Hola, me llamo Juanito.

Hola, me llamo Juanito.

Hola! Jaunito! (Quick where is my phrase book?) My llama est Chaz? Mile castle is your castle? Tray Ben, comma est DOS? (No wonder I flunked 7th grade.)

Jaunito gave me a strange look & said "¿Está usted tratando de llegar a mi hermana? Te mato!" I was just beginning to think my 7th grade spanish was good enough when Jaunito pulled

a gun on me and said, "What's the matter Tim? 7th Grad Spanish got your tongue?" I shouted, "Juanito, no! What about us? How I showed you how to use NES emulators?"

...the...cooking class I am taking down at the county extension office!" Juanito narrowed his eyes and then slowly lowered his gun. "Go on," he grunted. Relieved, I continued, "I'm

learning how to bake cakes." "What kind?" Crap, I don't know about cakes. "Uranium, Juanitio. I mean, if you're any, um, more understanding," Juanito raised the gun. "Bake for me."

So I gathered eggs, flour, butter. A passing Hungarian had some uranium-235 in his pocket. I whisked the cake up at Juanito's gunpoint. I put a cherry on top and put it in a lead

-lined air sickness bag that I found in the seatback pocket. With that task complete I unwrapped my tuna salad sandwich and kicked off my shoes. Right away, some psycho sitting in

in a window seat started singing "Is this the way to Amarillo". I couldn't shut him up and then everyone joined in. So I sang songs with everyone and forgot to eat my sandwich.