Querido Diario,
Am I right to assume that the sign of great Mexican food is that it was as stank coming out as it was good going in? If so what I had yesterday was the bomb. Literally explosive. Hijo de la puta madre! Kinda like the time I put that M80 inside your back cover. Aye aye aye! You were s**tting confetti for a week. Pinche cabron. Don't be mad. It was funny. What wasn't funny was the smell. I usually only say excuse me for the sound of a fart. And that's only when I can be pinpointed as the farter. Well last nights initial fart in the kitchen almost killed my children. Monica had to check the baby's diaper it was so bad. It was so bad that the smell lingered for two hours making TLO scream when she walked in the door. It was that bad. But it wasn't bad enough for me to say excuse me. It was truly the SBD. Silent, but deadly. Qué chingados! It wasn't all bad though. The best thing other than the taste of the food was that I didn't eat too much. It was just the right portion to burn off before the day was over. To do that I purchased season 3 of Sons of Anarchy and got to it. It was pretty late, so I only rode for an hour. Slept for four. Not enough time to get the body the rest it needs. So in addition to being vigilant this weekend, I'll get some rest. And probably keep farting. Adios muthaf***a!
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