Bam!  There's the sound of another mango hitting the tin roof of the carport right outside my window.  I literally just jumped out of my chair it's so loud.  Sounds like someone's breaking in.  Not only does the mango tree block a potentially breathtaking view of the bay from the sótano of the house, but it also scares me by throwing fruit at the ground.

So back to the topic of violence because it is such a daily part of discourse.  I was watching video clips from Crooksandliars.com, which is one of my main daily news sources, and I happened upon Bill O'reilly ranting about how he wouldn't send his kids to any part of Mexico.  A minute or so into the video Bill O'reilly claims that all the clubs are owned by drug lords and, trust him, he knows because he's been "everywhere in Mexico."  I know he's probably pretty well-off financially but I bet I've probably traveled more in Mexico than that clown.  

Anyways he says all the "Baby-O"'s of Mexico are dangerous because that's where the drug cartels apparently have a side business .  What's a "Baby O" you say?  Well, it seems that Bill O'Reilly here is utilizing a literary device, metonymy, which uses a part of a group, one specific club in Mexico, to symbolize the whole, all clubs in Mexico-- kind of like talking about The White House when referring to the Administration or Executive Branch (Wikipedia te quiero mucho).  However, it's not just your average run-of-the-mill discoteque, but only one of the most fresa clubs of this tourist town, as illustrated in this New York Times article, "In Acapulco, a Return to Glamour": 

But in true Acapulco style, the most exclusive club is also the longest-running. Baby’O erected its first velvet rope more than 30 years ago, and at 2 a.m. on a recent Monday, the well-heeled and well-primped were still arriving, ready to sweet talk their way past the hard-to-please bouncers...

So exclusive that Madonna, Bono and Naomi Campbell were recently spotted there the article claims.  

Here's where it gets interesting...

A few weeks ago after having met a fellow Arizonean, from Rio Rico, at the gay bar, we went outside to go to the next club.  He was talking to his friends to let them know where he was headed to while I stood there waiting til I heard a, "pss hey you."  I turn around to see a man motioning that I come over.  "Te están llamando estas chavas," he says to me.  So the two girls who were apparently calling me over, seated in a mercedes benz, tell me come in here.  I cautiously take a seat.  Rich people won't do me any harm, right?  One appears to be a transgendered woman with blonde hair, the other a girl from Mexico City who nonetheless spoke with an accent which seemed madrileño, or from Madrid.  

"Why are you speaking like that," I ask, "with a Spanish accent?"  

"Oh, yeah," she replies.  

"Come with us to Baby O," they ask me.  "You are so ridiculously handsome.  I literally cannot believe my eyes, neither of us could, when we first saw you.  We were just like wow..."

Okay maybe I mistranslated juuuust a little bit that last quote.  It actually was something more like:

"You're really cute.  Come with us to Baby O."

So I explain, "I can't.  I'm with some friends who are expecting me in Zoom."  (My friends Judson and Blanca were at Zoom waiting for me to come dance with my new acquantance from Rio Rico)

"Forget them, come with us to Rio Rico," they plead.  Okay maybe pleading was an exaggeration also, but they were rather insistent.

"I said I can't!  How dare you insist that I would leave my friends, one of whom is visiting me for the weekend, and so would have no way to contact me if I just up and ditched him!  You think just because I could have the chance to get into one of the most exclusive clubs of Acapulco and maybe appear in one of those social magazines showing the who's who of the city?  Well you've both got another thing coming!"

Yeah, obviously didn't say that either.  I lingered in their car for awhile thinking how I could somehow get in touch with Judson to tell him that I'd be right back (going upstairs to the club and telling him in person would apparently take too long they told me).  So, after explaining that I really couldn't do it, they kicked me out of their Benz with a "Ok, bye!"

"¡Oseeeaaaa!" is what I should of told them, but I gave them a smirk as if to say, "Wow, thanks jerks."

In conclusion, I almost got into one of the narco-clubs that Bill O'Reilly wrote his dissertation on.  If only I had seen the Factor before that fateful night, I would have given those two girls a defiant NO! and they would have been the ones left thinking, "Wow, what a jerk."