We were in Mexico a couple of weeks ago and Dave lost his I-phone. Thanks to his other I-shit, he was able to locate where the phone was via GPS. Despite repeated texts, the new owner of the phone wasn’t picking up.
It appeared the phone was a couple of miles away from where we were. Of course, being gringo tourist stoner morons, we had no idea how sketchy the area was.
But we decided that it was worth taking our lives into our hands to at least see if we could get the phone back. We had been smokin’ alot of Mexican crabgrass (how we eventually upgraded is a story for another day) and whilst Dave didnt drink, I was slack jaw deep into my third six pack of the evening. And tequila. Bad ideas are always marinated with Tequila.
So, we embarked upon I-Phone rescue.
We were getting further and further away from tourist zone and deeper into the real Mexico. It was approaching midnite and the only other thing on the streets were loose dogs. Lots of loose dogs. No problem there, Dave and I are both dog people.
We were testing each other on stanza’s of Crass’s “Big A Little A” to ease the anxiety. I won.
Finally, after what seemed to be hours, but was probably only 40 minutes or so, we came to the street where we thought the phone was. There were three or four small houses on the block.
A couple of the little bastards were buzzing around our heads, like drones or something.
One of the houses had a truck with a logo that said “blood of the dead” in spanish. We figured those were our boys.
I was about to knock on the door when Dave said, “fuck it let them keep it, I wanna upgrade anyway."
I didnt press the point.
We walked back, with our tails between our legs.
Only we weren’t dog people anymore.
Just a couple of I-pussies.