Mazatlán Summer News - What Do Yew Get Up To?
MazReal staff are on vacation in a cabin in Alert Nunavat somewhere in the far north in Canada, chewing seal fat and drinking snow.
Summer in Mazatlán is seriously hot, like fetid baboon breath apparently. There is no joy in the sunshine and there is very little expat outdoor activity. The occasional pink pale face can be seen behind the glass in Allegro coffee shop or Molika bistro gulping down the chilled air like a fish in a bowl. Passing off half the day in front of a cup of coffee or a pulpo carpaccio until they pluck up the courage to venture out into that fug of heat and moisture and sweatily return to their abode keeping to the shadowed side of the street or the sunny side if you are a mad dog or Englishman.
For a NOB* these equate to 100 and 135 degrees F. And sensación termica roughly translates as perceived temp.
(*NOB is an acronym for a person from North of the Border as used by a popular columnist from an expat newsletter popular in Mazatlán.)
In expat communities around the world gossip and rumours are naturally present but unfortunately some people take immense delight in casually spreading potentially slanderous and vicious rumours without foundation. So we decided to open the doors on these hardy summer expats to get to the truth of what they get up to during this period of jungle-fever heat and storm so as to quash these sometimes bizarre and outrageous stories floating around expatty-land.
Rosina Revelle aka Lil' Oral Annie, NOB, who is an established writer, columnist, opinion shaper and social commentator. She is considered an authority on popular culture and editor of the online newsletter The Blood and Guts of Mazatlán gets down and dirty interrogating elite members of the professional expat business and artistic community on the subject of, in her no nonsense words:
"How do they get through the day to day fug of rumouring and boredom living in a hot foreign country where no one speaks English and you have to pay fucking taxes if you work?"
|Spunky Rosina Revelle demanding an answer to her leading question or else!|
Some of Lil' Annie's freelance work includes stories written for popular soccer and film blogs including this tasty personal excerpt from the popular Uzbekistan film blog Filimy Chittichatti.uz :
Please Azizziz keep your Goddamn clothes on….
At a time when lesser actors with better bods are willing to go all the way on camera, it seems like a pretty dumb move to pitch Azziziz against this sizzling bunch of washboard stomachs and bulging fruit bowls. Remember, Ranveer Zulfizar in '.... Rama Dama Dingdong Leela' also did it for Sayyid Umarkhan, making fans wonder whether Nurmukhammed includes a 'nanga-panga-wanger' clause in the contract for male porno stars. And ahem... Ranbir was an 'unexposed' 25-year-old at the time. Azizziz alas, at a ripe 99, is well past his sell-by date in the bully beefcake steak stakes. No matter what Muqaddas Jumanova, his partner in prime cuts, has to say, this is one stunt that hasn't hit the G-spot of female fans. The naked truth. Nothing butt! And here it comes: Azizziz Schakchnosa Bekzod - keep your friggin' clothes on. We will love you, anyway! etc etc.
….And here another confessional gem on how she lost the World Cup for the Ugandan Asian soccer Fanzine Footie Footie Fan Fan.
"Shameful confession: I lost the World Cup.
Yes, me Rosina Revelle! I could have stopped that goal. I could have scored one myself. I should have bitten someone's shoulder. Or broken my opponent's vertebra. Or stomped his head into the hallowed turf. Or pulled out my AK and shot the fucker in the head. That's the very least one can do when so much is at stake.
Me? All I did is cheer and get slaughtered on 6 bottles of New Zealand Chardonnay (any excuse...but it's important to express loyalty by picking the appropriate continent for your wine)and a bottle of Stoli. By the time, the tenth round of sausages and sauerkraut got passed around, I knew no amount of crying or farting for Argentina would help.
Over on my side, a few ladies were discussing Shakira's boobs and Gisele's arse. We all agreed our boobs and arses lie all the time. We are much, MUCH slimmer! I recalled the words of Dilip D Mucherooni who said, "We have to stop thinking too much. Wise words Dil!
