Editorial

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PobreEl mejor 

Vamos hacer adultos y honestos, todos hemos despertado con las sabanas mojadas alguna vez en nuestras vidas.

Ahora piensa… estas dormido/a tu cuerpo se relaja y comienza a descansar, tu cerebro se concentra en tu cuerpo, quizás se enfoca en reponerlo.

Mientras tu estas en tu quinto sueño y nada que ver con pensamientos cachondos o calenturientos tu cuerpo comienza a excitarse, comienza a sentir alguna forma de estimulación sexual solo por medio de pensamiento, llegamos al clímax en nuestro inconsciente y así mojamos nuestras sabanas blancas.

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PobreEl mejor 

I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts or witchcraft or anything like that, despite my ex-wife’s grandmother’s warning that, “Que los hay, los hay.” Of course, this was the same woman who accused me of sneaking into her granddaughter’s bedroom in the middle of the night with lascivious intentions because she found a pair of men’s shoes underneath the bed (shoes that belonged to Abuelita’s own son, my ex’s uncle, who was visiting from out of town). Yet, it was my own personal experience—and that of others—with el Mondo Caffè in Guadalajara, Jalisco, that led me to believe that perhaps there really was something to what Abuelita had to say…

The downward spiral that was my life came to an abrupt halt just after Christmas, when I checked myself into a clinic that specialized in drug and alcohol treatment back in Mexico. I had an epiphany after a series of unfortunate events that came to a climax when my four-year-old daughter told me that if I drank too much beer, I would become a ranchero—I’m pretty sure she meant to say borracho.

A friend drove me out to the treatment center where I was scheduled to spend the next thirty-five days, and as we slowly bounced down the dirt road beside the railroad tracks that led to the walled-in, converted horse-ranch, I asked him if he would mind driving by a tiendita for one last cerveza. He said okay, but two hours and three trips to the tiendita later, he finally kicked me out of the car. I reluctantly said goodbye, pushed back my Panama hat and began walking toward the massive, iron portal that I assumed was the only way in or out. I was about to knock, when the door cracked open and a tired-looking man in a security guard’s outfit mumbled something to the effect of, “I was wondering when you’d have the balls to get out of the car and come in.”