A brisk walk around the pool quickly turns into a safari for the imaginitive mind.
You notice the sun-drenched elderly people strangely resemble leather coats with faces and bright-white hair.
Somewhere an underwear and bathing-suit catalogue has accidently blown open or fallen off a bathroom counter spilling tall model-like creatures into the pool. They come with water-proof mascara included and realistic Malibu-issued plastic surgery.
Paparazzi of the "60+ year old" variety take pictures with their high-tech camera's which I'm sure cost more than my car. Keep taking those pictures fellas. I'm sure that tall blonde has no soul for your camera lense to steal.
You're suddenly flushed from the bowl into the (cess)pool where many cum and go...and come and go. There you spend your day wasting away in a alcohol-induced stupor. This proves that you are definitely in it and not above it.
The day turns into a night that you most definitely will not go gently into. You can only pray that one of the girls dancing on the bar hasn't dripped loose-juice into your drinkdrinkdrinkdrink.
No fine details, but trust me. I was sure as hell I wouldn't see a robot shooting a flame-thower. Get to the next club however and what do you know... Poker players and loose women frequent this establishment.
You know you're in another country when the surgeon general's warning simply states: IF YOU SMOKE YOU WILL DIE. No bullshit...my kind of place. An all-inclusive, drink til' you die, beach-junkie town. Mecca for human machines laced with human disease. DON'T drink the water. DO drink the tequila...or any of the wide varieties of cheap liquor one would drink before commiting suicide.
Excuse me while I go to Wal-Mart and buy a brand-new stomach lining. I seemed to have misplaced mine in Cancun.
Yours Faithfullly,
Charles
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