CURRENT ISSUE 02/04/03 Front Page SPECIAL! Big News from Dadistan Weekly Features Riding Shotgun With Adventure Musing With Mitch Frank Haskins Ain't That America? Moth's Diary To-Do List Info Archives Crap Shop Who's at Fault? Contact Us! Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty!	Riding Shotgun   With Adventure   by Ron Langston   Part 4 - Angry Swirls He checked his meager supplies carefully -- a rope, an anchor and the religious medallion he wore around his neck in the slim hope that God, any god, would look favorably upon him in his endeavors. But even as he told himself his years of experience could safeguard him against the peril, he knew it was a lie. For nowhere in the world were the toilets angrier than Mexico. And nowhere in Mexico was there a toilet angry than this. The Central American sun may have baked necks outside, but the inside of this club was deliberately kept dark despite the hour. Daylight was no friend to this collection of underground-dwellers, prostitutes and thieves. An aging floozy with wooden prosthetic breasts peeking from her worn bra top winked wearily. It was a wink that smelled of tequila and aspirin. "Twenty dollars." He was too attuned to the rage of the toilet -- which radiated in every square inch of this hovel like a dorm-room microwave with a faulty door -- to have time for such shenanigans. "Enough, woman! Show me the toilet!" It was worse than he'd dared fear. The smell of blood, panic, fecal matter, lost children and broken dreams told him all he needed to know of the fierceness of this porcelain. It had never been broken, but instead had broken many in its wake. Kissing his religious medallion, he carefully placed his gun, Windex, and lotion to keep his hands soft throughout on the ground before him. This could take days. He turned to this reporter: "Make peace with your deity now, for once we get started, he will fear to even look this way." Next week -- Part 5: Et Tu, Urinal Cake?
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