Lions and tigers and...midgets?

So I awake from a nap to hear the sound of a pre-recorded lion roar—the kind you hear in movies—coming from outside my window. I'm already drafting the angry "Dear Mexico" letter in my head by the time I open my drapes to see what abomination just woke me up from my nap.

I'm immediately startled to see that the noise was not pre-recorded but was, in fact, a real motherfucking LION being wheeled in front of my house in a tiny cage. The cage was on a flatbed trailer next to other cages filled with pumas, tigers, monkeys and camels. Three semi-trucks' worth of cages crawled slowly through my front yard. Bookending these animal trucks were boxtrucks atop which stood bevvies of scantily clad women. I thought maybe they were representing the Mexican Bedazzler conglomerate, because they had seemingly been shotgun-sprayed with rhinestones and glitter. Someone was barking shit over a loudspeaker over and over—it was at this time I really wished my Spanish were better so I could figure out what the fuck was going on.

The coup-de-grace, you ask? Well, that must have been the final semi-truck, which had a sign on the side that said Circo Norteamericano (North American Circus). On the flat bed of this truck was a large cage, from which issued forth the most tremendous chorus of growls and barks. Jaw dropped in amazement, I saw a cage jam-packed with midgets in onesies, yelping and yowling like ravenous beasts, pawing at the air with imaginary claws.

Dear Mexico...
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I've been holding onto cabs and trucks while I'm riding my bike, just to save me all that pedaling. Yesterday I had my first "issue" with this practice.

I should have realized when the cabbie looked at me through his rear-view mirror with a maniacal grin that he was up to no good. He switched out of the curbside lane and, moving into the fast lane—usually used only by non-cabs—he picked up the speed to about 25 mph. While this is no speed record, it's really fucking fast to be holding onto a wobbly bike with one hand. Then I saw the truck.

Yes, the truck. The cabbie was trying to scrape me on the side of a Chevy pickup truck which he was about to pass on the left. Two seconds later, there I was smack dab in the middle between a truck and a cab, with two feet of space in which to maneuver one-handedly at 25 mph. Somehow, I managed to not hit the truck as we slid past it, and once in front of the truck I let go of the cab, told the cabbie in Spanish to go fuck his mother, and then coasted to the curb with my heart pounding in my throat and the adrenaline making me dizzy. This cabbie is the first genuinely evil man I have come across in my 5 weeks in Mexico.
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While the casinos here are completely without card, dice or table games of any sort—therefore rendering them shitty wastes of time—they are not without their perks. Just as with casinos in the States, you get waiters taking free drink orders. However, unlike in the States, they also give you bowls of pork rinds covered in hot sauce. In addition, if you put a cigarette in your mouth and wait about ten seconds, an employee will come light it for you. Now that's service!