Even though, Mohan Joshi Josh Balasubramanian Chakrapati, that lunch pack hero was not playing in the World Cup Final, I was instructed by the drunken men to serve prawns (no explanation required if you are a Gujarat!). It must have been the prawns! Had we flown in Argentinian Asado and Churasco for the crucial match, Messi wouldn't have messed up. And I would have won. Thank God my husband no longer has to shout 'Achtung Baby' for the next four more years.."
Fanoola What Do You Get Up To?
Fanoola Gaye Local Hackster, clothes horse and NOB Expert Hurricane Chaser and regular 5th ave. Mazatlán fashion contributor to Expat Blogs.
|Fandangoola with her driver and whipping' boy nonchalantly sporting the latest aerodynamic highly visible 'Hurricane Hi Viz Gear'. Here she is about to drive into the eye of Hurricane Narnia where she will report on the storm's progress.|
Fanoola breathlessly continues:
"I have nothing to hide. I know there are rumours flying around about me and Big Bettie and they are all true save for that vicious one that suggests Bettie is a sumo wrestler and Mata Hari spy from North Korea when in fact she is a sumo wrestler and walrus from the Aleutian Islands.
Annnnny way dhaaaarlings, what I get up to in this naughty heat is I chase hurricanes. Yes you guessed. From inside my house on Chest Fridge Hill hahahah. Boneface my driver goes in there and phones back the info.
We barely lived through hurricane Rick that totally destroyed Mazatlán in 2012 and deposited Boneface in Guatemala. Thirst and hunger nearly overcame us that memorable night as a result of our maid who we keep outside during storms to act as a wind gauge and lightning conductor getting sucked up into the eye of the maelstrom Rick. Without her and her knowledge of the inside of our hacienda we didn't know where the fridge was so consequently myself and my live-in lover, Big Bettie, survived through the wee hours of that dark night by eating each other and drinking our sweat.
Luckily the sun did come up an hour later and our services were restored pronto. Unfortunately our poor dear maid was never seen again but we did hear a rumour of a flayed young woman found dead atop a mango tree in Walamo.
Now the naughty hurricane season is upon us again and that can mean hurricanes and utter destruction so I have some helpful tips to get through that hour or two of styngian (I think she means stygian-Ed)darkness punctuated by those bolts of blinding lightning as the storm rages overhead:
1/ Sell your current houses and servants and buy something high on a hill near Tierra Del Fuego southern Chile.
2/ Supply it with lots of stuff so when the services are cut off you can survive for the half an hour before they are returned. We suggest paté de foie gras, Iranian Beluga caviar, crates of champagne and a rent boy from Uzbekistan.
3/ Make sure you are not near any rivers, estuaries or the sea.
4/ Build your house from a block of solid cement.
5/ Take your servant with you to ease the pressure on having to get out of bed to get a snack and don't forget to securely tie the maids down outside to stop them being sucked into the tempest.
So all you naughty people out there in Maz Expat-land, when hurricane Narnia can be seen approaching on the horizon, my advice it to exit through those doors at the back of your bedroom cupboard and enter the beautiful world of no hurricanes, endless coddling maids, cool weather and gamboling Caribou - the place where I spend those happy hours inside my head away from this infernal fucking heat."
She chirped dropping another tab of acid and screeching scarily at the top of her voice the Canajian national anthem -
Our Home and Beeeeeeautiful Land of Moose and Shhhhhaaaale Oylll,
And something something patriots and wonderful something-or-other exploits
of men in beaver skin hats and lumberjackery something something".
Great advice there from the fragrent Fandango Gaye.
Expats don't all come from north of the border or are NOBs as NOB blog writers like to perceive them to be. We know that out there in expatland are some non NOBs. There is an Italian, a Pole, a French person, someone from that far-away land of OzStralia, a white queen from Narnia-land, and a hobbit from the The Great Forest of Mirkwood in Middle Earth and a two or three English people.
The Hobbit and The White Queen are sometimes seen to be hanging out on Goat Hill where he lives in cave and it is said that she lives behind his cave cupboard door in Noo Noo-land.
