I) Including Juegos, or Interrupcion!

Stalled, or not going anywhere. The game!

Can you survive the terror that is... aw nuts.

Drink!

It's only a matter of self-assurance, and believing.

...with a leafy tinge of of self-deceit.

Sometimes we must live a lie, mustn't we? I'll say it's better, isn't it?

I called Jay.

"The bear has 40 stories," he said, "All of them about pears."

"What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Conspiracy!" he cried.

Drink!

"Conspiracy!" he cried.

Jay, my good friend, was trying not to think about being out of work by writing his novel. Serial Noir in nature, it centered on Private Wayday (Wide-Eye) P.I., an Australian dick some were calling the Apoplectic Detective. I was calling him a complex sepulcher. I read the first thousand excremented pages before making my declaration: "You need to think about getting a job."

He mulled on this.

Mark Twain had a twin brother named Dwayne.

Briar Rabbit had a cousin who's thorny exterior

was purely psychological.

"I got a text from your brother" he showed me:

"heyo gringo happy cinco de mayo"

"and I figure any excusa to drink Coronas and eat tacos is all good with me."

Drink!

That's what the incredibly diverse culture and history of Mexico has distilled down to? An incorrect understanding of a holiday that isn't even celebrated in Mexico, and an image of Mexicans as Corona-chuggling, taco pounding paisanos.

There's a probably a whole lot more to it in many people's minds -

BUT I'm not about to entertain a contention of that much ignorance and racism

on an empty stomach - maybe I'll tackle it after a fish taco, I'm dying here!

Drink Drink Drink

!

Bikini Respite

There's a strange, odd power, knowing you're not alone in this world.

Take your mask off, remove your contacts,

let your hair down

and call a few friends to come out and find solace

in the undulating infinity of a desolate landscape.

Like a mountain overlook, or the flat dessert, or the beach.

I called Jay. (Doug was busy reducing the females in his life to

variables in a complicated equation

and I wanted no part in that conversation

of ones and zeros

even if he'd been free)

and we went to the beach.

Little did we know that we wouldn't be alone.

There would be bikinis.

Oh the Pleasures of the

Voyeuristic Flesh.

"Don't stare," said Jay, "The peaches are marinating."

Brown legs and the soft fabric-covered mounds irreachable.

"There are too many girls in my mind

these days," I said as we searched for shade under

the promising sky

"more is the last thing I need."

"I'm trying not to think about work," said Jay,

"This is great!"

The Sycophantic creep.

I was trying to read my book, poems by Blake

and not let my peripherals drift

and when he came back he had a crowd

"This is Jay's friend who wears Masks," said Jay

inexplicably male-ego-inflated to the point where he can only speak in the third-person. "Man, this is Beth, Carol, Rita, Myra and Jessica."

"Hi!" they chirped. I decided to play along.

"I'll never remember that," I said.

in my head

they became the pink one, the yellow one, the tight Asian one you can see through, the sister and my new future soulmate.

Forget the longing and regret

Forget the ones you'll never ever get.

Forget it all and in the morning you'll say:

Yes. Yes I had a good weekend.

yes I did.

Now if only I can get this sand out of my …