|
|
|---|
|
American Politics Journal Atrios Barry Crimmins Betty Bowers Buzzflash Consortium News Daily Howler Daily Kos Democatic Underground Disinfotainment Today Evil GOP Bastards Faux News Channel Greg Palast The Hollywood Liberal Internet Weekly Jesus General Joe Conason Josh Marshall Liberal Oasis Make Them Accountable Mark Morford Mike Malloy Political Humor - About.com Political Wire Randi Rhodes Rude Pundit Smirking Chimp Take Back the Media Whitehouse.org More Links |
BartCop
in a Mexican Jail
Part Two
So here I was, making almost every effort to avoid impeachment.
(That almost may be the most important word
in this story.)
As negotiations for the girl's services came to a close, we chose
sides.
Common sense told me going to another country, getting drunk,
then going "upstairs" with a young girl
who'd get me 5-10 even in Arkansas, and on top of all that
- dropping my pants - didn't sound right.
(Don't even ask. I was well out of the grasp of
the Caths by then.)
There's a "when in Rome" thing that applied here, but I didn't.
Even as far back as 1973, I had Mrs. BartCop waiting for me at
home, and I didn't want to fuck that up.
Speaking of which, the men won't like this, but it's the truth.
At least half the men would cheat on their wives in a fucking
heartbeat if they had the chance. In my 25 years
or so in the business world, I've been to too many out-of-town
conventions and stuff like that to know that
when a man is out of town - he is single.
I could tell you lots and lots of stories, but I'll never finish
this if I do.
But for some men it's "out of town."
For men who love their wives, it's "out of state."
For men who really love their wives, it's "six states
away,"
and for those who really, really love their wives, it's
"out of the country."
(It goes without saying that there are NO married men in Las Vegas.
If a man is in Las Vegas, he is single.
That's how they built the town.
All that gambling stuff is a COVER!
"Oh. honey, you wouldn't want to go
with us to Vegas this time.
Me & the guys are going to gamble
all week."
And, please, don't tell me you didn't know...
Why do you think it's called "Sin City?"
Because that's where men remember their vows?
ha ha
Men, out-of-town, cheat.
It's what men do.
That's what was so triple-stupid about the women forgiving Clinton
for Monica,
but all the men stood in line to call him 'that terrible scumbag."
Of those who called Clinton a "scumbag," EIGHTY percent are guilty.
They figured calling him names would make better cover for their
wife.
I, on the other hand, who have never cheated, was comfortable
saying,
"It was just a blow job, let it go."
...tap on the shoulder...
Will I ever get back to the Mexican tavern?
OK.
If I hammer some beautiful 15-year old pro from another
country,
that's not cheating, because, ...because, ... it's not illegal
there.
(Trust me, a man will search for that caveat.)
A man won't cheat on his his wife until he finds a reason why
it's OK,
and most times that reason shows up ten seconds after the search
begins.
So, it's decision time:
My buddy Carl and I said a polite, "No," to the sweet, young and
lovely Senoritas, while Brad and
Bobby agreed to sample the goods, pay the ten dollars and retire
upstairs with the young ladies.
When I say, "upstairs," I remember a wooden ladder and hay falling
out from the second story.
It was really in a barn as much as a tavern.
Having made our intentions clear, the girls left Carl and I alone.
After a while, we needed a restroom so we asked a passing waitress.
She gave us a quizzical look, then pointed outside the door.
Now, we're moving into fatal-mistake territory.
Since she spoke no English words that did not begin with an "S"
or an "F,"
we assumed she meant we should just go outside. Remember, this
is a town without paved roads.
We assumed plumbing was something that was still on the Mexican
drawing board.
By this time, we had gotten pretty loopy. We stumbled outside
into the dirt-and-grass parking lot.
We located a spot in the dark between two cars and took care
of business.
Just then, I'll never forget this, four federales in a
brown 1953 Chevy
jumped out and grabbed us. Each man had a giant Smith & Wesson
revolver.
I don't know the model number, but the grips on these guns guns
were hueueueueuge,
much larger than I could get my hand around.
Carl was put in the front seat with a federale on either side.
I was put in the back seat, and we started driving away from town
into the dark Mexican desert.
Thank Koresh,
I didn't have the capacity to realize how much trouble we were in.
...end of Part II
Click Here for Part Three of Bartcop
in a Mexican Jail
Send e-mail
to Bart | Discuss
it on The BartCop Forum | Comment
on it at the BartBlog