Last weekend, as I was leaving my buddies´ apartment, I was ambushed by two prostitutes. “Dejame tocar tu cachito!!” (Let me touch your cachito, which being translated as little horn) they said  as they approached me and starting grabbing at my crotch. I didn´t know if they were trying to rob me or turn me on, so I backed away yelling, “No, it is NOT CACHITO TIME,” in my best Will Smith voice. Then one asked me to touch her giant, obviously surgically redone breasts. I was slightly wary that she was indeed trying to rob me, but getting a feel of some breasts is an offer that’s hard to refuse. After a minute or so I thanked her, and then bid the prostitutes adeui.

Later, I talked to a Chilean and bragged to him about how I got a random feel of some mammoth mammories (some big ole titties, if you will).  He quickly informed me that most of the prostitutes in that district are transvestites. Suddenly, the brachiosaur-like moans and coos that he/she gave me made more sense. Of course, it’s very disappointing news—I can no longer chalk this episode up as a W.