A Night to Remember

"I'm telling you!" I said firmly, "I don't remember a damn thing!"
The FBI agent slammed his fists on the table after my outburst. I had been in here for half an hour now, far too long for my tastes. I was getting jittery, anxious, perhaps almost willing to tell the truth here soon. Whatever that truth might be.
The agent sighed and began, "All we need to know is what was in the shipment? What the hell were you trying to get through the border that was so Goddamned important that you hijacked a Fedex truck, ran over a border patrolman, shot an oficer in the leg, gave the truck to a drunken illegal immigrant; whom you brought across the border with you, and ran wildly across the desert in nothing but a pair of briefs?!"
The agent's long, drawn out, run-on sentence baffled me. I didn't know where to begin, nor did I remember the actions of the previous day. Wait, did I? I wasn't sure.
"Mr. Smith, may I please. The truth of the matter is that I don't quite know what happened. For all I know, you guys drugged me and brought me back here for an experiment. For all I know, I'm on Punk'd! Wait! Where is Ashton Kutcher?!" I knew Mr. Kutcher was in on this and I knew Mr. Smith was merely a program in this Matrix.
"My name is Johnathon Larsky. I do believe you have mistaken me for an evil agent in a movie trilogy that should've called it quits after the first installment. However, back to the point. Who was your accomplice?" Mr. Smith knew something, something that I didn't know. Of that, I was sure.
"Look, Mr Smith, I don't care rightfully care what you think your name is. You wear a suit and tie, you have one of those things plugged into your right ear, and you won't take off those f***ing sunglasses. It is undeniable, you are Mr Smth. Now, back to what I can recall..."
I began my story. Perhaps it was true, perhaps I lied the entire way through. Nonetheless, I felt the end result would always be the same, no matter how I played it.
I began somewhere in Mexico, not quite sure how I got there or even why I was there. I believe it had something to do with prostitutes and tequila. After being tuned down and slapped by the third girl that I could have sworn on my balls was a prostitute, I hammered back my ninth shot of Jose Cuervo. Somewhere, through the smoke and haze of the thoughts that cloud my ever waking existance (or perhaps it was just the cigar and marijuana smoke that filled the bar), I saw an intimidating man.
The man was a true pimp of the nature. A long trench coat fell just above his ankles, full of badassery in ll of his ways. Dark glasses, much like that of an agent, adorned his face. He walked slowly toward me, was it I the one he had chosen? Surely, it had to have been.
I drowned three more shots in the time it took him to cross the bar to where I was sitting. I'm not sure if it was my blood/aclohol content but he seemed to move in slow motion.
"Neo." He said to me. Neo is not my name, I went along with it nevertheless.
"Yes?" I asked of him.
"I've been expecting you. I have these two pills. Take the blue pill and you will awake in a cheap motel room with a prostitute, with no memory of any of his. Take the red pill and I will show you how deep the rabbit hole goes." He was convincing, as if his belief in what he was saying could never be swayed. No, he didn't simply believe, he knew. Just as he knew, I would take the red pill, but only after I was still promised a prostitute.
"...And that's the last thing I remember." I said to Mr. Smith, as he pinched the top of his nose in frustration.
"The man that approached you, the same man that you hijacked the Fedex truck with, is an international slave and drug smuggler." He said to me. This wasn't surprising to me, I had fallen into traps like this before due to my willingness to try anything once. Even if it is a shiny red pill with an X on it.
"Cool, cool. Umm, so we're done here, right? I can leave." I sat up and walked toward the door. I was tased before I reached it.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. My inability to move stunned me. Quite literally. I was stunned.
An hour or so passed of me simpl staring at Mr. Smith as he yelled at me about morals and life lessons.
It wasn't long before another man walked in, much larger than Smith. They exchanged glances with one another, a simple understanding between the two is what I could sense. I sensed that hey were gay. Yes, quite gay for one another, and this larger one was the pitcher. In the summary of my thoughts, I spoke to this new appearance, "Sup Pitcher? How are the rainbows down fancy town?"
I wasn't sure what I planned to accomplish with my comments and realizing that they couldn't necessarily understand my thought process, I wished to take back my statement. However, it could not be retracted, the words lingered in the air much like the smoke did from the night before.
"We just got word, we caught Fernaldo." The Picher said.
So, Fernaldo was the man's name that I had encountered the night before. Interesting. I'm surprised I never knew his name. I really need to stop being so trusting of random people that offer me free drugs.
"Umm, I have a question?" I stood up and adressed the two of them. Both of their eyes stared blankly at me from behind their dark sunglasses.
"What was in the Fedex truck?" I asked, nervously.
"Fake testicles." Answered the large, pitcher of a man.
Fake testicles.. It never made any true sense to me after that. I was shortly released from custody. I suppose they felt that my shame was bad enough. I decided I must continue down whichever rabbit hole Fernaldo had told me about in that hazy bar. This was, for me, too much to let go. From this point on, my life has changed. Forever.