Q's Mango Explosion or CyberD and Q's Birthday Trip to Tijuana!

Q promised me that the border patrol wouldn’t be a problem. If you don’t count the rectal exam I suppose he was telling the truth. They did search the car but luckily we had already taken all those flea infested puppies out of the trunk of the rental and dropped them off at the local Home Depot. They had a half-price sale going on wood-chippers. Nevertheless, my knuckles are white with fear… well, either fear or the lack of blood supply to my extremities from having Q’s head in my lap all the way from Los Angeles down Highway 5. Hearing the mariachi music out the window after crossing the border into Tijuana, Q pops his head up and screams at the top of his lungs, “Pull over! Mango break!”

I jerk the wheel hard and a storm of gravel and dust fly up from the back bumper as we come to a grinding halt next to a string of road-side vendors. An elderly man, weighing in at no more than 90lbs, hobbled over to the passenger side door with a handful of wooden marionettes. Q either didn’t see him or didn’t care. He swung the car door open wide, colliding with the geriatric merchant, sending him flying into a chicken coop. Feathers plumed into the air like a mushroom cloud over Hiroshima. I glare at Q as I get out of the car and walk over to the fruit stand selling 12 mangoes for one dollar. Q looks at me indignantly and says, “What? It’s my damn birthday! I’ll do what I want to!”

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I purchase 24 mangoes and head back the rental car. As I am walking back to the car I noticed that CyberD had hit an old man when he pulled over for fruit. I turn back to let him know what he had done but he is nowhere to be seen. I ask the shop keep where ‘mi amigo’ went and all I got was a blank stare. So I asked him louder. He pointed down the alley way behind his cart of tropical fruit.

I secure my mangoes in the cooler by getting rid of the empty Dos Equis bottles that CyberD had left. I headed down the dark and foul smelling path. Every once in a while I yell out “CyberD!” but I don’t get a response. I turned to look in one of the windows and there he was at the bar. I mosey in – attempt to get CyberD away from the bar, but he yells at me causing a scene – he then directs the bouncer to me. I quietly walk outside and get my ass kicked by three rather large tattooed gentlemen, while CyberD watched and laughed. Have I mentioned that CyberD is an angry drunk? Well, he is and he was enjoying this way too much.

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As I chat up the young barmaid and down another frosty beverage, I laugh at her jokes uproariously even though I don’t understand a word she says. At that very moment I notice that Q is getting his ass kicked by some thugs. I don’t know what he did to deserve it but it must have been something awful. Something tells me these men don’t like Mango. But perhaps they like that special “party dust” that Q was flashing around town in the San Diego strip clubs. I yell, “Q, show them what you’ve got!” He looks at me strangely through blood soaked eyes and he begins to feverishly unbutton his pants.

This only seems to anger them even more as they begin grabbing bar-stools and shatter them into pieces before picking up the wooden legs. I think fast and dive in front of them while flashing a plastic badge that Q got out of his cracker-jack box no more than thirty minutes ago. Luckily I insisted on keeping it because he was going to throw it out the window. I hate litter. I scream over Q’s tears, “Los Policia, Los Policia!” They drop the stick and turn to run but Q is fast and he chucks several full Dos Equis bottles at them. Q nails each one on the back of the head, knocking them out cold. Eat your heart out Nolan Ryan. I yell at Q for being so wasteful but he is on a roll now. He yells, “How do you like them apples?” as he does a victory dance around the bar that includes thrusting his pelvis into the air and performing what can only be described as an x-rated version of the funky chicken.

I suggest we make a run for it and for the first time in our lives Q agrees with me on something. We begin to exit the bar and head for the car but the barmaid cautions us. She points out the window and we see that our rental car has gotten the attention of the border patrol. The barmaid insists on helping us. I guess I made an impression. It looks like The D has still got it when it counts!

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With my limited Spanish speaking/understanding ability the barmaid says that it will be three thousand US dollars for the both of us. CyberD gladly agrees to her fee and follows her out the back door. I am stunned that he would part with that kind of cash so easily, but hey this is ‘Vacation’D. I hurry to catch up so that I don’t get lost again in the maze of alleyways and drunken street people, or as CyberD calls them ‘living urinals’. We come up to a building with a metal door. The woman knocks three times and a metal hatch opens up. The woman says something very quickly and the door opens. She signals for us to come inside, once again I am hesitant but I proceed anyway.

Once inside I notice a vast array of erotic toys and resin molds of men’s and women’s private parts. I look at CyberD and he looks at me. He starts to speak but I stop him, touching my fingers to his lips. I already knew what he was thinking. “This must be heaven.”

The woman leads us to a back room. She locks the door behind us and turns on the light. We were in a hotel like bedroom. I tap CyberD on the shoulder and tell him that I think the barmaid is a prostitute. He looks back at me and slurs, “Jackpot”.

To Be Continued...