I was down there last Christmas with three of my friends. I had booked a couple of rooms in a hotel just off the beach. We rolled into town in the early evening after a twenty-three-hour drive, so the first night was pretty mellow while we recuperated. Early next morning we drove to Brownsville and crossed over into Mexico on the pedestrian bridge. We did a lot of the drunken American tourist shit, buying lame trinkets that were actually made in China and eating a whole lot of E. coli-infested tortas. And we spent the entire day cavorting around in an opiated vapor thanks to the enlightened Mexican policy of allowing anyone to write his own prescription! You merely walk into a drug store, point to what you want, hand over a nominal sum of money, and they fill your "prescription" right there on the spot! Viva los farmacias de Mexico!!!
Anyway, around five PM, after eight solid hours of vomiting and debauchery, we wrapped up our visit and headed back home to civilization. After crossing back into the USA, we started our seventy-minute drive back to the hotel. Ten minutes into the drive, poor "David" starts clutching his stomach and groaning piteously. It was obvious he had become the first of us to succumb to amoebic dysentery (or whatever the disease is with clinical manifestations including the sensation of a stainless steel pipe shoved up one's anus and being injected with a molten nickel-cadmium alloy). David ordered the car halted so he could hop out onto the shoulder to defecate.
If you've ever been on the road from Brownsville to South Padre Island, you know that the lack of fauna and absence of any geological formations makes for very little concealment when one has to crap. David was able to preserve some of his modesty by squatting very close to the car and leaving the back door open as a sort of shield from the prying eyes of oncoming drivers. Midway into his second squirt, the driver of our car decided it would be a fun prank to drive off and leave David in this somewhat vulnerable situation. The car peeled out and I'm sorry to say that the back door knocked him over so that he landed partially into his own offal.
We pulled to a stop a hundred yards away, leaving David in all his glory, shitting away by the side of the road. Just about every car that passed him would give him a celebratory toot; and by way of a return salute, David would flip them off.
When he was finished, we backed up to pick him up. He was a whole lot more good-natured about it than I would have been, and by the time we reached the hotel he was laughing along with the rest of us.
Early next morning (around one o'clock in the afternoon), we got in gear to go down to the beach. However, as soon as we went outside we were greeted by a cold, wet Nor'easter (or whatever the term for it is in Texas). Since hanging out at the beach was off the agenda, we had to find some other diversion. The day before, we had noticed a small museum in the town of Port Isabel, a mere four miles away. Being the culturally-minded lot that we were, we decided to take it in. I really can't remember much about the museum. The highlight of our visit was the following prank: prior to leaving the hotel, one of the guys printed up the following signs on his portable printer:
Dear Patrons: We are sorry for the inconvenience. However, due to problems with Port Isabel's sewage system, we ask that you not flush any paper down the commode. Please just throw "soiled" toilet paper in the corner.Immediately upon entering the museum, my friend went to the men's bathroom and posted the signs on the inside of each stall. We then spent a leisurely hour walking through the museum. Before exiting, we all trouped into the bathroom to see if everyone had followed instructions. Sure enough, on the floor of one of the stalls was a neat little package of toilet paper that someone had left in the corner. I can only imagine how many other patrons ended up leaving their shit-paper on the floor that day before the custodian ripped down our signs.
Oh... and that neat little package of toilet paper that someone had so considerately wrapped up? We discovered that when treated as a soccer ball, the structural integrity fails catastrophically after just a few kicks.
These two episodes in no way encompassed all of our disgusting behavior that week -- indeed, if this forum ever expands to include vomiting and public urination I'll be able to append several pages to this story. However, since we are concerned solely with poop, I'll sign off now.
P.S. Oh, and I know the question uppermost in everyone's mind. "What did David use to wipe his ass with?" Putting this as delicately as possible: If you ever find yourself on that drive from Matamoras to Padre Island and you see some smaller-denomination Mexican currency fluttering along the roadway, it might be prudent not to stop and pick any of it up.