The New Mexican man, it seems, doesn't mess around when it comes to how he smells. Not for him some dumb-assed perfume with a pussy name - Joop! ("Yuck.") or Georgio of Beverly Hills ("Yeuw!") When you're diving behind troughs and getting shot at all day long, your cologne needs to be robust, craggy, and loaded with consonants - Canyon, Dakota, Stampede ("Yeeehiiiii!"). Something that sounds like it could be used to slap on your face after shaving or, at a pinch, to anaesthetize a horse. Luckily for me, I smell like Stampede most of the time, which has saved me a fortune over the years. All the same, this was quite an eye-opener to me and I frittered away the next thirty minutes or so, happily squirting my wrists and sniffing until, slightly overcome, I had to stop. Excerpted from Gullible's Travels: The Adventures of a Bad Taste Tourist by Cash Peters All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
