Sometimes when we got bored between shifts on the oil rig, we’d take a road trip to a resort in Benito Juarez and toss Ex-Lax to the seagulls on the beach there. Those birds would gobble it up and then they’d flap around the beach dropping shit on the tourists. The tourists would think it was raining at first but then they’d notice the bird shit covering the straw-and-glue sombreros they bought off the locals for ten bucks a piece and run indoors like their hair was on fire. They’d come out a few minutes later like they had no memory of what happened and we’d do it all over again.
There was this one time a shirtless fat guy in a fisherman’s cap with sunscreen all over his nose figured us out though and he came running over yelling German at us. We jumped in Bud’s El Camino then and that kraut waddled after us until we hit traffic and the street we was on turned into a parking lot. When he finally caught up to us he was so out of breath he just leaned over and wheezed and spat and held up one finger like we were supposed to wait for him to finish so he could yell at us some more. Then he sat down on the sidewalk because he couldn’t breathe and a few minutes later the traffic cleared, so we just drove back to the resort. We never saw him again.
Uncle Bernie Says 