Part 2 of Happy Day, George Wachintong

Check out Part 1 of Happy Day George Wachintong.

When our friends told us they were leaving Mexico to follow the strumpets to Corpus Christi, it was all I could do to stifle a hysterical temper tantrum. While normally the world's most indecisive man, I was resolved not to go with them. I had waited all year for Mexico, and no chlamydia buffet was going to take that away from me. I was all but prepared to turn my fists of death upon my friends, if it came down to it.

After voicing this opinion a few hundred times to the group in the most offensive way possible, the driver picked up on my hints and offered his car to those of us wanting to stay in Mexico. The two going to Corpus would get a ride with their sweet ladies to Austin the next day, where the car would be waiting. It was the perfect plan. After hollering the best Spanish translation of "Booyuckis!", we took the keys and bid farewell to our friends and their succubuses. In true sitcom fashion, the three nerds of the group had told a group of attractive, wanton women to get lost so we could spend the night in Nuevo Laredo alone; we had a birthday to celebrate.

With our friends gone, Paul, Eric, and I went at Mexico with a fury normally reserved for buffet lines and backyard wrestling matches. We hit every establishment in the city, eating everything in sight, and yes, having a beer or two in the process. Confirming that our trio was radiating a universal sex appeal, a group of females and then a collection of friendly homosexual men tried to join our ranks. Their advances were flattering in a confusing and scary way, but we made it clear to them there was only one dude we were interested in hooking it up with that evening: the birthday boy himself, George Washington.

After several hours of going Tasmanian Devil on the streets of Nuevo Laredo, we made our way back to our room at the Motel 6. Eric, having drawn the short straw, was forced to sleep in a bed by himself, while Paul experienced the distinct pleasure of sharing a double bed with a smelly, intoxicated man known to do a little bit of snoring, aka CWMP. We slept like wee babes that night, and woke up the next morning feeling far better than we had any right to. We packed up our things and set off in search for a spot of breakfast, when Paul's cell phone rang. It was one of the guys who had gone to Corpus, and he wanted to know if we could change the plans for the meet-up in Austin.

Apparently, my instructions to Paul to tell those guys to go screw themselves didn't go through clearly, and Paul agreed that we'd meet them in a few hours in San Antonio and then ride up to Austin together. This plan was slightly worse than our original one, which would've delivered me straight to my apartment, but I decided to be a team player to keep from being stabbed. Had I only known what this rendez vous in San Antonio had in store for us, I would've actively sought out the stabbing.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 3 of Happy Day George Wachintong, where we find ourselves with a lot of time to kill in San Antonio and decide to take in a little bit of nature.