Never once heard a problem with hookers from anyone in the Army. It was much similar to the Euro attitude to anyone who has a problem with the morality of hooking ... keep it at home. The Army was the same way as anyone who had a problem with it simply didn't do it.
We don't care about morality, we want to head over to the Kentucky Club in Ciudad Juarez, right across the Rio not-really-that-Grande River. This was before TSA and all these gropin' weasels who can't get jobs doing anything useful so we would stagger back to the border stop, all drunked-up from our reckless and lecherous ways, and the border guards knew at one look ... y'all from Fort Bliss, aren't you.
Sometimes they would ask if I'm American and I said, 'sure,' but it didn't matter as they never asked for passports. I didn't become a naturalized citizen until about 1990 and that was only because my ol' Mother wanted company so she could vote against George Bush.
My ol' Mother was diggin' it as she was escorted by her ol' man and her eldest son. We had been in the country since 1962 but there was never any particular reason to take out citizenship, even after I had been in the Army, because then and now I regard it as largely irrelevant and no more than primitive, colonial thinking. This is the country which turned the American flag into a fashion accessory.
(Ed: hogwashhhhhhh!)
Right. So, enlighten me as to why all public conservatives wear American flag lapel pins. There's no way to get here without swimming a few thousand kilometers so we assume it does not mean they have forgotten which country they are occupying. The only other purpose is to define themselves as better Americans than anyone else.
We got back from the Dallas VA Hospital a few minutes ago and that's the only time I ever really feel like I'm in America. No-one out there wears an American flag lapel pin and no-one talks shit about what they will do in Syria. These ones already found out ... the hard way.
The ones who send soldiers overseas to get killed for frivolous reasons almost unanimously wear lapel pins. The ones who paid the price for it never do ... so ... you tell me which fashion accessory means something and which one doesn't mean any more than a plastic pose with Hong Kong jewelry.
(Ed: that title is fookin' clickbait!)
Oh really ... perhaps I may have digressed somewhat because the original clickbait is what you want.
Hookers, uh huh.
Well, there were no hookers in the Kentucky Club ...
(Ed: fookin' false advertising!)
Noooo, the Kentucky Club was the launch point. If you're wanting to do some drinking and carousing with hookers, you'll be needing to do it on a full belly and the Kentucky Club was a great place to get it that way. They served up huge steaks for small dollars and I think we made, maybe, twenty cents an hour in the Army so small dollars were a big draw.
Hookers and music were a bigger draw so, after stuffing our faces, we would head out to roam the streets.
The main drag through Boys' Town (i.e. what they called the no-rules part of Juarez and Army boys plus roaming Texas boys, complete with cowboy hats, would be roaming about. Nobody gave anyone else any trouble or, at least, not often. The only time anyone gave us a hard time was when three Marines came into a cantina where we were hanging out, enjoying a great buzz on being so Mexico and getting drunked-up didn't hurt that in any kind of way.
These Marines did, tho. I've told this story many times before ... because I love it. We're hanging out being cool stoner freaks who got drafted into a bullshit military and, feel our pain, here we are in Juarez, surrounded by hookers, excellently buzzed, and enjoying that Mexican sunshine on a Sunday afternoon as it streamed over those cantina doors.
We all got to feeling so Hemingway, man ... well ... at least until the Marines showed up.
Junior had his back to the door and I sat opposite him. I'm not sure who was on either side for this particular mission as it was a rotating crew. We didn't go out too much in U.S. because we were so easily identified as military that no-one would have anything to do with us.
Keep in mind, this is 1971 and America is in the midst of possibly the most-hated conflict it had ever waged. Everything was so twisted that none of us were sure we wouldn't be sent to Vietnam ... so ... we did not give one tiny rat's ass about anything.
For young not-wannabe soldiers, that is one perfect vibe for roaming the streets of Juarez.
Note: and say that right too ... it goes almost hw ah rez, you've got to throw that J out there with a big accent on the first syllable. Don't go wishy washy with wuh rez. That ain't nothin'.
So, we're already clear we're only looking for some chow at the Kentucky Club and it was a cool place to do it too.
(Ed: oy, oy, oy ... what happened to the Marines?)
Well, I saw these guys enter the place when the cantina doors opened up and it was obvious right away ... what are these Army pissants doing in our bar. I let Junior know we may have a problem approaching from behind him so he was ready when one of them struck the pose.
It was official. We have a problem.
But Junior didn't.
He stood up in one of the most excellent moves I ever saw because he was swinging as he rose.
One ... two ... three ... he hammered these real hard and real fast ... those Marines learned in a big, big hurry, don't ever fuck with a street-fightin' man from Philly.
There was no time for them to recover and counterattack before the people in the bar were all over them.
It's not clear how this resolved as the Marines disappeared and we continued in our stoner freak soldier bliss. However, we noted clearly there are two things you never want on your ass in Mexico: one is a venereal disease and two is three pissed-off Marines who now feel they have to show they have at least one penis between them.
But nothin' happened.
We're also clear the main drag is mostly turistas so we may have a few cocktails before heading to the streets behind it. There were clubs all over the place and it was huge fun. This was how we wound up at the cantina.
