Jing really really wanted to ride the oxen, but a large helping of bird crap on the back of the nearest one parried his attempt
The fountain of which the tour guide was uncomfortably insistent that we take pictures.
A shoddy picture of the bartender guy. High point: his mention of Bacardi 151, Jing's knowing chuckle, and bardtender's acknowledgement of Jing's appreciation for the product.
How did this creepy-ass guy ever sell any rum?
Lots of rum.
Jing's mini-movie-making is interrupted by the distracting tourist yells of "Hey Jane and Harry, from Puerto Rico!!1"
Finally, Jing gets down to business.
Someone gave the fur bat a Mexican hat. Jing and I briefly considered adding other sophomoric appendages, but decided we were too mature. This decision was hastened by the tour guide's return to see us out of the building.
Towers Of Distillation (And Sorcery)
I'm immensely curious why it was worth the effort to bring this pipe above ground, only to have it plunge back in a few feet later, with no fittings or other means of access to be seen.
Jing enhances his street cred in the gift shop.
Returned home, and disappointed by the lack of openity offered us by Willy's Pinchos, we decide to make our own.
Mmm, pan sobao
All this eating of grilled chicken on skewers leads to experimentation with shotgunning, as it so often does. Jing practices.
The preparations are made. Jing provides moral support.
Jing prepares his own in turn.
The holes made, it is time to commence.
Bernie fails miserably.
But Jing did admirably well.
In the spirit of frat-boy-ism, Jing attempts to complete the ritual.
He fails, but it leaves its mark.