It was the spring of 2001 in Austin, Texas. The smell of spring break was in the air, but none of my fraternity brothers had the cash or the motivation to put together a trip. So we pooled what was left of our brain cells and planned a road trip to Nuevo Laredo.
There were 15 of us--14 guys and a girlfriend (you know the type of girl who won't let the guy go anywhere without her). We called up a Motel 6 in Laredo, about three hours south of Austin, and made reservations for a Saturday, the weekend before UT’s spring break.
That fateful Saturday around noon we gathered in the courtyard of our house, coolers and knapsacks in hand, and headed towards the border. On our journey at first, there were mostly pastures and then came the desert. Finally, we got to Laredo and settled in before crossing the Rio Grande.
Our first stop was the gringo-laden Senor Frogs. We had a couple of drinks there, but it was early, around 9 pm, and no one was out yet. And we needed a little more excitement than a bar all the American high-schoolers go to.
So we made a decision that would change us all forever--we were headed to "Boystown." "Boystown," 6 or 7 miles deep into Mexico, is just a string of whorehouses and seedy bars. But we didn't care at the time, we wanted to see the mythical donkey show. My idiot friend got to talking with one of the locals outside of Senor Frogs who promised us that a ride, in three separate horse carriages, would be cheaper than a cab--just not necessarily safer.
So we hopped into these carriages, and proceeded south. Not more than a minute into the ride, the carriages split up. When my carriage reached the slums, we were alone in the dark. The streets were dark, because they had no electricity, and we had the one female, a busty blonde, riding with us. We were scared beyond belief. I thought for sure we were goners. The girl was crying, stray dogs were chasing us and the locals (who we couldn't see due to the darkness) were yelling and whooping it up from the sidewalks. But our driver assured us we would reunite with our friends in Boystown soon.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only like 20 minutes, we turned down a narrow street, lit on both sides, that was unmistakably our destination. We paid our driver, and marched into the first doorway to find our missing compadres. We found 1/3 of our group sitting around a table; the other group hadn't arrived yet. Let me tell you, that I was never happier in my life to see my dumb ass friends. We all hugged in celebration of our survival when the rest of our group arrived intact.
Now we were ready to start partying. We had been so happy to see each other that we didn't even realize we were drinking beer in a whorehouse. Mexican ladies, ranging from somewhat cute to old and fat, were walking around struttin' their stuff. We drank beer there for a while, and I'm glad to say none of my friends accepted the offers to "fucky."
After a few more drinks, we ventured out in search of the donkey show. Outside of the whorehouse, to our left, was a donkey, next to a large yellow wall that read "Donkey Show" with an arrow pointing to the door of the bar next door.
I shit you not.
So we went inside. It was basically the same as the first place, but it was more of a strip club than a whorehouse. We were all sitting around drinking beer, trading horse carriage stories, and getting restless for entertainment. Soon, a stripper got up on stage (which was about a foot off the floor in the middle of the room) and started doing her thing. Then a second stripper, then a third…
I kinda felt sorry for the third stripper, because none of my friends were throwing any bills down, and there weren't very many other people there. So I whipped out a dollar and waved it in the air. She saw it and sauntered over to me, buck naked, and turned around. I didn't know what to do, so I put it in the only place that was presented to me--her butt crack. Now my friends will tell you I wrapped the bill around my finger and crammed it up her poop shoot. But no, I'm not a totally sick bastard, I honestly just placed it in her (overly) generous fold.
So we got a good laugh at that, then started chanting "burro, burro" Spanish fordonkey. Two men working at the joint went outside, brought the donkey in through the door and up to the stage. Then they pushed it to its side. They lashed its legs together, and held them so they were straight up in the air, and then the same woman that so gracefully took my dollar, got down on her knees and started blowing the donkey. After the donkey was "ready" she straddled him and rode him.
No shit.
That's not even the sickest part. This one gringo, who was not with us, got up from his seat, walked over to the donkey-whore, whipped out his dick, and the chick started blowing him while she was riding the donkey.
Once again, I shit you not.
Once we were all thoroughly disgusted (yet enthralled), we treaded back to the border, in cabs this time, and back to our Motel 6. It was 4 am, we were tired, drunk, and dirty. We had survived near death in the slums of Mexico, and witnessed one of the most depraving acts of humankind.
