In this, I figger he is correct.

Anyhow, I am tryin to break the ice, so to speak, so I ast the Ayatolja how come he is always so fierce an mad-lookin an scowlin all the time?

"It is because," he say, "that for thirty years I have been tryin to become president of the World Council of Churches, an them heathen assholes won't even let me in! Who is more religious than the Ayatolja, anyhow?"

"Why you let that worry you?" I ast, an he says back, "On account of I am a dignified feller, an don't take no shit off nobody, an who is these turds that will not let me in the World Council of Churches? I am the Ayatolja of Iran, after all. I am a big cheese, you dummy."

"Now, wait a minute," say Colonel North. "My man Forrest, here, might not be the brightest feller around, but you oughtn't be callin him names."

"The Ayatolja does whatever he wants—You don't like it, kiss my ass."

"Yeah, well, I am a marine colonel and I don't kiss asses."

At this, the Ayatolja commenced slappin his thighs an bust out laughin.

"Very good, Colonel, very good. I think we can do some bidness here."

Anyhow, Colonel North done start explainin his deal to the Ayatolja.

"Look here," he says, "some of your fellers over in Lebanon done took a bunch of our people for hostages, and it is causin considerable embarrassment to the President of our United States."

"Oh, yeah," the Ayatolja says. "So why don't you just go over there and get em out?"

"It ain't that easy," the colonel says.

The Ayatolja begun to chuckle. "Really. Tell me about it. I know somethin about hostage takin mysef, you know. Look what happened when that other numbnuts president of yours came over here an tried to screw with our hostage-takin enterprise. What was his name...?"

"It don't matter, he ain't there anymore," say the colonel.

"Yeah, I know all about that, too!" The Ayatolja begun to laugh again, an slap his thighs.

"Well, that may be true," the colonel says, "but look here, we gotta get down to bidness. Time is money, you know?"

"What is time to the Ayatolja?" he say, holdin his palms up in the air, an just about then, one of them fellers with the baggy underpants an the swords beat twice on a huge gong, sort of like the one Mrs. Hopewell, from the CokeCola scheme, had in her rubdown room.

"Ah, speakin of time," announces the Ayatolja, "we are about ready for lunch. You boys had anythin to eat yet?"

"No, sir," I piped up, an Colonel North, he gave me a dirty look.

"Well, then," the Ayatolja shouts, "let the feast begin!"

At this, about a hundrit A-rabs come runnin into the room carryin trays an platters of all kinds of shit, an it is the most mysterious-lookin food I have ever seen. They is big heaps of what appear to be salami wrapped in cabbage an hams an olives an fruits an maybe cottage cheese or somethin—an I don't know what-all else. They laid it all down in front of us on a big Persian rug an stood back with they arms folded across they chests.

"Well, Mr. Gump, and what would you like to eat?" says the Ayatolja.

"Maybe a ham sambwich," I answered.

"Father of God!" screams the Ayatolja. "Don't say them kinds of things in here! We people ain't ate no nasty ham in three thousand years!" He begun wavin his hands an scowlin again.

Colonel North be givin me the real evil eye now, an from the corner of my own eye, I seen them fellers in the baggy diapers have begun drawin they swords. I figger I have said somethin wrong, so I says, "Well, how about a few of them olives or somethin."

A feller begun collectin a plate of olives for me, an I am thinkin that this is okay, too, account of I reckon I ate enough ham back at the pig farm to last me a lifetime.

Anyhow, when the food was served to Colonel North, he begun eatin it with his fingers an oohin an ahin about how good it was, an I picked up a olive or two an put em in my mouth. The Ayatolja took out a fork an started eatin his lunch with it, an kinda raised his eyebrows at the colonel an me. When we was finished, the A-rabs took the plates away, an the colonel tried to get down to bidness again.

"Listen," he says, "we got enough missiles we can lay our hands on to blow up half of Christendom. Now, you want some of these, you gotta promise to make them crackpots over in Lebanon let our fellers go free. Is that a deal?"

"The Ayatolja don't make deals with the Great Satan," he says.

"That so?" the colonel answers. "Well, why don't you make your own missiles then?"

"We ain't got time to," say the Ayatolja. "We are too busy with our prayers."

"Oh, yeah." The colonel snickers. "Then why don't you pray yourself up some missiles, then?"

The scowl on the Ayatolja's face become darker an darker, an I could see that the colonel's tact an diplomacy was fixin to get us into a lot of hot water. An so I tried to lighten the tension with a little joke.

"Scuse me, Mr. Ayatolja," I says. "Have you heard the one about the drunk caught drivin down a one-way street?"

"Nope."

"Well, the policeman says to him, 'Say, din't you see them arrows?' An the drunk says, 'Arrows? I din't even see the Indians!' "

"For Chrissakes, Gump..." the colonel hisses, but just then the Ayatolja busts out in a big laugh an begun slappin his thighs an stampin his feet.

"Why, Mr. Gump, you do have a sense of humor, don't you? Why don't you an me take a little walk in my garden?"

So that's what we did. I looked back over my shoulder as we was goin out the door, an Colonel North was just standin there with his jaw hangin down past his chin.

"Look here, Mr. Gump," the Ayatolja says when we get outside, "I don't like this Colonel North of yours. His diplomacy is too slick, and my impression is that he is tryin to put a fast one over on me."

"Oh, I don't know about that," I says. "He seems to me like a truthful feller."

"Well, be that as it may, I ain't got all day to listen to his bullshit. It's about time for me to go pray again. So tell me, what do you think of all this arms for hostages stuff?"

"I don't know much about it. I mean, if it's a fair trade, I guess it's okay. The President seemed to think it was. But, like I say, it ain't exactly in my sphere of influence."

"Just what is your sphere of influence, Mr. Gump?"

"Well, I was a pig farmer, before all this."

"Father of God," the Ayatolja mutters, claspin his hands an rollin his eyes up toward heaven. "Allah has sent me a swine merchant."

"But basically," I added, "I guess I am a military man."

"Ah, that is a little better I suppose. So, from that standpoint, how do you think these missiles will help the poor ole Ayatolja in his war against the infidels in Iraq?"

"Damn if I know."

"Ah—that's the kind of answer the Ayatolja likes to hear. Not this slick car salesman crap of your Colonel North. You go back and tell your people we got a deal. Arms for hostages."

"You gonna get our hostages out, then?"

"I can't promise it, of course. Those fellers in Lebanon are a bunch of maniacs. All the Ayatolja can do is try—You just make sure them missiles get here on the double."

So that's how it was. Colonel North, when he got through chewin me out for hornin in on his diplomacy, he was happy as a pig in sunshine, so to speak.

"Great God, Gump," he says on the flight home, "this is the deal of a lifetime! We have finally tricked that old moron into givin us back our hostages for some old beat-up missiles that an army of Norwegians wouldn't know what to do with. What a lovely coup!"

All the way till we landed, the colonel be pattin hissef on the back for his brilliance. Me, I figger I might have found some kind of career in this bidness, so's I can send some money home for little Forrest. As it turned out, that was not the way it worked.