Como Se Siente?

Brigitte Bardot and I once spent a coke-fueled month in Mazatlan back in '76.

Some asshole was opening a bunch of timeshares there and he needed celebrities to glad-hand potential investors.

You know. Show up at parties, sing some songs.

It took four days for things to get rowdy.

I'm still not sure how we got up there, but I have a brief memory of Brigitte on all fours on the roof of a house.

We were just grinding and watching the waves roll in - and then nothing.

They found me naked, somewhere along the beach, with the head of an ice sculpture swan broken off in my ass.

A federale was standing over me, yelling "COMO SE SIENTE?" over and over and over. Then he tried some German, I believe.

I spent two days in a hammock, drinking Abuelita, reading cheap novels, and waiting for that fucking swan to melt out.

And that's how Norman Mailer and I became pen pals.

The End.
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