THE POORBOY DIARIES: How I Came To Love Quick Cash...

By RICARDO KLEMENT
Staff Writer

McALLEN, Texas - They say that making money in the Rio Grande Valley has now overtaken making tacos, that some people are raking-in outrageous amounts of cash. And nowhere has that manifested itself as it has in the sex business, sex as in topless bars, or as they are known in newspaper advertisements relegated to the Sports Page - Gentlemen's Clubs.

Naked fare on stage always has brought good-looking does for fawning customers. A dangle-dangle of an exposed breast  never hurt anyone, goes the industry line. Here, the word in the streets is that those lovelies swaying their wares in local clubs are pretty gals from Mexico way. Does it matter? No, of course not. A guy could welcome a beautiful woman from anywhere in the world, whether it be Cairo, Mumbai, Paris, or the Congo. A guy just could.

Should a patriotic, provincial dude call the U.S. Border Patrol on these joints?

It's just breasts and ass and money, so...ah, naaaaaah.

But it does bring to mind the issue of pay around here, a part of the country not often associated with great salaries - at least not when compared to, say, California.

From the Los Angeles Times: Angry residents of Bell, California are upset that their city's administrators make salaries that don't exactly scream "public servant." They note that City Manager Robert Rizzo is paid $787,637 annually. Police Chief Randy Adams? Try $457,000.

Those are over-the-top, yes. And the Times reporter writes that both have agreed to resign in the face of community outrage. Is it wrong in a capitalistic society to get as much as you can? Isn't that as American as anal sex? Why agonize over what others are getting and not getting? A few years back, someone wanted to buy 100 acres north of Los Fresnos to build the largest topless joint in the hemisphere. It was to have an airplane runway outside and one indoors that would have been long enough to allow for the parading of some 5,000 local women.

It would, yes, have brought a new destination for fun-seeking men and a load of jobs for women, some local, I presume. But it didn't happen. Something about some people being against such an extreme display of wealth and nude women. Would it have hurt anyone? Perhaps not. But had it come to fruition, well, sleepy Los Fresnos would likely look like Las Vegas by now. Money makes more money, is what the Jews like to say.

So, bring on the cash. Bring it. What the Hell? We're close to the end of much we've held dear for many years, in this country and across the world. Money's all that's left to bitch about. Cash is where it's at, Baby. Let the gals undress and shake it till they drop up there. Let me slip a few dollar bills in their thong. The Pope's okay with cash. I'll save some bucks for the collection plate on Sunday morning. I'll buy a candied apple from the little Hispanic kid outside my favorite Tex-Mex restaurant. I'll throw a buck at that homeless guy at the streetcorner. I'll pay for an Ad on some obscure Blog.

I'll give the little woman $100 for her trip to the mall; $50 to my movida just because that's the kind of guy I am; $25 to the gardener; $10 to the barista who hands me my coffee at Starbucks.

As they say more and more around here, "Ees jes mawney..."

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[Editor's Note: Writer Ricardo Klement suffers from guilt associated with his family tree in Nazi Germany. We at The Tribune employ him, but do not necessarily agree with his opinion on money, Jews, the Pope, or topless dancers...]