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 BartCop in a Mexican Jail
  Part Two

 So here I was, making almost every effort to avoid impeachment. 
 (That almost may be the most important word in this story.)

 As negotiations for the girl's services came to a close, we chose sides. 
 Common sense told me going to another country, getting drunk, then going "upstairs" with a young girl 
 who'd get me 5-10 even in Arkansas,  and on top of all that - dropping my pants - didn't sound right. 
 (Don't even ask. I was well out of the grasp of the Caths by then.)

 There's a "when in Rome" thing that applied here, but I didn't. 
 Even as far back as 1973, I had Mrs. BartCop waiting for me at home, and I didn't want to fuck that up. 

 Speaking of which, the men won't like this, but it's the truth. 
 At least half the men would cheat on their wives in a fucking heartbeat  if they had the chance. In my 25 years 
 or so in the business world, I've been to too many out-of-town conventions and stuff like that to know that 
 when a man is out of town - he is single.

 I could tell you lots and lots of stories, but I'll never finish this if I do. 
 But for some men it's "out of town." 
 For men who love their wives, it's "out of state." 
 For men who really love their wives, it's "six states away," 
 and for those who really, really love their wives, it's "out of the country." 

 (It goes without saying that there are NO married men in Las Vegas. 
  If a man is in Las Vegas, he is single. 
  That's how they built the town. 
  All that gambling stuff is a COVER! 
 "Oh. honey, you wouldn't want to go with us to Vegas this time.
  Me & the guys are going to gamble all week."

 And, please, don't tell me you didn't know... 
 Why do you think it's called "Sin City?" 
 Because that's where men remember their vows? 
 ha ha

 Men, out-of-town, cheat. 
 It's what men do. 
 That's what was so triple-stupid about the women forgiving Clinton for Monica, 
 but all the men stood in line to call him 'that terrible scumbag." 

 Of those who called Clinton a "scumbag," EIGHTY percent are guilty. 
 They figured calling him names would make better cover for their wife. 
 I, on the other hand, who have never cheated, was comfortable saying, 
 "It was just a blow job, let it go." 

 ...tap on the shoulder... 

 Will I ever get back to the Mexican tavern?

 If I hammer some beautiful 15-year old pro from another country, 
 that's not cheating, because, ...because, ... it's not illegal there.
 (Trust me, a man will search for that caveat.)
 A man won't cheat on his his wife until he finds a reason why it's OK, 
 and most times that reason shows up ten seconds after the search begins. 

 So, it's decision time: 

 My buddy Carl and I said a polite, "No," to the sweet, young and lovely Senoritas, while Brad and 
 Bobby agreed to sample the goods, pay the ten dollars and retire upstairs with the young ladies. 
 When I say, "upstairs," I remember a wooden ladder and hay falling out from the second story. 
 It was really in a barn as much as a tavern. 

 Having made our intentions clear, the girls left Carl and I alone. 
 After a while, we needed a restroom so we asked a passing waitress. 
 She gave us a quizzical look, then pointed outside the door. 
 Now, we're moving into fatal-mistake territory. 

 Since she spoke no English words that did not begin with an "S" or an "F," 
 we assumed she meant we should just go outside. Remember, this is a town without paved roads. 
 We assumed plumbing was something that was still on the Mexican drawing board. 
 By this time, we had gotten pretty loopy. We stumbled outside into the dirt-and-grass parking lot. 
 We located a spot in the dark between two cars and took care of business. 

 Just then, I'll never forget this, four federales in a brown 1953 Chevy 
 jumped out and grabbed us. Each man had a giant Smith & Wesson revolver. 
 I don't know the model number, but the grips on these guns guns were hueueueueuge
 much larger than I could get my hand around. 

Carl was put in the front seat with a federale on either side. 
I was put in the back seat, and we started driving away from town 
into the dark Mexican desert. 

Thank Koresh, 
I didn't have the capacity to realize how much trouble we were in. 

...end of Part II

 Click  Here for Part Three of Bartcop in a Mexican Jail

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