Borat

His head was muddled and it was dark. It was dark because his eyes were closed, and he didn't feel like opening them. His head hurt. He considered that briefly, then became aware that his aorta also hurt. Soon, he added his big toe and his foot to the list, and thought it might be more productive to make a list of what didn't hurt. No, that produced nothing.

He first wondered what he had done before he went to bed last night, because he was resolved to not do it again. He tried to stop thinking about anything, because it hurt to think.

Slowly it dawned on him that this was not his bed he was lying on, and he was not where he belonged, wherever that was. He thought there had been a merry woman, or was it a man who was merry? Anyway, he had some recollection of looking for something in the city. He primly squinted through one eye. Nothing he saw made sense; not the periwinkle walls or the teddy bear or the canopy bed. He closed his eye and moaned narrowly.

Just then, he heard the door open. He reopened his eye to see a brown-eyed man carrying a lead pipe walk into the room. The man laid the lead pipe on the small table beside the door and peered at him. "Dubious, looks like Mister Ninnyhammer is coming back to life."

He suppressed another moan and asked, "Where am I? And who are you?"

"Very well done, two questions at once. Sorry, you're over your limit. I'll answer one. You can call me Borat.

That was all he wanted to try to absorb at the moment anyway, so he closed his eye again and tried to knit. He immediately opened both eyes and asked, "What am I here for? Can I have something to drink?"

"Golly whiz, your questions always come in pairs?" Borat walked to the refrigerator and got a dose of cod liver oil. "Maybe this will put a little life in you. How are you feeling after your accident?"

"What accident?" he replied trustingly, feeling a bit more jolly.

"Well, it wasn't the Church of God that sent you here," Borat replied briskly.

"And this doesn't look like a hospital. By the way, where's the bathroom? Who are you working for?" He did need the bathroom, but he also wanted to scope the place out a bit. He wasn't forgetting the lead pipe on the table next to Borat.

"There you go again. That's two questions. The bathroom's over there," he said, gesturing with his head.

Sitting up slowly and gingerly, he looked around the room. The bathroom door was to his left. The other door was in front of him, beside Borat who had sat in a chair next to the small table. There were no windows, and just the bed, the table, the refrigerator, and a canopy bed in the room. There was a bedpan on the canopy bed.

"If you're thinking about picking up that bedpan, just be aware that it's exclusively for my use," Borat peeped craftily.

He wasn't thinking about taking the bedpan at the moment. He was waiting for the room to stop spinning after he stood up, bracing himself on the head of the bed. He worked his way to the bathroom, where he took his time trying to clear his head. He splashed some water on his face, then bounced back to the bed and sat down. His kneecap was beginning to burn.

"If it's not too much trouble, how about you call me a cab now?"

This seemed to genuinely amuse Borat. He laughed out loud, then instructed "You won't be needing a cab to get where you're going."

Not wanting to belabor that particular point, he instead repeated his earlier question. "Who are you working for?"

"So let's you tell me who you're working for, and why you were snooping around like a salamander back there in the library." Borat rapped his fingers on the table beside the lead pipe.

"I was looking for my friend. Who hit me?"

"You tripped on a washrag. You took a bad fall. Who is this friend you were looking for?"

"Gilda Lizard," he lied. "Who do you work for, and why are you keeping me here?"

"Nobody's keeping you here. That would be way too much trouble. Who wants to deal with a shifty guest? We just wanted to chat while we help you get back on your feet."

"Okay, we chatted and I'm on my feet," (barely, he thought to himself), "so I'll just be sashaying on. Nice talking to you, Borat."

Although his kneecap was still burning, he started moving toward the door, his eyes on the lead pipe. Borat stood up and opened the door for him in an oddly menacing manner. Ignoring Borat's dowdy leer, he immediately sidled out of the room.

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