Too Much Tequila, Too Little Sunscreen

The Hotel Caesar’s has been totally renovated to remove any trace of its old prohibition-era character and charm. It’s an okay place by Holiday Inn standards but it’s not the old Caesar’s that I remember. After about twenty minutes of staring at the far wall in my room I round up Boner and we’re out on the town.

There seems to be even more soldiers out at night. If you dropped in from outer space and didn’t know anything about the drug cartel wars you’d think that Tijuana was being occupied by some foreign army. Soldiers with automatic weapons are on every corner and truckloads more cruise up and down the boulevard. My guess is you’d see less military presence in Baghdad or Kabul.

“What do you think of Tijuana on a Friday night?”

“Takatifu shit.”

I need a drink to fight off or at least dull my growing depression. Sure, I’m depressed because of my nostalgia and all of the vivid memories this place has for me but that I can handle. What really gets to me is walking past one boarded up shop after another and only passing armed soldiers on these once busy sidewalks. This one street in this one city is such a vivid reminder of how fucked up this world really is. These poor people had so little during their boom times and now they have nothing.

I’m ready to head back to our hotel bar when we see the brightly illuminated sign of the bar we were in this afternoon, our revolutionary amigo’s bar.

“Buenos noche, amigos.” Our barkeep friend says as he raises his shotgun barrel towards the ceiling.

We sit on the same stools we did earlier and order two tequila shooters and two beers. My depression doesn’t stand a chance against straight tequila.

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation earlier and I have only one question for you,” says the barman. “Where do we begin or … or how do we start?”

“Great revolutions are often initiated by a single charismatic leader that has the unique ability to relate to the suffering of the common people, truly devalue their current state of affairs and paint a simplistic but vivid picture of a much, much better world. Imagine someone who could preach, in a language that everyone understands, how bad things really are and … and more importantly could describe how wonderful life will be without your drug cartels and all of their merciless violence. You know how bad off you are but have you thought about how bad off the country-at-large is with these drug cartels and how much better life would be like without them. That’s the crux of the whole idea behind a revolution.”

“Si, I understand but where do we find such a leader?”

“Read the papers, listen to the radio, watch TV and when you find or hear someone that is passionate about what you believe in, go and offer your help. His one-man revolution will then be two and through your efforts will soon snowball into many, many more.”

“No one speaks out against these evil drug cartels. They are too powerful and they kill everyone that gets in their way.”

“Yeah I know, but do you think it was easy for Gandhi or your own Pancho Villa … or maybe Emiliano Zapata, might be a better example … to get started. Anyway, once you’ve found your Zapata the people will be willing to sacrifice themselves and others for the better of the people. Remember, revolutions attract frustrated people, people who are dissatisfied with their current state, but are capable of a strong belief in the future.”

“Thank you señor, I will start looking for our Zapata. Can I get you another tequila?”

“No sir, six is enough for me and I see that all of our talk about revolutions has put my pal, Boner, to sleep. Adios mi amigo. Good luck with your revolution. I’ll be watching from just over the border and when you get things under way we’ll come back and give you a hand.”

“Thanks señor, I’ll be counting on you.

As we walk back to our hotel and pass all of these boarded up businesses I’m getting more and more depressed. The six tequila shooters didn’t do what I was hoping they would, they did the opposite, they heightened my foul mood. Maybe sleep will … will what? What I ask myself then I realize I don’t know.

The Blue Fox looks like a new place this morning … well maybe not a new place but at least it looks like it might actually be open.

All of the stage and audience lights are on. Cleaning crews are crawling all over the balcony clanging chairs and banging tables while Tony and this other pimp-looking guy are trying to talk over the noise to a dozen or so young women all clustered on the stage.

“Ah Bob and Boner I’d like to introduce Alberto, our producer and chorographer and … and all of these beautiful ladies are part of the cast. We’re just getting started but before we do I’d like Boner to show everyone his magnificent pito parado or as you say, boner.”

Boner is used to this by now and without any prodding from me he jumps up on the stage, drops his cape and his sweat pants and does a little pirouette for the gasping crowd.