In other words: we had accomplished our goals.
There were 15 of us--14 guys and a girlfriend (you know the type of girl who won't let the guy go anywhere without her). We called up a Motel 6 in Laredo, about three hours south of Austin, and made reservations for a Saturday, the weekend before UT’s spring break.
That fateful Saturday around noon we gathered in the courtyard of our house, coolers and knapsacks in hand, and headed towards the border. On our journey at first, there were mostly pastures and then came the desert. Finally, we got to Laredo and settled in before crossing the Rio Grande.
Our first stop was the gringo-laden Senor Frogs. We had a couple of drinks there, but it was early, around 9 pm, and no one was out yet. And we needed a little more excitement than a bar all the American high-schoolers go to.
So we made a decision that would change us all forever--we were headed to "Boystown." "Boystown," 6 or 7 miles deep into Mexico, is just a string of whorehouses and seedy bars. But we didn't care at the time, we wanted to see the mythical donkey show. My idiot friend got to talking with one of the locals outside of Senor Frogs who promised us that a ride, in three separate horse carriages, would be cheaper than a cab--just not necessarily safer.
So we hopped into these carriages, and proceeded south. Not more than a minute into the ride, the carriages split up. When my carriage reached the slums, we were alone in the dark. The streets were dark, because they had no electricity, and we had the one female, a busty blonde, riding with us. We were scared beyond belief. I thought for sure we were goners. The girl was crying, stray dogs were chasing us and the locals (who we couldn't see due to the darkness) were yelling and whooping it up from the sidewalks. But our driver assured us we would reunite with our friends in Boystown soon.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only like 20 minutes, we turned down a narrow street, lit on both sides, that was unmistakably our destination. We paid our driver, and marched into the first doorway to find our missing compadres. We found 1/3 of our group sitting around a table; the other group hadn't arrived yet. Let me tell you, that I was never happier in my life to see my dumb ass friends. We all hugged in celebration of our survival when the rest of our group arrived intact.
Now we were ready to start partying. We had been so happy to see each other that we didn't even realize we were drinking beer in a whorehouse. Mexican ladies, ranging from somewhat cute to old and fat, were walking around struttin' their stuff. We drank beer there for a while, and I'm glad to say none of my friends accepted the offers to "fucky."
After a few more drinks, we ventured out in search of the donkey show. Outside of the whorehouse, to our left, was a donkey, next to a large yellow wall that read "Donkey Show" with an arrow pointing to the door of the bar next door.
So we went inside. It was basically the same as the first place, but it was more of a strip club than a whorehouse. We were all sitting around drinking beer, trading horse carriage stories, and getting restless for entertainment. Soon, a stripper got up on stage (which was about a foot off the floor in the middle of the room) and started doing her thing. Then a second stripper, then a third…
I kinda felt sorry for the third stripper, because none of my friends were throwing any bills down, and there weren't very many other people there. So I whipped out a dollar and waved it in the air. She saw it and sauntered over to me, buck naked, and turned around. I didn't know what to do, so I put it in the only place that was presented to me--her butt crack. Now my friends will tell you I wrapped the bill around my finger and crammed it up her poop shoot. But no, I'm not a totally sick bastard, I honestly just placed it in her (overly) generous fold.
So we got a good laugh at that, then started chanting "burro, burro" Spanish fordonkey. Two men working at the joint went outside, brought the donkey in through the door and up to the stage. Then they pushed it to its side. They lashed its legs together, and held them so they were straight up in the air, and then the same woman that so gracefully took my dollar, got down on her knees and started blowing the donkey. After the donkey was "ready" she straddled him and rode him.
No shit.
That's not even the sickest part. This one gringo, who was not with us, got up from his seat, walked over to the donkey-whore, whipped out his dick, and the chick started blowing him while she was riding the donkey.
Once again, I shit you not.
Once we were all thoroughly disgusted (yet enthralled), we treaded back to the border, in cabs this time, and back to our Motel 6. It was 4 am, we were tired, drunk, and dirty. We had survived near death in the slums of Mexico, and witnessed one of the most depraving acts of humankind.
In other words: we had accomplished our goals.
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