The Europeans however, are generally thought to be stuck-up and stick to themselves and are described by the Australians and NOBs as:
'Those unsociable Euro bastards. Who the hell do they think they are not allowing themselves to be seen on the malecón, drinking coffee at the Lonely Spleen or having breakfast at Allegro or setting up an organic something or other, a religious sect, a lending library or online newsletter or Uzbek wine tasting and pouring club, a road-kill cooking group, book burning club, Ayn Rand reading group or tourist aide guerrilla recruiting army. All they do all day is plot to kill us all. Pitch forks and death by fire is all that's good for them. Kill them all, exterminate all the brutes.'
Gilbert and George What Do You Get Up To?
George and Gilbert Huntingdon-Smythe-Piddle-Pissington-Ponce* - UK citizens (Pomland, Mud Island, Rain-Swept Hellhole etc etc)
* A made-up name as we know not what these dangerous hermits call themselves. All English people, we are unreliably informed, are called Piss this or Piddle that.
Spokesperson for the North Of The Border Expat Vigilante Group (BIGNOB) - Meesta X - continues:
"We haven't a clue what this dirty limey couple get up to but rumour has it they embrace dark secrets and have a witches coven and human body parts for rent factory behind those dark doors that only open on garbage day or beer delivery day. Is it garbage or is it human offal in those bulging black garbage sacks? Is it beer or is it bat's blood?
These books were found in the Mazatlán Expat-Library and after extensive water-boarding by our group, the nice old lady who looks after the lending library broke down under interrogation and confessed spluttering that two people with strange non-American accents came by and left them hidden amongst a pile of John Grisham best sellers.
"Needless to say we had a book burning night and danced around the flames" sayeth Z.
|Our spy took this picture of some English expat midnight backyard shenanigans as a baby is fried over a candle and eaten|
Intrigued and troubled by this generally true rumour MazReal decided to get serious and sent out ace foot-in-the door and phone hacker, Piers Morganstone to get some inside info on the shady couple from that muddy-island of YOO.K.
With the truism 'An Englishman's home is his castle' ringing in his empty head, that nasty hack Piers Whatsisname in broad daylight tried to smash the couple's door down in broad daylight with a sledge hammer, and according to neighbour, Mexican senior citizen Don Ameche the neighbour,
"A speakeasy Judas suddenly opened, a pair of fingers shot out and scooped that nasty man's eyes expertly from his sockets. The judas slammed shut neatly taking off his fingers which fell to the dusty street whereupon a stray dog took off with the thumb and pinkie" said The Don roaring with laughter.
Piers now allegedly blinded is counting the cost (not on his fingers hahaha) of his intrusion with these dangerous psychosociopaths in a hospital in 'anything goes' Panama City and last we heard he was suing George and Mildred to get his eyes and fingers back. They allegedly told him they had already sold one eye to a blind man in colonia Urias and as we know the dog had run off with the fingers.
"I demand my parts back. Second hand Latino bodyparts aren't good enough for me." he shouted shaking his fingerless fist.
We have been inundated with phone calls and iPhone pics of confirmed sightings of the notorious cannibals from Pomlandia.
"If you see these people on the streets, don't hesitate, kill them."
|English expat watching a hedge grow?|
|English expat incognito with kidnapped orphans for tonight's dinner?|
|English expat babe down on the beach pretending to be a local?|
|UK citizen in their illegal gambling den?|
|Out and About Euro expat?|
|An. English expat off to the opera?|
"In our biased opinion, a ducking stool and public flogging is the only solution to get these hermits to see sense and participate in expat goings-ons."
MazReal urges all expats to steer well clear of this publicity shunning couple and a warning has gone out never to invite them to dinner or accept an invitation from them as you will never be sure if the chopped liver or veal escalopes on your plate are from an animal or from a rented cadaver. If you hear an English accent immediately call the leader, me, Z of the BIGNOB - The North Of The Border Expat Vigilante Group
"We NOBs love those simple cuddly people from somewhere underneath the globe - the OzzyStroulians. Fuck knows how they got here but they bring joy and laughter to any social occasion.
They are world renown for their out-goingness, love of life, tickling alligators, going for long naked walkabouts in the bush, eating Eucalyptus leaves and lizards and perpetuating the myth that Crocodile Dundee was a real person who infatuated the whole of New York City through the act of disabling a mugger by knocking him out with a can of sweetcorn thrown from a hundred metres away in a teeming subway station.
