A Slow Boat to China or the Merry Wives of Wilbur

Suppose you, a life-long resident of San Francisco, found yourself escorted to a pier down on the Embarcadero by four very determined and unfriendly men you had never met before. My belongings were on board and these gentlemen are here to see I get on board and remain there until this rusty, old tramp steamer is far enough  at sea there was no way I could somehow return.

         I can't read the name on this rusty pile of naval machinery but have been given to understand that I will be deposited somewhere in the Chinese interior. GREAT!  I even have trouble with the menus of Chinese restaurants here in town. I just had enough time to grab a bunch of paperbacks and a few bottles of restorative before finding myself here ready to depart rather than remain and very likely suffer what could turn out to be considerable and possibly, irreparable damage to my delicate epidermis. I have prepared anyway for what seems likely to be a long and boring time at sea.  

       My name is Wilbur and it won't be very long, when you delve into this expose of a portion of my life, why the sub-title of this book was chosen. Entertainment and excitement galore!