How one member of the Liver Spot Set beat Mexican bureaucracy; the joy of giant duck love; and the geezer is asked to revisit fatherhood.
Extolling the glories of cornmeal, lime and a male Shirley Temple for the 21st century.
Let me tell you what happened in the Mississippi of Mexico while I was out with the Pusher Divine, and visited by Peter Lorre and his giant knife.
The Geezer's scribblings are a mystery even to him, but eloquently blunt nicknames like Cross-eyes, Crooked Back and Gimpy need no explaining.
Mexico mysterioso: A tabloid depicts crime at its most graphic, a corpse wears rather nice Adidas and giant redwoods flourish in the desert.
Perhaps there are some things Mexico shouldn't improve upon -- like child labor and treatment of the disabled.
The love that dare not cluck its name; a few words about dirty words in Mexico; and the prize that is Consuela.
Whoa! That's not you-know-who and you-know-who riding up the beach on a palomino, is it?
You think you've got problems? The Geezer's gotta cope with the 3 a.m. blues and that dratted Bob Marley. But then there's Flor, the rose of Castille ...
In Puerto Perdido they're still talking about the double death of Captain Hook, going buggy with machetes and the penalty for unholy hanky-panky.
If Chaucer had retired to a trailer in Margaritaville, would he spend his evenings watching Fellini movies? He might.
