Monday, December 14, 2009

WWI: Writing While Intoxicated

This was destined for Maxim or some similar rag but I ran out of steam...

“You can be sure they’ll be selling that stuff when the moon begins to rise.
Pretty bad when you’re looking at the man when the light shines in your eyes.”
Neil Young
Let’s Go Downtown

“A working class hero is something to be.”
John Lennon

Buying weed in Todos Santos and Cabo San Lucas and La Paz
By Oggy Bleacher

Of course you didn’t want to smuggle some chronic down from Los Angeles or San Diego, you fucking sissy. And let me tell you where that choice will lead you, like the bull to the hook, when you meet that special someone who is willing to let you put you-know-what into you-know-where as long as you…you know. You will, dear friend, find yourself in a room of tattooed junkies who were “deported” for unspecified reasons and now live with their “aunt” and casually say things like, “Bitch, get the fuck out of here and don’t come back without some money.”
Can you say that sentence without stumbling? I dare you. Go ahead. Try and say it and be convincing enough that a beautiful Mexican stripper/junkie will turn around and shuffle out of the room fully intending to make you some money, by hook or crook, so you can get her high and fuck her silly. I’d bet a bathhouse hooker that you don’t come close. Something will give you away as a phony, an actor, a cunt and the girl will not come back. She might not even leave. She probably will just get what she wants from someone else in the room and you will never be respected again. That’s the kind of risk you run when you try to talk some shit to beautiful strippers. They are a reflection of your own ego, and thus, will devour dishonesty and expose every flaw. So, when I say these cats, the ones you will buy weed from, can say, “Bitch, I’m gonna slap your fucking face if you open your mouth,” without flinching and, most importantly, get results, then you know that I mean business. In short, you will be a long way from OXXO.
Mind you, they will not talk to you this way, unless you happen to be a beautiful stripper who is hooked on the junk they are selling. They will treat you, the customer, with respect. The bitches will come and go but the gringo with dough must be respected. He is like the new god arriving on ships that fly, blond hair flying, throwing money at every shrimp hawker and drug dealer. Drugs! Drugs! Farmacia! Pharmacy! Drugs! Buy Drugs! Buy my drugs! Buy these Drugs! Take Drugs! This is an old old game. The native and the invader. 400 years ago the locals watched their children get dragged into the forest as slaves or sacrifices. So the fact that all the new invaders want are some cheap drugs and a donkey show is a big improvement, don’t ya think?
You will be a long way from OXXO or any other abbarotes tienda or Ultramarino as you knock on the door without a number.
Quien es?
Es Raoul
What you want?
All we got is $200.
Can’t you split it?
You want the shit or not?

And that’s the big question ,isn’t it? Do you want IT? How bad do you want IT? When do you want IT? How much do you want to pay for IT? Can you answer all of those questions? When you can then you will enter that door, the tattooed man stepping aside to give you barely enough room to get in the door, and you will know the price of leaving all your pot in San Diego.

An aside here; isn’t traveling a means to an end, and if that end lays behind a tattooed man then so be it. Everything in moderation, say the sages. Well, it isn’t like you’re begging in the street for pot. You are moderately clean and fed and you have reliable friends who are nearby and would intervene when you cross the line. What more can you do? On second thought, don’t answer that. This isn’t a philosophy class. It’s a lesson on how to buy pot in the Baja. Don’t make me say that again.

So let’s back up…you are at a club…Buddha, let’s say for the sake of the discussion, in San Lucas. It’s ladies night and the ladies are getting their free drinks and the men are hungry for sex with drunk ladies. (This ain’t rocket science, folks) You meet a girl from San Francisco who is pouring out of her tank top. You can’t keep your eyes off her cleavage and she touches you on the arm every time she leans toward you to talk and she has to do this a lot because Buddha DJs play their house music as loud as the law will allow, which for downtown San Lucas is pretty fucking loud.
“I wish I knew where to get some weed,” she yells. Which is chick code for, “Do you know where to buy some weed for me?”
You know a guy who knows a guy who sells some weed so you naturally say, “I can get some. You wanna smoke on the beach?”
Her eyes widen and she leans close into you and touches your arm and then lets her hand slide down to your knee, she’s practically fucking you at the bar, her perfumed hair is an inch from your nose. Her ear with a single diamond earring in it is close enough to lick. Her breath is hot on your neck. “Totally,” she gushes, and gives you a tease kiss.
And that’s enough to get the whole ball rolling. A better man might hold out for a lady who already has pot, or a lady who is already drunk, or a lady who only wants cock, and there are lots of those girls at Buddha, tons of them on the dance floor and more on the way in bicycle taxis or clicking across the brick streets in their purple heels. Again, the question is how badly do you want it? Do you want it now or later? Well…she’s waiting.
Two phone calls locates the guy who knows a guy. He’s next door at Squid Roe. You hustle over there and he says he forgot his wallet and he can’t go with your because he can’t pay his bill. Motherfucker. What a line of bullshit. But you can’t waste time so you pay his tab, sure he’ll pay you back, and the two of you walk…wait, a third guy and his girlfriend are coming too. They want some pot too. So all four of you exit and hail a taxi van. The driver hears the address and takes a 100 peso deposit. Then he begins to drive.
“You want some blow?” asks the driver.
“Got any pot?”
“I take you to get pot.”
“There’s no point. We’re going to a plug we know.
“No, I take you to mine. He’s mas cheaper.”
“We got a guy.”
“Is good pot. Mas better at my connection.”
“Naw, just go to our place.”
“You don’t want no blow?”
The couple who are tagging along buy $100 pesos worth and snort it all from the edge of a credit card. Then they begin to make out. His hand is under her shirt. You can’t see her hands. How much time has elapsed since your hottie from S.F. kissed you is hard to estimate. How many Cuba Libres did you drink? How many White Russians?
Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.