Ozers are very gregarious and are to be seen at all openings or first nights. They can be picked out jovially slapping people on the back, punching them in the face and shouting in their ears. And once they even unexpectedly popped up in a house shouting
"THERE'S A SHEAHRK IN THE BEY"
when an unsuspecting NOB opened his water bill whereupon he immediatly keeled over from a heart attack."
"THERE'S A SHEAHRK IN THE BEY"
when an unsuspecting NOB opened his water bill whereupon he immediatly keeled over from a heart attack."
Moxie What Do You Get Up To?
Australian national treasure and 'character' Moxie 'Crimefighter' Jones or Bluey the Brain-Dead Boozer to his mates recounts his day in super-heated paradise.
|A drunken 'Bluey' warning our photographer to stay away or he'll turn him into a pretzel|
Wot do yew git up to to Brain Dead?
"Its friggin' bonzer to be asked what I get up tew mate. Will lits stairt.
I'm from a small shithole in the outer flyblown dirtback called Squatter's Crotch near Malonga Gilgachuckunder not a sheeps fart from Brizzie. Fuck knows how I got to this hotter than a sheep shearer's armpit country. A place my missus called paradise every bleeding second. Anyway
bunch of bastards ere's how I got to be in this mozzie-ridden 'ellhole you .
I effing woke up one morning, grundies full of pee, in the cargo hold of a jumbuck rust bucket sheep (that's a sheep not sheep you bastards)after a buck's night in Brizvegas. And the last thing I remember was playing hide the sausage with a hottie as I must have been lit up like a Manly ferry. Oi reckons me mates, or her pissed orf hubbie, threw me in the sheep's hold for a bastard laugh. Not telling a porky I was mad as a cut snake, happy as a bastard on father's day and cranky as hell when I found out I was on the other side of the Pacific with my bellybutton stuck to my backbone and not a bastard boozer in sight.
Holyfuckindooly I said to myself when I heard those lamebrain stevedores (who were prodding me with sticks like I was lower than a snake's belly) speaking some fucking weird foreign language. Thinking they wuz jafas I ordered them to fetch me a tinnie becuz man was I parched with this feckin' brown bottle flu?
I tell ye I was gobsmacked to be here in Mexico.
This is Mexico isn't it?
Anyway feeling like a reffo and a fucking drongo i had a good chunder and a Dingo's breakfast and stonkered. Lookin' like a shag on a rock I eventually found my way to Centro where I am now lying in this gutter.
Anyway after selling other people's furniture and things for beer money I managed to snag myself a hottie with big norks and now she's my missus and ball and chain hehehe. Only jokin' mate. She'll kill me if you tell her that. Mad as a meat axe and nuggety she is. She's also from the Lucky Country. Where else mate?
What do I do all day? Well let me tells ya? I walk up and down the bastard malecón all day saying "g'day mate I'm from Oz you bastard" to all the sheilas and sinking a few schooners in every rubbity dub along the way. When I get to the Shrimp bucket I have another snort and walk back down again. I do it all day till I've had a skinfull and am parking the tiger and as useful as a one legged man in an arse kicking competition…… hehehe. Well, let's see, it's beer o'clock in Oz and cocktail o'clock 'ere in Maz. Time for another……OI BARMAN get yer self over here pronto."
|Bluey taking action after finding one bar on his daily pub-crawl route is shut. Locals looking on in wonder at this idiot gringo.|
(A second later Bluey fell flat on his face in his own tiger park comotose. He is now in the cargo hold of a shrimp boat heading to Hawaii - Ed}
Heddy What Do You Get Up To?
NOB Kiss 'n Tell Gossip Columnist Heddy Hopper
Here she sits like a mummified corpse in her smoke fugged morning room scaring us half to death with that equally famous dead glazed expression which means a heady brew of rumour, gossip, scandal and horse tranquilizer is circulating like a bubbling witches brew inside her fuddled brain ready to be vomited out onto the pages of a local rag that we at MazReal are too terrified to mention by name.
