The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun

By Will Berkeley

The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun began as a drug misadventure. Professor Calico, a massively successful author of religious themed novels, lights off to Cancun to start his cult. He brings his business manager, Boo Black. They link up with Mexico’s finest band, The Sugar Skulls. The rest is in God's hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Berkeley
• Release date: Sep 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311788757

Will Berkeley

I am a Boston based fiction writer. I used to be a black belt in Tae Kwon Do which I earned from Billy Blanks before Tae Bo made him famous. That black belt was stolen along with my mountain of martial arts weapons in a break-in. You didn't hear about it on the news because I wasn't home. Never too late to roll weapons especially on crooks that steal black belts. What the hell! You can take everything else. You didn't earn that. Avi is me. Chris Sargent Photography credit.

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THE ALL-INCLUSIVE CHURCH OF CANCUN

Published by Will Berkeley

Copyright 2015 Will Berkeley

Chapter

I had pulled over to buy a case of beer off a guy selling oranges on an overpass outside Cancun International Airport. His oranges looked delicious so I bought a bag of those too. I had a powerful craving for oranges after I bought them. I didn’t know that I wanted oranges with my beer and marijuana until after I bought them. But that’s the magic of marijuana. You start making terrible decisions. You pull over for beer somewhere outside Cancun International Airport. And you end up buying oranges too. And the diehard marijuana smokers make a life of them. Which way to the enchanted snake? I flew down here from Los Angeles to chase it. You understand?

Shortly thereafter I gave the wave to The Mexican Federal Police when I passed them out at the checkpoint on the Federal highway. You know the wave? The one that says everything is under control in here, officers. I’m in complete control of the situation. Have no fear. You’re dealing with a professional here. Then you lower the outsize sunglasses so they can get a good look at your pins. Because you’ve got to put the Mexican Federal Police at ease because somebody should be at ease. And it wasn’t me.

I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know precisely whom I am with. Our tour operator, Jose Boston, is a bit of a mystery to me but I’ve got him contained in the back of the van with half a million kilometers on the clock with my stupendously wealthy boss. He’s closing in on a billion bucks as long as we’re doing numbers. You believe that? And this is how we travel? Wasted out of gourds? And get this. We drive ourselves! We’re incredibly stupid, right?

Then there is that little accounting issue of how many drinks I might have had today. You’d think that I’d be able to tell with you pinpoint accuracy how many drinks I’ve had today because I run so much money. Close to a billion bucks, chief. But I can’t keep track when I’m this deep. And frankly I don’t want to know. I think amnesia is what protects me. And the actual number has got to be horrific. I started on the runway in Los Angeles. I got on the tequila somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico. Then I got tanked in the airport while it was determined that our luggage was definitely lost. Why not turn Duty Free into your own personal bar?

That Mexican road soda that’s nestled between my legs while I steer with my knee and spark a joint is the least of it. That’s keeping my knee on the wheel. You take that beer from me and I’m a dead man. That beer has to stay where it is. Of that much I am certain. That road soda is absolutely critical. And what’s counting at time like this? When you’re not in possession of any facts how can you be expected to do math? I’d be better at astrophysics. Driving the rover on Mars is a more suitable endeavor for me right now. I could just pull the hatch and end it all. That’s it Ground Control. I’ve had enough. What kind of savage brings marijuana into Mexico? Isn’t that what Mexico is for?

I had no clue what I was doing in Cancun. Are we clear there? But I did know what was I was doing. That’s the scary piece. I had a plan.

I was going to drive this cucaracha right into the heart of dirty old Mexico. I was going to chase down The Mexican Dream. Knock it right out of the sky. Smash it like a piñata. Then all the toys were going to rain down. That’s about the best explanation that I can give you. You can take it or leave it because that’s all I’ve got. But that piñata was mine

Chapter

We were at a gas station in The Wasteland between Cancun and Playa del Carmen when Professor Calico informed me that he wanted to start an all-inclusive church in Cancun. Our tour operator had passed out. Now would be a good time to talk about his latest venture.

