I just found out last night that I may be zipping down south of the border to do a short stint this Fall for a chain of casinos run by tequila-swilling bandits. This would be totally north of awesome since everyone knows Mexico is a den of vice, spice and possibly lice. The drinks are cheap, the ladies are cheaper and basically, to put it in perspective for ya – those people who envisage Hell as a big, hot, sweaty place full of hard liquor, scantily clad dancing ladies and horny beings torturing people, they’re really imagining Mexico.
I actually embarked on a ten day Mexican tour in 2004 which took me all over the damn place, dodging banditos and raunchy senoritas. Admittedly, I tried harder to avoid one of those groups than the other.
It was pretty awesome at least what I can remember of it which admittedly, isn’t a whole lot. I mean it’s a country full of hallucinogens and cheap liquor, so if you come back remembering anything and wearing more than one shoe you did it wrong.
Anyway, that trip was basically ten days of ladies waving their fajitas in Uncle Spunkarino’s tired old face. Ten days of debauchery with the craziest people on Earth. Ten days of having various dark skinned minxes taste my burrito of leurve.
Naturally, by “burrito of leurve” I mean my ginormous cock. And not the fighting type either.
I think we crossed back over the border at Yuma, Arizona with a gallon of home brewed tequila, a straw donkey and a hat so big it wouldn’t fit in the El Camino. My companion, Rossi del Muncho, had to cart it back in the truck we toted the equipment in, the next morning and explain it to customs who thought he might be smuggling entire Mexican families in it.
The only grievance on that tour was we were minus a bass player, since Pedro couldn’t come seeing as how he spent two years trying to escape that godforsaken country by less than legal means and now he’s in the U.S. well, let’s just put it this way, leaving the country again would be a bad move. I did call him from the Baja to give him a quick report on the state of Mexican affairs, the size of the chicas castanets and to call his mama a “puta”. Good times.
Anyway, yeah, here’s to another couple weeks of bad livin’, bad wimmen and bad breath.