"After spending most of the night with my lawyers making love and counter-suing ungrateful personages whose lives I have made a living hell, I wake up at 6 when it is time for my dose of ketamine and Xylazine which is about the time when my much loved 3 metre long pet python Reggie slides out from under the bed which he treats as his snake hole and demands a back scratch, skin peel and a cat for breakfast. Lucky it takes him a few months to digest an animal so feeding is no real problem until the time comes when I know he is peckish and I find myself waking up halfway down his gullet. Then I have to order our maid to go out and steal a cat or dog or homeless tramp to feed the cute serpent.
|Expat cat owners fearing HH's poison pen unless they bring their moggies along when it's feeding time for Reggie the Python|
Once his needs are taken care of I stroll to the malecón at about 7.12 am or 7.15 fm or maybe 14 o'clock am otherwise not in fact till 8.27:01 o'clock Venusian time in the am.
Strolling that wonderful seaside boulevard breathing in the champagne quality of the dried prawn sea air cheerfully watching the hundreds of dog-owners taking pleasure scooping up steaming dog shit into little plastic bags and hanging the warm moist parcels from their wrist is such a joy to behold as it reminds me of my chosen career digging up the dirt of what's going down in Mazatlán.
Along the way I meet all my NOB friends for a wine pour, a hug and a catch-up of the last day's scandal. A chai-triple tequila latte and a gourmet fried fish head bagel along with a catch-up, a book read and a hug with all my other friends at The Looney Bleeny, then it's off to Allegro for breakfast of quadruple margaritas where I meet all my other other friends for a knife sharpening class and a catch-up of what happened since we met at the Looney Spleen catching up, spilling the beans, shooting clays and gossiping. Later moving on to Molika Bistro for a pulp carpaccio, a wine tasting, a parachute jump and a catch-up with those friends I didn't catch up with at Allegros and those I caught up with last night at Pepitos-on-The Strand scandal bar and grill.
|Heddy and her friends and Uzbek eunuchs siestering and catching up in her Zebra skin leather penthouse on Fridge Hill.|
After a much needed siesta, a bottle of green Chatreuse, a bowl of gourmet tripe and Indonesian Fusilier Fish Batang and a Skype conference virtual hug-a-thon and catch-up with all my friends from Zona Dorada and those from Playa Sur and Cerro de Viglía, its off to Plazuala Machado for a stroll and then we of the Italian neo-realist film discussion group get together and discuss Roberto Rossellini and the reasons for his shifts between time frames and points of view. It's here on the Plazuela where I meet all my planetary and non-planetery friends and catch-up on the gossip from that afternoon when I was siestering and catching up on Skype.
After that catch up and a hug we all debate on which political system is relevant for today's expat way of living. Then unanimously deciding the self-centred Ayn Randian system is the best for us we then debate on where to eat and meet and catch up. Sooo after a light gourmet snack of Tartar Yak steak from the steppes, a wine pour, a book club assignment, a gourmet chilli bake-off, a play rehearsal, a soup kitchen delivery to some piss-poor part of town and a catch up we all catch up on the roof of Jonathans for a gossip, a hug and a rumourama. Luckily Jonathans has all the amenities that us NOBs are accustomed to, like gold plated toilets and a high vantage point to get away from all the riffraff on the street.
By the time I get home exhausted I have just enough energy to host a gourmet cook-a-rama and a catch up with all my friends around the Black Eye, Spiral and Nebula Galaxies, Burundi, Democratic Republic of Congo and Tongo.
Phooey my poor calendar - it only has 365 days and I need at least 727.
Just time for one more blast of horse tranquilliser.
Lety What Do You Get Up To?
Maid - Lety Sanchez
|Gringa Maid Lety enjoying a drink that she she is allowed for lunch.|
"I work for gringas. I have worked for gringas many years and is where I learned my English because they cannot speak Castillano and many have lived here for tens of years.
I wake myself at 3 in the morning and clean the dust out my house, wash all our clothes under the outside tap, feed the dog, wake my children up, get my lazy man out of bed with a slap hahaha, make breakfast for the niños and get them off to school. They have to walk 4 kilometres to get to the bus top. My lovely man Tonio, takes his lunch that I have prepared and leaves for the chilli fields near Walamo 50 kilometres away where he picks chillies in the season. It is now 5 am and I have to get to the gringas house in Centro by 7. I walk 4 kilometres to the bus stop and two hours later I walk in the door just in time to make coffee for the gringa who is just waking up and shouting for me to hurry up - pronto pronto!
