when Georgie took some liquid LSD with the champers (without me knowing). He suddenly started mutter incoherently, shaking and having cold sweats, his eyes black from expanding pupils.
- 'Whats up?', I asked.
- 'M-Mi-Mmmick Jagger stole my ideas!!' he stuttered. 'Everyone can read my thoughts because I´m a purple rhino!'

Me sensing things could get even worse, I decided to get him in a lavatory. I stood guard outside,hearing strange noises from Georgie. After about half an hour I peeked in, finding him on the floor with one of his legs in the toilet bowl, quietly singing U2:s "Bloody Sunday". A queue was lining up, so I guided him back to his seat, made him swallow a glass of Perrier with three crushed sleeping pills in it, and after a few minutes he stopped singing and fell asleep. The cabin crew looked suspiciously at us, but I'd managed to stop a potential disaster.
Anyway, when we got off Georgie was coming out of his buzz, and we managed to get through the passcontrol with no more than a few strange glances. As I was walking behind him towards the baggage claim, I saw that he had managed to shitting his pants.

And so our little debacle in Dubai was starting...