119.

   The green thing looked down on us with a wry smile and ushered us through French doors onto a balcony overlooking a beautiful tropical waterway. “My name is Vivian. I’ve always adored the name. In fact, I told my mother to name me Vivian when I was still in the womb. When she named me Frank, I vowed never to forgive her. Frank! Can you imagine? But I do go on. Well, Miss Oliver and Miss Conrad, I’ve taken you from that tacky Philippines to fabulous Vietnam! Voila, Han Long Bay!”, It placed one hand on its hip and swept the other across the horizon. “This, darlings was where America drew a line in the sand against those Russian and Chinese commie bitches and that slut Ho Chi Minh. Don’t get me wrong. Ho was a useful tool against the Japanese during the War, the bitch of my bitch is my girl friend and all that, but after the War there was nothing out of her mouth but independence, independence, independence, and commie independence at that! We figured the French could take care of her and even that stuffy old bag Truman helped with fifty million bucks but, Dien Bien Phu put an end to that idea. Eisenhower put that little puppet Diem and his tramp wife Madam Nhu in power in the South, but that bitch Ho (pardon the pun) was madder than a drag queen in a cheap dress and when the Buddhists began to burn themselves alive in the streets, let me tell you, the hair pins started to fly.”
   All during this breathless soliloquy, Vivian, with its hands on our shoulders had led us out of the house, down a path to the shore of the bay where a majestic old junk was waiting for us. “You are my guests, and this is my fabulous yacht!”, it squealed “Welcome aboard!”
  We climbed aboard and the ship cast off into the bay.