“Gary, I notice you’re really walking strangely,” I said. “It looks kind of weird.”
“Oh, I can explain that,” he said. “Back home in Bend, Oregon I use spray deodorant. When I ran out of deodorant here I went to a local store but they didn’t have spray deodorant. I bought a different kind and I finally had to read the directions to figure out how to use it.”
“You had to get directions to use a deodorant?”
“Yes. The instructions said, ‘Remove cap and push up bottom.’ I can barely walk but when I pass gas it smells amazing.”
“O-O-O-Kay,” I said, while I digested this bit of information.
“Dennis, I want you to do me a favor,” Gary said.
“Sure. What is it?”
“In less than a week I have to go back home to Bend,” Gary said. “I’ve been coming down here on vacation for fifteen years and I’ve never been in one of the local bars. I want you to take me to one.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Those local bars can get pretty rough.”
“I’m sure.”
Half an hour later we were drinking a beer in a little Back-a-town bar. We had been in the crowded bar for about five minutes when a man walked in waving a forty-five caliber pistol with an eight shot clip. The noisy bar suddenly got very quiet.
“Somebody has been fooling around with my Maria,” the man yelled. “When I find out who it is I’m going to shoot him.”
From the back of the bar someone said, “Your Maria? Cabron, you need to go home and get a lot more ammunition than that.”
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