Ivan Betinov wrote: ↑1/13/2024, 11:17 pm
Thank you...Colonel.
Apparently, you have been acquiring your tequila somewhere other than an approved Party Distribution Point; Other Ivan is very careful to drown a worm in every bottle of tequila distilled in Tractor Barn #2.
You're welcome, Comrade, and you're correct.
When I was a very young colonel, I often crossed the border (while we had one) into Mexico. Due to my ability to speak some Mexiconese—and my
physical colonel general appearance—I think I easily passed as a native.
Apparently, my medal-covered uniform was discreet enough to go unnoticed, although a few pointed at me and ran, yelling, "Gorilla," which of course means "warrior" everywhere south of the border except maybe the Guyanas, Brazil and Antarctica.
For only 10 paystos, or drachma, or zloty (or whatever they call it down there) I could hire a cab for an entire night with a single command: "Vamoose a las casas de las gatas."
Realizing his good fortune, my grinning cab driver would hit the gas and take me on a tour of the finest establishments in town, and would even accompany me, sitting at the bar and sipping cold servestas (or whatever they call beer down there), while I gulped a few glasses of Mezcal (that's Mexiconese for "cheap-ass ghetto-tier cactus hootch") until the fat lady wearing way too much make-up would introduce me to some local girls who were so very lonely that they couldn't sleep.
After I'd help one or two (or three or five) of those poor girls "go to sleep," I'd collect my driver and roll to the next establishment for round two (or three). It was at one of these places that I inadvertently swallowed a so-called worm and it got caught in my throat.
Not wanting to make a spectacle of myself, I didn't dare gag or cough (or spit on the stylishly arranged piles of sawdust on the floor), so I grabbed someone's glass of servesta (or whatever they call it down there) and chugged it, sending the clingy insect to the depths of my digestive tract and hoping it wouldn't "hang on" when it arrived at the exit portal.
If I'd known back then that there was beetroot tequila in the USSA, I might never have ventured across the Rio Grande (or whatever they call that big river down there).
Maybe.