"You Must Be From Texas."

After just passing the sphincter of America, lovely Eunice New Mexico (or Anus, as I like to call it), the brilliant Adolphus and I arrived at our new home for about a week, just outside of a little town called Nadine. Needing water, Dolph suggested that I go grab some at the nearest local store, the Town & Country, about 4 miles down the road. Walking in, I notice a very cute Hispanic Girl smoking (INSIDE the store, take that hippies!), who quite obviously was The-One-In-Charge. Passing pleasantries took place and I walked on to procure the necessary supplies.

I arrived at the counter line, behind some of the finest Americans I have ever seen, both socially and genetically, and eagerly waited my turn to discuss further pleasantries with said cute Hispanic Girl. Upon my turn at bat, I notice an entire shelf of liquors from 750 ml on down. Mouth agape, I say, "Oh, shit, liquor on convenience store shelves." Her reply, "You must be from Texas." I smile and reply, "Yah, good guess. We can't do that because if we sold it like that in Texas, we'd shoot many more people."

Awkward Silence ensues.

"$6.94, sir."

I pay and leave, smirk on my face, secure in the knowledge that I have either weirded out another girl, or made her fall in love. Either way, she will most likely not forget her encounter with this Jewish sharpshooter.

5-7 days till decompression.

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