HOT LESBIAN ACTION!!!

Hola, Amigos. They treated me well in the Lower Territories, although my usual girl had found an older man (following, perhaps, the sound of jingling coins.)

During my one week sabbatical from my high school (we won't discuss the unfortunate circumstances under which this was arranged), I had ample time to relax, to see the sites around my sunny location just south of Cancùn, and to ruminate upon modern life in our 51 states.

Whoa! You know Area 51 and how no one knows where it is? Maybe it's in the 51st state, Mexico! I knew I was supposed to be doing something over there!

Anyway, I woke up bright and early a couple of Saturdays ago around 6:00 AM, which disappointed me. Nothing is more exciting to me than an early morning escape by taxi cab. It makes me feel like a high powered diplomat trying to escape assassination. But I'm not, and it's important that you all remember that.

The flight to Miami, our layover, was mainly uneventful, although I was charmed to discover how little willpower I have. See, I had intended to study for my rigorous AP test, but preferred to study the buoyancy of ice and its application to Mr. and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix. Who is Mrs. T? We all know Mr. T, but when did he get married? I pity the fool who marries Mr. T. He's too much man for one woman.

After the plane landed in Miami, before we all got out the exit holes, these two big guys got in a fight. One called the other a "fucking cunt", it got pretty nasty. Have you ever seen a fist fight inside an airplane? Those aisles are really small and it is just dangerous. But I was listening to that part of Jesus of Suburbia where its all loud and angry, so it was pretty cool. Next to Air Force One, this was probably the best airplane fight I've ever seen. Except for the part where one of the guys almost fell down and crushed my dad. At least the plane wasn't actually in flight at the time. Hey, you wanna take this outside?

When we got to Mexico, I suddenly remembered what a hot and muggy country it is. In entering the airport, I caught the unforgettable scent of a Mexican airport; part cigarette, part detergent, part stale air conditioning. My mom's sister, who lives in California was flying down to meet us. While we waited, a small man (as most natives are) offered us $150 and a free buffet breakfast in exchange that we come to their hotel the next day to listen to their sales presentation. We go to Mexico about once a year so we're quite experienced and know how to work the system, sometimes getting two or three free breakfasts in a week. But that $150 U.S. dollars cash is not a normal offer. I don't even know how that's legal, but it's Mexico and the way they do stuff down there is different. All I know is that the system works. I wondered if there is a steady job like this, where you make $150 a day, eat free breakfast, steal pastries, all in exchange for a 90 minute sales presentation. That's what I'm aiming to do with my future.

I didn't even have to really listen to the sales presentation; that's my parents job. My job was to go to a small room and play Ninja Gaiden on one of the hotel's Xboxes. Unfortunately, the game wasn't in Spanish, which is too bad because the world desperately needs a Mexican ninja.

A dark shadow passes in the night. Children shrink beneath their covers at the sound of a creaking board. The world's warlords pace the halls of their palatial mansions. Their fear knows no bounds, because there are no bounds to the power of... Sanchez.

Flash forward a few days. We are visiting the tourist-driven town of Playa Del Carmen. I see a store called Deli and Drug and am overcome by awe. To get one's drugs and food at the same convenient location, that's the American Dream.

There was a restaurant of indeterminate name. It's mascot was a powerful Mayan man who held a giant, pointy lobster in front of him as off to ward off the invading Spanish army. I felt too intimidated to enter the restaurant, fearing attack by the subjects of marine biology. What cruel irony it would be if I were to become the main course for a party of ravenous seafood, skewered on the "human fork" of some vile crustacean.

All the restauraunts had samples of their meals covered with plastic wrap on display for the potential diner. I felt that that would be a very frustrating way to eat.

Another thing that makes food frustrating is my aunt Peggy, who joined us on our trip. She is a vegetarian, which is trouble enough when one spends a substantial portion of the week at restaurants. But there is nothing more haunting than a vegetarian who also seems to be engaged in a brutal war against vegetables. Imagine a woman who opposes meat but also refuses to eat onion, pepper, cucumber, and anything spicy, plus a variety of other things I plan to compile into a sort of negative cookbook. Onion, pepper, anything spicy. Mexican cuisine is ideally suited to someone that is not my aunt Peggy. I am so glad that she can subsist indefinitely on a diet of tofu, brocolli and soy sauce.

I got a bad sunburn on my chest and shoulders, but there was one irregular section on my chest left wholly unburned. Its strange formation reminded me that I am the anti-Christ, and I was briefly overcome by melancholy. I felt better after I dug a large hole in the beach and buried a human baby. Not really. But I did dig a hole in the sand and it was, now that I think of it, of the approximate dimensions of a medium-to-large sized infant. This was, most likely, a manifestation of my ultimate evil and the misery I will eventually bring to mankind. As the fire and brimstone of hell reign down on our world and the unholy armies of darkness bear down upon their human victims, recall that this was foreseen by the rays of the sun. Or, you know, I was holding my book over my chest and it blocked the sun.

You know, they have a lot of American chains in the more metropolitan areas of Mexico. McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Dominoes. I don't know how Pizza Hut and Dominoes got in there; I just can't see the necessity in that. I don't think I saw a Taco Bell, which is really too bad because the irony would have just been delicious, no pun intended. But these places make me so sad, even more so than those inside the United States. Mexicans are going to live their whole lives thinking, "Yes, this is what pizza is supposed to taste like," and that's just such a God damn shame.

I also saw a Hooters in Mexico, and it really got me wondering for the first time: what's the big idea behind Hooters? I mean, right, sex sells. Everyone loves busty girls in halter tops. But exactly what prodigy, what spectacular hot shot first realized that the industries of sex and nourishment, while individually quite successful, had never been satisfactorily fuzed. When the first Hooters opened, from whence came the man who said "Yes! I do like to be aroused while I eat. A set of large knockers is the perfect complement to a jumbo basket of buffalo wings." Am I the only person who finds this juxtaposition a little bit purposeless? I want a Philly Cheesesteak and I want to look at some boobies. This is why the world loves our country.

Some of you may be curious about the honeys; I was near Cancùn and it is one of those "spring break destinations" where frat people can drink until they vomit, then go skinny dipping in the ocean. Well, my spring break is not the spring break of the average student, so the count of viable ladies was disappointingly low. I will however note that if there are any honeys do be found, one should look no further than Tulum (where—Danish tourists, take note—my cousins Rye and Japh are running a modest hotel). I can't really explain this, but the beaches of Tulum seem to attract a fair amount of nubile, topless women from countries with exotic names like Venezuala and Desmoines. Actually, I don't know where these sandy angels were from but they made my eyes very nervous and limited the places I could look and not feel that I would be pummeled by a large blond man with shaved legs.

Finally, my sentimental journey came to its end and I boarded the plane back to the beloved Fatherland. And, a funny thing happened when I arrived in Miami; I felt glad—inordinately glad given my upbringing—to be back in America. So maybe this had been the entire point of my voyage. After the beautiful terrors of a large and malicious sun, fly-sampled pastries for 20 and 30 cents, and a Cartoon Network that plays Tom and Jerry in Spanish, I was ready for my return. As our plane broke gravity's spell on the Miami runway and its wheels retracted into their metal abode, I stared down at the glowing lights, at millions of watts of what I could only be sure was wasted, undeserved electricity, and it felt good to be home.


Nicky

MY E-MAIL! Okayeahwhatever@yahoo.com.
AIM: Jake Aimer