Sunday, June 1, 2008

Staying in a Mexican Jail Makes Your Butt Sore

Ok, so two weeks ago I got this brilliant idea of becoming a tequila connoisseur. Where else do you go when you want to become a tequila connoisseur than Mexico I thought. I told my boss at the Apple Store my Aunt... uh, I forget which one I said cause I was totally lying, but I told my boss she died in Mexico and I had to go there and bring her body back to the states.

So I get through the border and hit up the first town I find thinking they're probably going to have some great tequila for the tourists that just came into the country. College taught me that when people chant your name you're supposed to chug; I just forgot that the rule typically applied to beer or small quantities of hard alcohol and not an entire bottle of tequila.

Next thing I know I'm in a Mexican prison with a sore ass. There was another guy in my cell who smiled and waved to me when I woke up but he didn't speak English.

Long story short, I was lucky I only had to spend a week in that prison but I had to walk/hitch hike my way back home cause the Mexican Policia trashed my car.

Sadly, it still hurts to sit down.

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