I thought we were chasing The Mexican Dream, I said.

The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun is The Mexican Dream, Professor Calico said. I’m going to put it in a hotel called The Tequila. What do you think?

It sounds horrific, I said. Although being drunk and high is probably the only way to do it. It will give us the much needed deniability. We were wasted when we came up with the idea. Then we stumbled into The Tequila.

I want you to run it, Professor Calico said.

I am totally unqualified, I said.

You have an MBA from the University of Buenos Aires, Professor Calico said. And you were the lead singer of a Spanish language rock band that toured Latin America for over a decade. Those are your qualifications. And you like tequila.

I’m not religious at all, I said.

You’re a Catholic, he said.

Lapsed and not confirmed, I said. And I’m actively trying to get excommunicated. At some point the Pope will notice. Screw him in the meanwhile.

What do you think of the idea though? Professor Calico asked. Give me your honest opinion. The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun conveniently located at The Tequila.

It’s incredibly outrageous, I said. But it might work as a marketing sensation. God, hedonism and big business all wrapped into one.

I’m packaging Jesus in a Speedo, Professor Calico said.

Put Mary in a bikini, I suggested.

I’m thinking topless, Professor Calico said. Or we do a Garden of Eden theme.

People will want to behead you, I said.

Some people are bound to react poorly, Professor Calico shrugged. Your job as the CEO of The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun is to manage the horrific press that we’re bound to get. I welcome it.

You’re naming me the CEO of The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun? I demanded.

I’m going to name myself The President, Professor Calico nodded. Guru is just a little too obnoxious even for me. And I’m trying to cut back on India.

You can’t name me the CEO of a Church, I said.

That’s the job, Professor Calico said. Why should I lie?

You’re naming me a fraud, I said. Churches aren’t supposed to be for-profit organizations even if they are.

Churches require a certain suspension of belief, Professor Calico agreed.

Why are you disturbing that? I asked.

That’s the whole point, Professor Calico said. We’re naming ourselves frauds to make it real.

You want people to believe that we’re frauds? I asked.

In real life everyone names themselves real, Professor Calico said. But they’re all frauds.

Why should we be any different? I asked.

We’re naming ourselves frauds because we’re real, Professor Calico said.

You want people to put their faith in the fact that we’re frauds? I demanded.

We work out of that place to earn your trust, Professor Calico said.

Have a drink at the swim-up bar if you’re nervous about us, I said.

That’s the all-inclusive feature, Professor Calico said. I knew you could seize on to this immediately.

It’s a bolt of lightning, I said.

There is no question about that, Professor Calico said. I’ve been hatching this monster for quite some time.

I don’t want it turning on me, I said.

That’s the whole point, Professor Calico said.

You want to build your own Frankenstein? I asked.

I want to wake up God, Professor Calico said.

Maybe you can wake up some Mayan gods too, I said. Cancun of all places?

I picked it on purpose, Professor Calico said. Go admire the Mayan if you have a problem with me.

They built their society, I said.

I’m buying mine, Professor Calico said. Musty towels and everything.

You really expect me to get behind this? I asked. I’m a relatively well-respected business manager for mentally deformed billionaires. You’re not the only Howard Hughes around, you know?

There aren’t a lot of billionaire authors, Professor Calico said. Last time I checked. It’s kind of tough to turn yourself into one of those these days.

Looks good on paper, I said. But I’ve been giving you a lot of thought lately.

You’re back thinking that I’m not socially constructive with my invented nonsense? Professor Calico asked.

You write religious themed novels while you’re high on drugs, I said. How can anything good come out of that?

My writing is almost pure marijuana, Professor Calico said. I’m very upfront about that even with my critics. Take it up with the marijuana. Although lately I’ve developed quite the drinking habit too.

