So... There I was...
The grandfather of my son,
XANDER, had called in the hit. AeroMexico was on the lookout and the second they saw me, they had cooked up any ol' excuse to boot me off the plane.
Time was working against me. A staggering 45 minute drive to San Diego, I had to think
fast to cross the border.
Stumbling from the airport, I solicited the greasiest wetbacks I could find in the area for help. They warned me the trip was fraught with dangers. The border was locked up tighter than a Catholic chica's chastity belt. They wanted
mucho dinero, but luckily I was
Internet famous with hundreds of thousands of dollars to my name (which they had heard of).
Three of the men died on the way. One to thirst, the other to moat gators, the third to a border guard sniper. The last didn't care. He was MS13 and knew that fewer men meant a bigger share of my American dollerinos.
Me and the hombre (I didn't have time to learn the name, being in such a hurry) parted ways. He told me he was a big fan of the Killstream and wished me luck fighting the American family court system. I nodded at him in the understanding way only two men can.
I arrived, a mere 115 minutes late, caked in dirt and sweat. They were already getting ready to leave but I told that BITCH to sit the fuck down because I was getting my 5 minutes.
There he was.
XANDER. I hugged him and I told him, "I love ya, son." He looked at me and cried. Tears of joy.
Thankfully the trip back was much less perilous. I had arrived with only the bare essentials (my manpurse had my phone, wallet, cash and credit, and my American passport). I flew American the way back to the Yucatan. Another great day to be a Ralphamale.