(Ed: fun? in Juarez?)
Fo' real. It was a gas.
You know you keep hearing about Mexicans being thieves, yah? No-one ever ripped off any of us.
No-one ever got raped and we never heard of it happening to anyone else.
Believe it or not as you will but no-one offered deals on ganja or any other illegal drug.
Note: we didn't ask for it because there was another thing you do not want on your ass in Juarez and that is specifically Juarez cops. If you get thrown in the slam there then it was going to one classic bitch to get you back out again.
It was just good, clean, decadent fun. Provide these things to soldiers and you will always have contented soldiers. Maybe they're not so good for battle that way but at least they won't be battling you.
With each succeeding back street behind the main drag, things would get a wee bit (i.e. a lot) more seedy. There's nothing soldiers want more than seedy is generally staying alive so we headed straight out there.
It's back there we found the cantina and had the adventure with the Marines but I may (definitely) have left out the rest of the story.
(Ed: what about the dang hookers?)
Um, that's the rest of the story, matey.
So there are hookers all around in the cantina but we're just hanging out. It's still early so maybe something happens, maybe it doesn't.
In this case, it did. Junior developed a crush on one and that happened really easily. That's not your best plan with hookers but, wtf, we don't care. It's all in good decadent fun ... now with hookers.
On seeing Junior is going for it, I'm thinking, well, that doesn't sound like a bad idea and a young lady (hell no, not that young) who was quite the comely lass and the idea became more appealing by the moment. Naturally, alcohol was not interfering with the judgment. Perish that provincial thinking.
There was another problem, tho. We had agreed on prices but we hit a point below which they wouldn't go and we didn't exactly have enough money.
So then one gets the brilliant idea: it is cheaper if we use the same room ... at the same time.
Note: you may be bashful going into the Army but you won't be coming back out again.
(Ed: so?? what happened??)
Tie yer kangaroo down, sport! We're getting there.
So, there we are in a bed which had to have been king-size, buck nekkid with two buck nekkid Juarez hookers.
It was laughy for a while but we had already chosen and ...
and ...
sex ensued.
(Ed: what the hell?? No swapping partners, hanging from the ceiling or anything??)
Sorry, nope. I don't even know what they were doing except the sound seemed to indicate they were. enjoying it. My attentions were elsewhere, see.
(Ed: so .... doin' what??)
Bite me. You know what I was doin'.
Maybe what you're wanting to be hearing is how I know for sure a cowboy never takes off his hat. Coincidentally, this was something else I learned in Juarez.
But we will keep that (cough) bed-time story until next time. Cheerio (larfs).
We don't care about morality, we want to head over to the Kentucky Club in Ciudad Juarez, right across the Rio not-really-that-Grande River. This was before TSA and all these gropin' weasels who can't get jobs doing anything useful so we would stagger back to the border stop, all drunked-up from our reckless and lecherous ways, and the border guards knew at one look ... y'all from Fort Bliss, aren't you.
Sometimes they would ask if I'm American and I said, 'sure,' but it didn't matter as they never asked for passports. I didn't become a naturalized citizen until about 1990 and that was only because my ol' Mother wanted company so she could vote against George Bush.
My ol' Mother was diggin' it as she was escorted by her ol' man and her eldest son. We had been in the country since 1962 but there was never any particular reason to take out citizenship, even after I had been in the Army, because then and now I regard it as largely irrelevant and no more than primitive, colonial thinking. This is the country which turned the American flag into a fashion accessory.
(Ed: hogwashhhhhhh!)
Right. So, enlighten me as to why all public conservatives wear American flag lapel pins. There's no way to get here without swimming a few thousand kilometers so we assume it does not mean they have forgotten which country they are occupying. The only other purpose is to define themselves as better Americans than anyone else.
We got back from the Dallas VA Hospital a few minutes ago and that's the only time I ever really feel like I'm in America. No-one out there wears an American flag lapel pin and no-one talks shit about what they will do in Syria. These ones already found out ... the hard way.
The ones who send soldiers overseas to get killed for frivolous reasons almost unanimously wear lapel pins. The ones who paid the price for it never do ... so ... you tell me which fashion accessory means something and which one doesn't mean any more than a plastic pose with Hong Kong jewelry.
(Ed: that title is fookin' clickbait!)
Oh really ... perhaps I may have digressed somewhat because the original clickbait is what you want.
Hookers, uh huh.
Well, there were no hookers in the Kentucky Club ...
(Ed: fookin' false advertising!)
Noooo, the Kentucky Club was the launch point. If you're wanting to do some drinking and carousing with hookers, you'll be needing to do it on a full belly and the Kentucky Club was a great place to get it that way. They served up huge steaks for small dollars and I think we made, maybe, twenty cents an hour in the Army so small dollars were a big draw.
Hookers and music were a bigger draw so, after stuffing our faces, we would head out to roam the streets.
