The last time I was on the border I discovered one Pablo Ranes, whose
dishes smoked with the concentrated essence of hell-fire. I returned to
his abode of digestional-damnation until my once powerful constitution
was but a shell of itself. I aided Pablo's atrocities with some wine
bottled in Spain that kicked like an army mule, and eventually came to
the conclusion that the border is a place only for men with cast-iron
consciences and copper bellies.
1932 - Robert E. Howard in a letter to H.P. Lovecraft
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