62 THRASHER MAGAZINE
A STILETTO
FOR MARY
OR JAMIE DIRTBAG TAKES
For days I've been walking in the barren
desert. I don't even have a horse with no
name, let alone a pot to piss in. Lost
like a flea in a watermelon patch, I
live off cactus juice and lizards or,
if I'm lucky, a big fat ol' horny
toad will make my day. No
hope, no glory, no dollar and
no sense, just trudging
across the barren waste-
land of some 761,604
square miles of the Fed-
eral Republic of Mexico,
in the state of Jalisco,
a few miles outside
of Guadalajara.
How I got here is a story
in itself. It all be n in the
greater met an
area of San Jose, Cal-
ifornia. I was hauling
ass in my primer-
gray 1967 Pontiac
Gran Prix, ap-
proaching the
King and Story
intersection. The
light had turned
Super Automatic
madel
his way
throught
the inter-
setion and
behind my
chariot, got
out of his car
and made his
way over to my
window. I pre-
pared my speech:
A TRIP
red just as my front tires
passed the crosswalk. Slam-
ming on the brakes, I settled
in the middle of the intersection
just as one of San Jose's finest
pulled up in the cross-traffic pole
position. Being self-conscious and
fully aware of my faux pas, I crept
the rest of the way through the inter-
section pulling to the side to await
impending doom. The cop slowly
"I'm late for a flight-non-refundable ticket," "Gotta pee,"
etc. As I watched Mr. Law trudge my way, I noticed his face
all scrunched up and he touched his brow with his thumb and
forefinger, laughing his fool head off. "I don't have the heart
to give you a ticket. This is the first time in my life that I've ever
seen or heard of anyone pulling himself over for anything." Just
then one of those small jeeps rolled by, blasting its over-amped
sound system with the kind of loud rap music that turns your insides
to fudge pudding. Cop man looked at the annoyance, shook his
Story and Photos by Doroteo Arango Dingus Morizen Foche O'Brian de Milo Jesus Smith
63