Every year about this time we go somewhere warm for a few days. I was having some fond memories of time in Puerto Vallarta and Guadalajara Mexico and remembered this post from long ago.
Ricky speaks five languages. I just speak alot. Here’s some snippets of conversations this past week.
Riding in a cab, Ricky chit-chats with the driver in Spanish:
- Driver: “You speak Spanish very well.”
- Ricky: “Thank you, I’m more comfortable in Itailian, though”
- Driver: “Does your friend speak Spanish, too?”
- Ricky: “No, he’s American. The poor thing only speaks English.”
- Brad, from the back seat, in English: “I CAN UNDERSTAND YOU, YOU KNOW!!”
As a major piece of beefcake strolls by on the beach:
- “Holy crap, the only time my body will ever be that hard is after rigor mortis sets in.
While enjoying happy hour with a lively floor show, if you know what I mean:
- Brad: “My gosh, those dancers are so nice.“
- Ricky: “Of COURSE they’re nice—they’re counting on you to be nice back to them . . . Idiot . . . Where’s your wallet?”
After going through a pat-down and a metal detector, we’re allowed into the toniest gay-bar in Guadalajara.
- Brad to the server: “I’ll have a cosmo Martini, please.”
- Server: “We’re not that kind of bar.”
While misbehaving at the local nightclubs:
- “I’ve got to be nicer to my sister. I just know I’m going to need some of her liver one day.”
Admiring a sexy car on the street:
- Brad: “What kind of car is P-u-o-g-e-t?”
- Ricky: “It’s French.”
- Brad: “French?!? The French can’t make a car, they make dinner. The Germans make a great car.”
While observing the late afternoon mist, softening the view of the mountains:
- “Is that fog?”
- “No, it evaporating hair product from all the homos on the beach.”
Observing a young man with a skinned beef carcass over his shoulders walking into a butcher stand:
- “Didn’t Lady Gaga wear that to some awards show?”
Strolling down the beach with my insulated coffee mug:
- “You don’t expect anyone to believe you’ve got coffee in that thing, do you?”
Today’s Gay Agenda: Try to cover up the disappointment that our vacation is moving waaaay too fast.