Douchebags, Fags, and Hags – An Unlikely Journey to the Sultanate of Baboob
Walking in the Sultanate of Baboob
Some of my Babooban friends

The Sultanate of Baboob – mysterious, wonderful, and as far as I know – I’m the only professional online travel journalist to ever be invited there (let alone to be allowed to sit on the royal throne for a photo -op.)

While that honor is wonderful, in fact, I owe much of what I discovered there and have thus far revealed to the world to a simple man who humbly told me of his adventures there. Like you, I was doubtful, at first. In fact, I argued that the Sultanate of Baboob didn’t even exist!

Here are the links where you can purchase Douchebags, Fags, and Hags – An Unlikely Journey to the Sultanate of Baboob

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I wasn’t the first, nor the last and today the debate rages still, both online and off.  I have even included one such incident in Douchebags, Fags, and Hags to illustrate the truth of the matter.

Pig wasn’t sure he wanted to tell anyone where he was going, but since everyone else had, he felt obligated. “I’m going to go to Africa,” he said.

Mrs. Grey Tweed wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. “Which country do you plan to go to? Morocco? Egypt? Mali? Niger? Sierra Leone? Africa is a big continent. Have you narrowed it down yet?”

“Actually, I have. I’m going to Baboob.” Pig spilled it out in a second and was surprised to hear the rest of the class burst into laughter. He didn’t understand exactly why they were laughing.


Mrs. Grey Tweed understood perfectly. “Very funny Mr. uh…what is your name?”


“Pigrone,” he said “Pigrone Martin.”


“Alright then. Mr. Martin, what real country do you plan to go to? Are you actually going to Africa?”

Mrs. Tweed was giving him a very stern look as if she had caught him looking at her ass and texting his friend about it.

At this point, it was Jenny who came to his rescue. “Hey, fuck you bitch. It’s a real country. I saw it on the fucking discovery channel. What kind of a horse-shit operation is this anyway? Don’t you know geography?”

Apparently, Jenny was still off of her meds. Not only that, but she had an atlas in her bag which she pulled out and waved at Mrs. Grey Tweed who came and got it with a knowing smile on her face as she flipped to the index and said “You see, there is no country called…oh wait…here it is. Baboob.” She turned to the North African page and looked at the tiny spot that is the Sultanate of Baboob. “Well, I’ll be…uhm, wait, Miss…” she handed the atlas back to Jenny with a bit of apprehension. “Where are you going to be going?”

Jenny stood up and smiled at the class with her hair flowing out like blond static and a crazed look in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here because I love mother-fucking Madrid, bitch.”


Surprisingly, Pig was the only one that laughed.