I then get on my hands and knees and wash the floor of this very big house, iron all the clothes, feed the dogs and clean up their poopoo, make breakfast for the dueños and their 12 guests from USA in time for 10 o'clock. I clean the swimming pool, lick the windows clean, climb on the roof to fix the leak and when there is a tormenta I am told to stand on the roof holding the gringos golf club up in the air.
The gringa is now shouting at me in Spanglish to go get some tortillas for lunch and then prepare for her a salsa 'teepeeco Mexicanio'. It is afternoon now and señora X allows me 3 minutes for a coke, some mud and two tortillas filled with grass.
She has gringa friends coming to play a game called bridge or something so I have to prepare snacks and chilled drinks and stand by the door so they can hang their hats and umbrellas on me. The gringas laugh and say things like rubber, doubly dummy, void, suite and sometimes get angry. When they are drunk and asleep I am polishing the art works, the silver and cleaning the toilets and then I have to take the dogs for a walk still carrying their hats and umbrellas.
It is now 6 pm and I am washing the dishes and cleaning and cleaning and cleaning. Señora X pays me the minimum daily wage of MXN $80.23 pesos which is Ok because the national average is MXN $65.58. My sister works for a gringa in Phoenix Arizona doing the same thing but she gets paid US$7.25 an hour. I am only thinking that the only way to survive is sit on the top of a train and cross the border to the USA. Maybe next year.
Then she lets me crawl to my bus and I get home at 8 pm in time to feed the niños and wait for my husband to get back from the fields. I have time to take a shower, say hello to Tonio and then get to bed by midnight. Sometimes she might take me home in her car if she has nothing better to do. She is very generous sometimes even letting me go home on one Sunday afternoon every 6 months.
At Christmas she makes me give her a MXN $100.00 gift."
|Lety's husband going to find work when the chilli harvest is over.|
De Dee What Do You Get Up To?
'Artist' - Delia 'Dee Dee" Schickengruber
Mazatlán is full of artists. Poodle artist Delia originally from somewhere NOB specialises in 'Tile By Numbers' poodles. Let's see what this wonderfully talented lady gets up on her day in super-heated purgatory.
"I am known as the Thomas Kinkade of poodle art because my poodles look like they have been 'painted with light' like that exquisite and talented poodle-haired artist who patented the phrase But if you look closer you will see my poodles are made of little square painted with light tiles.
And here above is an example of my wonderful tiling by numbers art that really enraptures (surely you mean captures - Ed)the essence of a poodle with a number 14 colour thingammy scarf. This piece is called Precious as it is a portrait of my life partner and poodle called Precious.
Precious is number colour 64, whatever the name of that colour is with bits of the colour number 67. To get that natural poodle colour I tie her down for four minutes underwater in a bath of clothes die number 64 as it is my favourite poodle colour. The background is also my favourite dark colour and it is number 73 with a bit of 82 in there.
I am on the Art Walk with all the other wonderful artists and shop owners and knick knack shops and doodlers that are part of this wonderful winter thing called Art Walk Mazatlán. Art Walk is a platform that allows all the lovely artists to show off their best creative art sell goods from their shops.
|Poodle-lookalike and artist - the wonderful Dee Dee|
My day in this paradise is simple. Me and Precious walk the malecón in the morning which allows Precious to get a good sniff of all the other dog owners backsides and crotches. She is a tall dog and able to get her nose right up there much to the surprise and sometimes delight of the doggy owners. Pit bull owners are a bit less enraptured with a wet dogs nose up their arse so we steer well clear of them.
I like to scoop up her warm doingses and carry them around with me sometimes showing them off to other dog owners who delight in comparing sizes and weights and textures with a little squeeze. Precious always wins in the large steaming dump stakes hahahah. I have been trying to organise an annual dog shit competition just like a vegetable competition where the biggest and best wins but Cultura have been difficult to get hold of since I suggested it to them last month. I did assure them that there are many dog owners who would just stampede to enter their pampered pooches poops.
