What would happen if I were wrongfully detained by some foreign law enforcement agency which sought information I did not have through various means of torture? This scenario makes the assumption that I can’t get out of it by saying, “You’ve got the wrong girl, and besides, I’m an American!” Let’s review all the ways they might torture me, based on stuff I’ve heard and absolutely no in-depth research.
They could pull out my toenails with a pair of pliers, which puts a person in a lot of pain, but does no permanent damage. I’ve done this to myself three times.
They could electrocute me. I used to report to hospital weekly to be mercilessly shocked for 30 minutes at a time. It was under the guise of “physical therapy.”
They could beat the shit out of me, leaving me aching and bruised for long periods of time. But that would be no different from the pain I experience the morning after a particularly eventful Saturday night.
They could light my privates on fire, which I’m sort of ashamed to admit I have also done before.
They could also make me listen to some kind of music that is considered awful by most Americans. I heard they’ve subjected some Middle Eastern torture subjects to Metallica and children’s songs, and some pathetic souls actually cracked! I once worked for a radio station that prided itself on how obscure its world music collection was. So go ahead, do your worst.
Sleep deprivation? Um, yeah. I went to college. And ask me about the time I lived on top of some train tracks.
Tie me up and whip me? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Seriously…
At the risk of some international guerilla group not only capturing me, but also bothering to read this blog, I will now list some ways you could definitely get me to spill the beans, or fabricate some beans and spill those.
Send me clothes shopping in a major city on a Saturday afternoon.
Make me drive in a foreign country in the rain with no headlights or windshield wipers.
Put me in a room full of people talking on cell phones.
Make me brush my teeth with weird-flavored toothpaste.
Set me up with a guy that I hang out with for several weeks and like, and then cease all communication between us forever.
Set one of my friends up with a guy who beats her and play a continuous loop of her making excuses for him: “But he’s under a lot of stress… He loves me… He said things would change…”
Give me a computer that is internet-ready with no internet connection.
Put me in front of a conveyor belt supplied with newborn babies that I must continuously pick up, hold, cradle, act interested in, and find someone to relieve my holding duties for.
Supply me with ideas for which I can only use dangling prepositions to explain understably.
The list is long, but you get this jist of it. And yeah, maybe that last one wasn’t as bad as that time I lit my crotch on fire. You get the idea…