That’s about the only reason why I stick around, I said. It’s mystifying how someone can be so wasted all the time. Yet so successful. It makes me question everything that I think I know. Or will ever know.

God has a twisted sense of humor, Professor Calico said.

Or he’s twisted like you, I said. Doing bong hits in Heaven and cranking brews.

Stand around and smoke cigars on the new venture, The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun, Professor Calico said. Work your typical magic. Running a hotel isn’t going to be that hard for you. Hire some bikini models for assistants. I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.

I’m going to need gorilla fingers of cocaine for breakfast, I said.

Jose Boston could use a straightener right about now, Professor Calico said. Maybe he could procure us some. Wake him up. I could stand a toot.

Why are you doing this? I asked.

I want to start a religious cult, Professor Calico said

Chapter

My eyes were watching traffic. Or traffic was watching me. It was hard to tell behind that veil of marijuana, tequila and beer. I could even go burka of marijuana, tequila and beer for the Muslim market. But something was watching something. Or it was just slinking down into the primordial swamp with the old crocodile eye out. Is that Professor Calico trying to ruin my swamp with The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun? I might have to do something about that. Snap.

There were seemingly thousands of vehicles out on that Federal highway in dirty old Mexico. There were trucks, cars and scenic cruiser buses flying by as I waited for my stupendously wealthy boss to return from the can at Mexico’s finest gas station. That’s why I needed to do something with the old crocodile eye. I was having a bit of a staring contest with the highway. I hate to brag. But let’s be frank. I was winning. I was crushing the highway with my stare.

Tens of thousands of people were out there on that cop infested Mexican highway chasing down something. They were chasing down something. There was no question that they were chasing down something. It couldn’t be denied. Why else were they driving so fast? Perhaps something was chasing them. But that didn’t make for as good of a story, now did it?

What they were chasing was Mexican because it was Mexico. The thing that they were chasing had to be Mexican because they were in Mexico. It could only be one thing that they were chasing, The Mexican Dream. You see how that works? You delve forward to see where you’re going. You’re chasing The Mexican Dream. Or it’s chasing you. At this point who cares? It’s The Mexican Dream, that’s the crucial piece. You don’t even have to chase it. It’ll chase you. Turn you into a raving lunatic too.

I might have inverted things a little bit by driving myself towards The Mexican Dream instead of having a Mexican do it. But it didn’t seem to matter much. You want to chase down that piñata in the sky? We aren’t going to stop you, gringo. Take that cucaracha right to the end of the line. That station out in the jungle that’s covered with vines. That’s the end of the line. You’ll find the painted burro and ride off into the sky. Go with God, amigo.

However Professor Calico wanted to chase The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun now! I didn’t like the sound of that one bit. The old crocodile manning the swamp was going to have to clamp down on that. Why couldn’t Professor Calico content himself with chasing the good old fashioned Mexican Dream like me? It’s not like anybody could get hurt.

We were supposed to chase The Mexican Dream for The Day of the Dead which was this very weekend. The Day of Dead actually covers two days so we would have plenty of time to do it. Then we could fly home to Los Angeles on Monday morning. Did you catch The Mexican Dream during The Day of the Dead? Are you insane, man? That wily beast slipped right out of our grasp. Next year we’re going to really load up on the tequila, marijuana and beer and lasso that bad boy. Have no fear. We just didn’t have enough oranges this year.

Although let’s be real here. That magical burro out in the jungle is merely a phantom along with the poltergeist piñata that he’s going to crash through. The rest of it is pure ghoul. Those toys are trickery too. That’s what makes chasing The Mexican Dream so much fun. That can’t wily coyote can’t be caught. There is no green light at the end of that dock because there is no dock. It’s pure Wasteland. Have an orange and relax. Can I offer you beer or marijuana? How about some tequila?

