This story, according to another player should take to the grave, is not certainly one of the funniest I've ever done throughout my thirty years. And is that with three decades met with a little silver hair, thanks to the paternal inheritance which I can not let go because I am a gentleman, I think it is time to tell it all.
I do not, frankly, to exorcise those demons that we all say that but I've never seen, but rather, to get the message, without false modesty, the assholes can be two very good friends when movidito by "the liqueur to be blessed in life," donned their costumes and go urban adventurers to meet a night unlike any other.
will not say the name the other star of this feat on Saturday, because he, I am sure, will never forgive me for exposing his identity to the public, especially in a story with which, in a selfish way, I seek no more than get rid of a story I can no longer stand on the shoulders and inevitably it is my duty to share with my few readers for his "knowledge and purposes." So do not worry my friend, I will not say your name, no matter if I want to make under torture. I never will (I turned my friend, go to see his godson from time to time.)
Well, let history. It turns out that many a Saturday, a year of many, my friend and I were celebrating the early hours of the evening something I can not remember. First there were a few wines, then a Chelita, and anecdotes and laughter, darkness fell sad. We were about to retire to rest it off, it was not so great in our young heads when we crossed the idea of \u200b\u200bending the meeting, glorious indeed an undue visit these dens of destruction known as "Chupines." The idea never was, and that I can swear, tangled in the arms of those bad women, most charapas, taking away the money to good men, but, and this I mean, just a moment spectators the famous strip tease us so much had spoken and we have not seen, until then, rather than gringo films.
But when the devil gets the queue gets full and get one of these holy places, where women are less than what is asked and paid more than they should, we find that all the tables near the small stage were filled with parishioners, mostly boys, and there was none available for us. Then, taking pride in my imagination as a writer in diapers, I decided that the only way they treated us with care and respect they deserve two knights like us, was making us go through so well-heeled foreigners we did. Unfortunately we did not give us looks to be Argentine accent that could imitate without setbacks, less than Brazilian or Venezuelan and Chilean ... or pods, so that we had no smug become two Colombians.
Thanks to my friend who is a heavy user of the soap operas of this beautiful country, we find the perfect names to meet our malevolent purposes. And so, under the blessing of Mary Magdalene, were baptized as Angelito and Jairo.
With the passing of the minutes and mimicking how pibe Valderrama speaking of which, incidentally, was acceptable but sometimes we crossed to the left Puerto Rican, Cuban and even Panamanian nos dirigimos al mozo y con toda la desfachatez del mundo, le pedimos una mesita lo más cercana posible al escenario. El mozalbete, luego de escuchar el cantito colombiano en nuestra solicitud, lleno de alegría por la propina que adivinaba y que nunca le dimos, nos buscó la mejor ubicación de todo aquel antro de muchachitas descarriadas. Ahí empezó nuestra desgracia, pues el pérfido jovenzuelo, que al parecer no tenía la discreción en la lista de sus cualidades, pronto informó al animador, oculto entre un cuartito rojo de la planta alta, sobre nuestra cafetera presencia, y éste, más indiscreto aun, comenzó a mandarnos saludos por el micrófono al mejor estilo del negro Augusto Ferrando: ¡Le We welcome to the beautiful people of Colombia! - screamed wildly, while butterflies turned their eyes anxiously treacherous ticket to the small table that we occupied, and passed and repassed on our side, moving the massive hips and buttocks exposed, without pity the trampling of our hormones rearing or the abandonment of our wallets empty.
detriment of the other patrons that night is over capacity in the country cumbia 5, Los Caribeños de Guadalupe, Tony Rosado, and even sea-water, and began to sound like a tribute to us, distinguished visitors, chords of the best vallenato of Carlos Vives, Grupo Niche from Cali, accordion Celso Piña and even the lost songs of the maestro Escalona not know where it got, making me believe for a few moments, in my drunken sailor, who was not a "chupín" Tacna any industrial park, but rather a Macondo's banana bar lost García Márquez.
Unfortunately as my mother, the lie has short legs, and just when we were starting to get used to the excessive attentions of the waiters, the anxious looks of charapita, the loving greetings of the other patrons and even dances lust of the strippers (I swear by my dear mother who never played), one of those guys which one knows, and that without being a friend know that life existed, did his impertinent appearance and standing in front of our table full of chelas the pole, his eyes mischievous grin and he discovers an alien sin, we faced without pity: - "So now they are Colombian couple of assholes."
We had no one to take to their heels before being lynched by the girls mocked, waiters and even the customers claims envious. Outside, we took a taxi swiftly as he escapes from certain death and went to break it off more lush than we had in our entire existence. However, the memory of that night changed nationality and even name and Angelito and Jairo went for a few hours, will stay with us forever, that day no one takes it from us, huh pal? (And do not worry you, the other will be Uruguayan, go testing the accent).
Pd. What was not in your year will not hurt. Is not my love?
Tacna, March 27, 2010
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