MEXICANS ARE THE NEW BLACK (PART III)

PART III
I had the intention of telling a story about waking up sleep deprived with a headache thiiiiis big, but I woke up sleep deprived this morning with a headache thiiiiis big. I can't figure out if my current state will make this post better or worse...

I did, however, have a good thought this morning while talking to my coworker about "blow busses," school busses in the parking lot of snowboard and car conventions on which, for the right price, men can climb aboard and receive blowjobs from car bimbos and snow bunnies. Until I was told otherwise, I had assumed "blow busses" were busses that served cocaine. That got me thinking about American Psycho, a movie I had seen last week, specifically a scene where Christian Bale and Justin Theroux do shitty blow in a club bathroom. Then I started thinking if I ever owned a swanky club, I'd have three bathrooms: "Men," "Women," and "Blow." I think I'd get extra points for service, and every one would think I was cool.

Anyway, I woke up Sunday morning in a hotel room sleep deprived with a pounding headache. To me, the most logical solution to those two problems was to eat the remaining rind of cheese and re-watch The Replacements on HBO. Good call. Feeling my sould revived by the dairy and Keanu Reeves's vacant doe eyes, I checked out of the hotel and headed west.

Like so many trips like these, I had no plan, no map, no thoughts in mind but one.
Obtain these:
and eat them here:
Well fed, and losing steam, I finished the drive back south, and ended my weekend with a warm snifter of Remy Martin, seaside, watching the sunset over the Pacific, which is just about as far a man can go before baptizing himself in that gorgeous saline sapphire.

If anybody's keeping score, we're putting this trip down in the "win" column.