We then go have coffee at the Lonely Spleen Coffee joint to meet and hug friends and artists. You cannot swing a cat in Centro without it hitting an artist. Then it's on to Allegro but they do not allow life partner pooches inside so I tie Precious up a tree outside so other naughty dogs don't try to shag my thoroughbred bitch. I leave Precious up that tree outside Allegros as my next stop Molikas doesn't have its own tree outside.(something I am campaigning for) They both know me by name because I often harangue them about their 'no dog' policy and for not having a dog pissing tree outside. After a carpaccio at Molikas it's time that Precious and me go home just in time for cocktail o'clock hour in Australia and sit under the palapa on the roof deck and drink á deux till it's time to take me and Precious to bed.
Musician and professional dope smoker J.J.'Geetar Jo' Pickens
|20 year old JJ taking a toke|
"Mazatlán where the fuck is that? I shoulda bin at a Grateful Dead gig in Victoria BC 15 years ago. Thank God you woke me. Jesus let's go outside man it stinks in here have you farted or is it that dead horse over there?"
"This is my pad. Whadja think?" he said stepping back and vaguely pointing to a green algae encrusted trailer home sitting on bricks with grass half way up the sides and a tree branch growing into the window and out the door.
"I had something that pulled this trailer once but fuck knows where it is now. I reckon my man Chuy took it in payment for something." he said squatting on his dirt encrusted haunches and spliffing up a carrot sized joint and lighting the end until it sizzled and spat sparks.
"That's better. Takes the edge off man. What wrere saying? Oh yeh what is my typical day in Mazatlán you ask? Let's see."
What was that?
"I wake up at 6 and walk my pet rat Derek down the malecón, then I meet my friends at the Loony Floons Cafe and it's onto to Allegros for a 12 egg and 4 cheese scrambled eggs with green tea. That takes care of the munchies then it's on to Molikas for a tuna carpaccio. I return here for a drug infused siesta and head back to Plazuela Machado for a stroll for lots of hugs, a wine pour and a chitchat catch-up with best friends...........
Raul what do you get up to…?.Lil' Oral Annie made her way to NOMA where the super rich NOBs hangout to meet the notorious dentist and dedicated woman's man Raul 'Big Tuna' Sacamuelas
Dentist Raul Sacamuelas
"What do I get up every day in perfect ten paradise. Lemme tell you baby. They don't call me Big Tuna for nothing as I spend my day chatting up toothsome babes in the prone position in my EEEZZEE Boy dental and gum massage chair. Strapping them firmly down, I fondle around inside their gasping gaping mouths with long thin things. That's what I do you naughty girl. Come here you lively dish.
Man, business is good and root canals are where it's at. So good in fact that I work from my 100 metre long yacht parked in the specially extended - you geddit - hahaha marina where I entertain and perform root canals, no double ententré intended hehhehhehhehehehehehe.
Woman only clients from North Of The Border stay here on my huuuuuge humungeous boat for their Root Canal and Sex Vacations. Open-mouthed expats is where the action is and here on my 500 metre shaggin' wagon is where I do it. Roots canals and tonsil massage, that where the spondulics lie hahahahahahahehehehehehehe.
Here you see me now, above, performing a rooty tooty frooty canal on a chiquita banana from somewhere up north. This publicity picture is taken in the surgery cum exploratory room on my eeeeenormous boat The Gin and Jug Palace, by one of four stunning topless hotties who hang around the surgery handing me things that I stick in expat's mouths.
I sometimes yank out teeth but normally give that job to Sergio our chef so I can spend more time shaggin' by the pool".
Here is Sergio, The Chef with his assistant the pot wash boy and chimney sweep, ripping out a tooth thus allowing Raul more time to paw a cootie patootie by the pool.
"I use the latest equipment from Tajikistan that allow me to be very 'hands on' , geddit -when a bad kitty is in the chair.
Hold me back there missie, you're a hot one. Wanna open your mouth for me and show me your teeth tackle….?"
Rosina floored the creepy twat with big slap and jumped ship onto dry land pronto.
Thanks Rosina Revelle great job. We adore you.
MazReal advice on how to pass the summer in Mazatlán…….
Adios until the winter.
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