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I'm not king of mexico yet...


But when I am, this teacher gets to be Minister of Cool. I'll even let her wear my hat.

I'm thinking maybe the principal of this school should have just sent the sheriff out there to give the narcos tickets for disturbing the peace. What do you think?

One night we were in the old section of Monterrey for dinner, it looks a lot like old Santa Fe, and our waiter was extremely nervous. They had been closing this restaurant every night at eight for about a year. It was killing him financially. This was a high end restaurant in a "good" area, and there are a lot of wealthy people in Monterrey, he said used to do really well. These days, he said, its just too dangerous for people to be out on the streets, even during the day. But during the day people don't have a choice, they have to go to work, so they'll take their chances on someone wandering in for a nice lunch. After work, all bets are off.

Now, I worked in Camden, NJ, went to school in North Philly and worked in Chester, PA for years, I thought I knew dangerous. Typically "dangerous" here means, "don't do anything stupid and you'll be OK". The natives usually know what to do. When I was in school, you didn't wear your Walkman walking to the subway. In Camden, if you went out for lunch, you went in a group, you always dressed like you worked for government agency (truthfully, if you worked at all in Camden, you worked for a government agency or for an agency that worked for a government agency). In Chester you parked in the fenced lot near the lights and didn't stop for red lights if you could help it. Point being, if you had to be there, you could get tips and tricks on what to do and how to behave from the locals. Everyone knew that if you were a white guy in Camden during the day, you were working. If you were a white guy in Camden at night, you were buying drugs. Simple. There really wasn't any reason to kill a white guy in Camden.

Not so Monterrey.

I mean, there's still no reason, but if you're in the way, you're in the way. The locals there are terrified. Parking under a street light won't help if you find yourself in the middle of a firefight between some narcos and the Mexican Marines. It's a damn war zone. The narcos even have tanks. What needs to happen is a full-scale occupation, instead of the drip-drip of rotating deployments they have now. The army needs to really clamp down, a surge like in Iraq.

How do I know I'm right? Simple, the UN is against it.

Plus, you know, the whole, "we need a dictator" thing.

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Up against the wall ...



Granted, cheering, annoying. Also annoying, high school administrators and small town cops. Who's going out first when the revolution comes, loudmouths with a High School education? Or the asshole who made their lives a living hell for four years?

Seriously, at the end I wouldn't want to have ever been a High School teacher, Little League coach, have had anything to do with the town soccer league, shop foreman, sheriff's deputy, on the zoning board, tax assessor, video store rental clerk, used car salesman, librarian, wal-mart security guard, pharmacist, bouncer, have worked at the BMV, county clerk, town police (sorry James), or the guy with the perfect lawn who complains about the noise from passing motorcycles and cars at every town council meeting. They'll be the first ones to come down with machete poisoning, and that's just my list. Imagine if you were that old lady who tried to outlaw Trick or Treating, and the guy who gets all huffy that they serve beer at the outdoor festivals, Jesus Christ, don't these people ever think about their own safety?

Now, I'm not threatening anybody, because as long as society is still limping along, good manners are important, and I'll go along to get along. But if a goddamn High School principal sent the cops to give me a $200 ticket because I wooted after my kid's name was called? Me? An adult?

I'd probably have to be forcibly restrained from shoving that ticket up 'ol Mrs. Henderson's ass. That big, giant, sweaty, ass in the ugly fucking pantsuit that she thinks makes her look like a fucking big shot but makes her look like a midget in a lab coat balancing on a big brown beach ball.

Fuck it, I'm keying her car anyway.

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If I Could Fly


From Boris

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Yesterday afternoon, I was eating a lunch of kid goat (yum) and two sips of clamato and beer (not yum) in downtown Monterrey with about eight Mexican businessmen who had just returned from a trip to Chile. The conversation turned to the security situation in Monterrey and economic policy in Mexico. The consensus was that Chile was doing really well, mainly because they had had the right kind of dictator. I shit you not.

