Donde Estan Mis Chicas? Hola, Gustavo Arellano!

Apparently Clockwork Coker and the typists of this infernal blog have nothing better than to post about my appearance on the Colbert Report every other fucking post. So here's my take:

Schwag like you won't believe: Tres bottles of vodka (promptly drunk after the show with my agent, his assistant and Javier Castellanos of JC Fandango fame). Every flavor of Altoids imaginable. Gift certificate for a fancy shoe store. A six-pack of Shiraz. Hangover pills. Some other shit. A Colbert Report tote bag. And granola bars. All the Today Show gave me was ranch dressing.

Arellano is the hardest surname to pronounce on Earth: Not only did Colbert mispronounce my last name twice, he also had to re-record the opening because he flubbed Arellano. It's OK: I called him a French-Canadian

Colbert is a gentleman: Thanked me thrice for appearing on his show, when I should've vacuumed his house for a year for this opportunity. Met me in the green room. Said, "Gabacho, gringo, gaijin, geek--why do so many names for outsiders begin with the letter G?" To which I added Gustavo. And he laughed

Guestbook of the stars: In the green room was a book filled with previous guest. Christine Ampamour. William Kristol. Frank McCourt. So many distinguised guests. And this wab.

So much more to report--so read the coming cover story on this whole Mexican fame thing in the coming weeks. And as for the patience-pacencia controversy. . . read Ask a Mexican next week, cabrones. Now I'm off to pick weeds.

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