However The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun was a worldly concept that if executed could cause irretrievable harm to the delicate balance of the entire universe. Principally my pocketbook would be disturbed. Shortly thereafter my girlish figure would go to the dogs. Then there would be no more Mexican dinners out with my favorite mister, me. And we couldn’t have that! Even I could see my way through that equation in The Wasteland of Mexico. The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun had to be stopped. The crocodile manning the swamp couldn’t allow it. My principle function as business manager was to protect the swamp from other predators. The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun was looking like quite the insatiable beast.

Also we couldn’t dump our funds into dirty old Mexico for even the finest idea. That was strictly the province of drug lords and off-shore tax cheats in need of laundry service. The world was replete with investment ideas that weren’t literarily cemented into the ground in Cancun. How liquid are your pile of concrete blocks that are fastened into the ground in dirty old Mexico? Are you kidding me? I had to get us back on track before my boss bought The Tequila. The name of the hotel told you all that you needed to know. It was a great place to throw up but you didn’t make it your home.

This whole South of the Border misadventure had been positioned as an impromptu Day of the Dead celebration because we had had a good year in the global market. The operational word being global. We couldn’t be concerned with some overgrown fleabag hotel in Cancun. And we’re going to put a religious spin on it? Well, you can just forget it.

We were supposed to chase The Mexican Dream as a little company outing while high on drugs. I hate when company outings go sideways particularly when that is their terrible premise. I should have never agreed to this! Las Vegas would have been far more manageable compared to this. And far less financially lethal. We could have chased The American Dream. And Professor Calico would have had to content himself with The Little Chapel of Love. Even I would sign off on that. Because you’ve got to be a werewolf to find fault with drive up weddings. But this is what happens when your boss demands that you drink and do drugs with him. You can’t reasonably predict the results.

Why aren’t you in the van? Professor Calico asked when he returned from the can. The Mexican Dream awaits.

We have to abandon the search for it, I said. It’s too dangerous.

Too late, Professor Calico said. We’re already on the fabled quest.

You think that I would be standing here free, white and whatever if I didn’t have some sort of self-preservation that kicks in when I behave like this? I asked.

That’s why I brought you, Professor Calico said. You know how to operate.

I was just driving down the highway drinking tequila out of a skull and smoking a bone, I said. I was seriously looking for The Mexican Dream! I keep getting stuck on it. My mind insists that it’s real.

Oh, Professor Calico said. It’s real.

That’s the scary piece, I said. I’m losing sight of the farce behind all the tequila and marijuana. Then I get cooking on the beer.

That’s precisely how you do it, Professor Calico said.

This must be like what it’s like being you, I said. High and drunk and out of your mind all the time.

What’s the problem here? Professor Calico demanded. I’ve got us these frosty, ice-cold, delicious beers. Onward, man. We can catch it. Get back behind the wheel before it gets away.

Professor Calico had two turtles of beer. That’s the literal translation of a quart of beer in Mexico if you were to order them in Mexico’s finest gas station. Two turtles of beer, bartender of the pumps. Then you say gracias which means thank you.

Our turtles of beer were named after a Spanish Conquistador. It seemed like an inadvisable way to present your products to the conquered.

The Spanish conquered you. And as a reminder we present for your purchase a beer named after one of them. We’ll even put it in a region specific quart bottle affectionately named the turtle by its skid row customers. Periodically a slumming gringo sneaks through while searching for The Mexican Dream. What are you going to do? Cheers.

Maybe The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun isn’t such a bad idea after all. It’s a lot simpler than the astonishing marketing plan of my turtle of beer. Maybe we could scout The All-Inclusive Church of Cancun along with The Mexican Dream. Run a little turtle race over the weekend. Why not let a turtle make all your life decisions? How bad could it do? Maybe a scorpion will come along and solve everything. Hop on my back, you poisonous beast. Have no fear. I can cross the swamp.

Professor Calico had a way of embracing life’s deformity like it was normal. I think it was one of the reasons that he was so successful in this life. He freewheeled through all of life’s deformity like it was nothing and everybody loved him for it. You say you conquered us? Well, I say