For the first time in my young adult life I left the warm embrace of the United States of America. I left it to go to Tijuana, and for what? Luch libre wrestling masks. Some may ask about the wisdom of the trade, but not those who long ago turned for tequila at mere pennies on the dollar. You, my friends, you turned for far less than 30 pieces of silver. You did it for a glimpse at what Alejandro told you was “the best pussy in tee-jay.” It was fun enough, until I realized I had been trapped by “dos para uno” and it was growing dark. I then strolled back across the border with a bag of 14 lucha masks and an upset tummy. What was I greeted with on the train ride? A retarded man threw a Mounds bar at me and then expected me to give him $1 in return. First of all, I fucking hate Mounds bars. Need I remind you: Almond Joy has nuts, Mounds DON’T. Instead, Mounds have coconut out the ass. Gross.
It was good to see Steven E. again. Aw shucks, when isn’t it good to see that kid. On Saturday night we had a rousing game of Lucha Poker until I passed out on the table, snoring blissfully away on clouds made out of tequila and the best pussy in tijuana. Somewhere in there I must have smoked my cigar cuz I woke up in the morning tasting like ungodly hell.
Sunday wwhazz, maddddddddddddddddd, and I had an adventure down at Ocean Beach (motto: Our Weed Dealers Have No Shame) where we looked in tide pools and tried to catch crabs, lobsters, and zebra mussels. Also, for the record I had a delicious (read: “bangin'”) breakfast burrito. We got home in time for SummerSlam and I’m not gonna lie to you whazzmaster: it blew goats. I hadn’t watched wrestling for a long, long time and now I’m perfectly fucking glad. Vince can join the Kiss My Ass club if he thinks he’s getting my money again any time soon. Ring of Honor, baby, Ring. Of. Honor. The good thing was that the shitty PPV was over at 8pm West Coast~! time so we dressed up in our Sunday Finest lucha masks and hit the pool. No, not the small pool, the big one. We weren’t allowed in the hot tub cuz the cool kids called us emo and told us to go sit in the non-hot tub pool. We told them we didn’t want their dumb hot tub anyways, then bellygirl tried to break my trachea. She almost succeeded if not for my “go limp and pretend to drown” strategy. Then she took my lucha mask off and whipped it into the darkness. Oh yeah, belly? Stacy sez you try that agin and she breaks your knee — FIGURE FOUR LEGLOCK.
Sorry I couldn’t stay up too late, guys. Keep in mind that I was expected to return to San Jose and program computers all day, and I can’t do that with a massive hangover. Free sushi lunch was good, though. Tomorrow I should be back in command with some pep in my step. Lookin’ forward to the September trip home to Madison (boom! APARTMENT HUNTING COMMENCE!) and holyshitijustrealizedKVRsgonnabethere! Nice. Nice.
Thanks again for the great weekend you San Dog Krew. HOLLLARIT! HULLABIT? HOLLLARIT!