Home of the Whopper!
Pablo tells a pretty tall tale. I am sure that some of these things sort of happened to him, but, like any good fish story, it gets bigger over time.
Like the time he and his brother were coming home from a night of heavy drinking and saw a horse running along the side of the road. His brother, of course, just happened to have 16 feet of rope on him and leaned out the window, lassoed the horse and rode it home. Or the time he beat the shit out of the Extreme Mountain Dew guy as Jackie Chan (apparently Mountain Dew guy's friend) sat back and watched.
After a week of traveling together we have heard pretty much everything.
So, we are 15 minutes into our commute when Pablo starts to tell a story. I let him get about three words out.
I grab his arm and ask, excitedly, "OOOOO...is this the one about the aliens?"
He looks at me, quizzically, "Uh, no." He tries to continue his story and again I interrupt him.
"Wait! Are there aliens in this story?"
Now he looks at me like I have two heads, but still is not catching on. You can see Lenny's shoulders start to shake. "No! Anyway..." and attempts to continue.
I interrupt one last time, "But you do have a story with aliens in it, right?" The other two guys are busting a gut, but Pablo is just irritated that I am stopping him from telling his story.
Then again yesterday we are 25 minutes into our commute home when Pablo starts to tell us about the time his friend pulled the pin from a grenade, tossed the pin and dropped the grenade at his feet. Lenny, Wayne and I are getting pretty punchy after spending all day at the trade show. We are tired, so we are just letting Pablo go.
At one point in the story, Pablo pauses for effect and I couldn't help myself. I am gazing out the window, deep in thought, "I shot a man once, just to watch him die."
Silence. Then Pablo says, "Really?"
"Ya, in Reno." Lenny loses it and Wayne almost goes off the road. "I ended up in Folsom prison and that prick, Johnny Cash stole my story. The rest, as the say..."