The main drag through Boys' Town (i.e. what they called the no-rules part of Juarez and Army boys plus roaming Texas boys, complete with cowboy hats, would be roaming about. Nobody gave anyone else any trouble or, at least, not often. The only time anyone gave us a hard time was when three Marines came into a cantina where we were hanging out, enjoying a great buzz on being so Mexico and getting drunked-up didn't hurt that in any kind of way.
These Marines did, tho. I've told this story many times before ... because I love it. We're hanging out being cool stoner freaks who got drafted into a bullshit military and, feel our pain, here we are in Juarez, surrounded by hookers, excellently buzzed, and enjoying that Mexican sunshine on a Sunday afternoon as it streamed over those cantina doors.
We all got to feeling so Hemingway, man ... well ... at least until the Marines showed up.
Junior had his back to the door and I sat opposite him. I'm not sure who was on either side for this particular mission as it was a rotating crew. We didn't go out too much in U.S. because we were so easily identified as military that no-one would have anything to do with us.
Keep in mind, this is 1971 and America is in the midst of possibly the most-hated conflict it had ever waged. Everything was so twisted that none of us were sure we wouldn't be sent to Vietnam ... so ... we did not give one tiny rat's ass about anything.
For young not-wannabe soldiers, that is one perfect vibe for roaming the streets of Juarez.
Note: and say that right too ... it goes almost hw ah rez, you've got to throw that J out there with a big accent on the first syllable. Don't go wishy washy with wuh rez. That ain't nothin'.
So, we're already clear we're only looking for some chow at the Kentucky Club and it was a cool place to do it too.
(Ed: oy, oy, oy ... what happened to the Marines?)
Well, I saw these guys enter the place when the cantina doors opened up and it was obvious right away ... what are these Army pissants doing in our bar. I let Junior know we may have a problem approaching from behind him so he was ready when one of them struck the pose.
It was official. We have a problem.
But Junior didn't.
He stood up in one of the most excellent moves I ever saw because he was swinging as he rose.
One ... two ... three ... he hammered these real hard and real fast ... those Marines learned in a big, big hurry, don't ever fuck with a street-fightin' man from Philly.
There was no time for them to recover and counterattack before the people in the bar were all over them.
It's not clear how this resolved as the Marines disappeared and we continued in our stoner freak soldier bliss. However, we noted clearly there are two things you never want on your ass in Mexico: one is a venereal disease and two is three pissed-off Marines who now feel they have to show they have at least one penis between them.
But nothin' happened.
We're also clear the main drag is mostly turistas so we may have a few cocktails before heading to the streets behind it. There were clubs all over the place and it was huge fun. This was how we wound up at the cantina.
(Ed: fun? in Juarez?)
Fo' real. It was a gas.
You know you keep hearing about Mexicans being thieves, yah? No-one ever ripped off any of us.
No-one ever got raped and we never heard of it happening to anyone else.
Believe it or not as you will but no-one offered deals on ganja or any other illegal drug.
Note: we didn't ask for it because there was another thing you do not want on your ass in Juarez and that is specifically Juarez cops. If you get thrown in the slam there then it was going to one classic bitch to get you back out again.
It was just good, clean, decadent fun. Provide these things to soldiers and you will always have contented soldiers. Maybe they're not so good for battle that way but at least they won't be battling you.
With each succeeding back street behind the main drag, things would get a wee bit (i.e. a lot) more seedy. There's nothing soldiers want more than seedy is generally staying alive so we headed straight out there.
It's back there we found the cantina and had the adventure with the Marines but I may (definitely) have left out the rest of the story.
(Ed: what about the dang hookers?)
Um, that's the rest of the story, matey.
So there are hookers all around in the cantina but we're just hanging out. It's still early so maybe something happens, maybe it doesn't.
In this case, it did. Junior developed a crush on one and that happened really easily. That's not your best plan with hookers but, wtf, we don't care. It's all in good decadent fun ... now with hookers.
On seeing Junior is going for it, I'm thinking, well, that doesn't sound like a bad idea and a young lady (hell no, not that young) who was quite the comely lass and the idea became more appealing by the moment. Naturally, alcohol was not interfering with the judgment. Perish that provincial thinking.
There was another problem, tho. We had agreed on prices but we hit a point below which they wouldn't go and we didn't exactly have enough money.
So then one gets the brilliant idea: it is cheaper if we use the same room ... at the same time.
Note: you may be bashful going into the Army but you won't be coming back out again.
(Ed: so?? what happened??)
Tie yer kangaroo down, sport! We're getting there.
So, there we are in a bed which had to have been king-size, buck nekkid with two buck nekkid Juarez hookers.
It was laughy for a while but we had already chosen and ...
and ...
sex ensued.
(Ed: what the hell?? No swapping partners, hanging from the ceiling or anything??)
Sorry, nope. I don't even know what they were doing except the sound seemed to indicate they were. enjoying it. My attentions were elsewhere, see.
(Ed: so .... doin' what??)
Bite me. You know what I was doin'.
Maybe what you're wanting to be hearing is how I know for sure a cowboy never takes off his hat. Coincidentally, this was something else I learned in Juarez.
But we will keep that (cough) bed-time story until next time. Cheerio (larfs).
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