So I took the job. Just wait until you see my hat.



It took me three days to type the last post on my blackberry*...as if you couldn't tell*.

*with my penis

*80% accuracy. Watch out baby!
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Raw Fish


Uncooked, that is. Sushi. I'm not a fan.

Oh I'll eat it, I don't hate it. I just would rather eat some animal raised on corn, and it it isn't available then any warm protien will do. I'm a big fan of char.

Problem is, out here on the left coast, everyone wants to show you how cultured they are, and since everyone I'm my industry out here is Asian, Indian or Asbergers, I have to eat a lot of Sushi, because they don't haave it here, curry, because there's no Indian food in Indiana (what kind of food is more fucking Indian than corn for chrissake? Did Sacawagea not sell a bag of Fritos to Lewis and Clark? Do these people not know history?) And the Asbergers guys have to show everyone how much smarter their high school guidance counselor thought they were and pretend ti like both. With a diet coke.

Like I said, I don't hate sushi, but I'm not going out of my way to get it. But this week I've had to, and last night I went to my first, honest to goodness, gourmet sushi restaurant. And unfortunately, it was exactly the same experience as if I was out to dinner at Bucko's Sush Bar, Tackle and Tanning Parlor in Buttfuck, Oklahoma.

Crappy beer, cheap, warm saki that tastes like my urine on Monday morning (don't ask), and a quick devolution from "isn't sushi interesting and fun" to "let's see if we can get the round-eye to eat garbage". So after a couple of hours of California rolls, high-carb rice, tuna, salmon and salt, the one guy at the table who knows all the Japanese words for bait turns a nice dinner into the never broadcast, NC-17 rated pilot of "Fear Factor".

You see the glassy stare before you hear the giggle, but you know what's coming when you see him wave the waitress over and he's not looking at the menu. At this point, all the sober people in the party start to beg off, "Not me, sorry. I couldn't possibly eat any more today..."

"Don't be a wuss, they don't have this in Indiana, we need to let maddad try this.. Look, how's the Mitsubishi Fuso?"

"Oh, very good. Yes we ha dot."

"We'll take four... no six. For the table."

"Siiiiix? OOOOO-Kaaaay" At this point the waitress starts looking nervous and several of the more knowledgeable sushi eaters at the table suddenly have to take important phone calls. I, of course, simply look confused.

"What's Mitsubishi Fuso?" I'll ask the guy next to me. He'll answer, "Well, if you've ever had Hitachi, it's a lot like that." And the bait-master will overhear and shout him down, "It's not like Hitachi at all, it's like Sumitomo or Toshiba! Hitachi isn't perch!"

And I'll be relieved, because hey, who doesn't like perch. Then the half Asian guy across the table will perk up, "Hitachi? We ordered that? Not my favorite. I don't like the texture." The guy next to me will say, conspiratorially, "Not Hitachi, we're getting Misubishi Fuso." and the half Asian guy will look sick for a second and ask me why in the hell I ordered that and storm off in a huff.

I'll finally ask the waitress what Mistubishi Fuso is and she'll tell me the truth, that it's the shit gland of the North African White Rhinoceros Perch, an endangered species who's venom has been used for centuries by the Afar tribe of Somali to reduce the size of the tribal elder's scrotal sac during the annual migration. The painful side effects and homicidal mood swings are nothing compared to treading barefoot onto your bag while running from a lion in the middle of the night. Of course, the actual cut of fish tastes exactly the way the homeless guy who is "guarding" my rental car smells, but it's the texture that's really the kicker... I mean, I'll never be an East European gonzo pornstar, but that doesn't mean I can't sympathize.

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airport CNN


So there's this guy on the airport CNN who wrote a book on how to survive on a teacher's salary. He says he's been a teacher for 15 years, looks around forty and according to his book, he makes 41k a year.
That's either bullshit or he's a fucking moron.

I'm boarding so it's up to you to figure out why.

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