Huge sighs comes from every corner of the room. The cleaning women appear to be as impressed as the performers. Tony and Alberto just stand with their mouths agape.

I break the monotny of their heavy breathing by announcing, “Not only does he have the biggest and hardest pito parado in the known world he has another unique talent that you’ll appreciate. He can keep it up, just as you see here, for an indefinite period of time maybe even forever. So don’t feel as if you must satisfy him, many have tried and none have succeeded including a bevy or Playboy Playmates and half the city of Watts. I feel I must warn you women that too much of Boner can be deadly. In fact I recommend no more than one hour with …”

“Thank you for that, Senor Bob. We’ll get started with our first rehearsal just as soon as a few more girls arrive. While we wait would any of you ladies like to come and inspect Boner’s truly magnificent boner.”

Every hand goes up and a line quickly forms. The cleaning women in the balcony are at a disadvantage but they soon make it to the end of the line behind the performers and the kitchen staff. The women all parade by Boner in a very orderly fashion, some stroking him lovingly, some bending to give him a little taste of oral while others are content to just look and admire. As I retire to the bar for a cold one I notice that many of the ladies are running back to the end of the line for a second pass at Boner’s boner.

After a dozen or so more girls arrive and go immediately to the boner line Alberto blows his whistle and stops all of the action.

“Okay ladies I want you all over here.” He says pointing stage left. “And you, Boner, I’d like to put on these clothes and take your position in that chair over in the audience just off stage right. Now which of you ladies are dancers? I mean serious dancers and not just bump and grinders.”

Four girls raise their hands and he has them all dance to a rock tune blaring from his boom box. It’s obvious that these girls are pole dancers and not members of the Tijuana Ballet but they’re good nonetheless. Alberto picks one dancer and asks her to step aside, studies the remaining three and then picks another one and stops the music.

He whispers to the two girls he just chose and announces to the group. “Okay listen up, here’s what we’re going to do. The music will start and Maria will enter the stage and dance one number in a sensual one-number strip tease. She will be followed by Alisa who will do the same thing while Maria starts working the crowd. When Alisa is completely nude Maria will be doing the world famous Blue Fox face dance on Boner who’ll be sitting ringside looking like any other patron. The two women will pull Boner on to the stage, lay him down and begin the act made famous by the Blue Fox. After ten minutes or so of face dancing they will both notice the bulge in his trousers and … and as they pull down his slacks and the audience gets their first look at Boner’s boner three more girls, you, you and you, will jump up to the stage from the audience tugging at your clothes as if you …”

“So what do you think, Bob? Asks Tony as he straddles an adjacent stool.

“I don’t know what to think about the dance routine, that’s more in your line of business. I do think however, that this beer could be a couple of degrees colder and who is that striking girl over there in the red sweater?”

Tony turns and looks over his shoulder at the girls and says, “No shit Sherlock, that’s the last woman to play the Blue Fox’s world famous Juicy Lucy. She can wiggle her ass like she’s riding a jackhammer. She gets guys off just by sticking their noses in it. I’m sure Alberto will use her at exactly the right time in the show. And … and Juicy Lucy will strut her stuff on stage at the Blue Fox to a filled-to-capacity crowd again. If things go well this week I might introduce you two.”

I try to fantasize what a session with the real Juicy Lucy would be like but I’ve had too many beers to think about anything other than finding the men’s room.

The music blares, the girls giggle and the show goes on and on. I haven’t heard a single Mimi kuja out of Boner so they must be doing walk-throughs, if that’s what you call dry-humping on stage. Tony and I talk about everything but the weather while I nurse my seventh beer.

I order my first tequila when Alberto blows his whistle and shouts. “That will do it for today. I want to see everybody back here tomorrow at … let’s see … ah … one PM. Oh yeah, come in costume. We might even have a little close contact just to put you girls in the mood so come prepared. See you tomorrow and try to be on time.”

I gulp my tequila shooter and watch Juicy Lucy’s magnificent ass as she sashays out the door.