I watched the local morning news to catch the weather forecast, then flipped the channel over to the lefty documentary channel, Current TV, which is usually good for some lulz, while I worked up the energy to get out of bed.
There, on the TV screen, big as life and twice as gross, was a dude lying amidst the ocotillo and the prickly pear looking a little mummified in his Adidas and blue jeans. Something had been at his face, most likely vultures. I couldn't help but blurt aloud "Yup, that's a bleepin' dead guy, alright." Hell of a thing to see before breakfast.
I had stumbled across a documentary that seemed to take umbrage at the vast attractive nuisance in America's lower left-hand corner, otherwise known as the Sonoran Desert, which is turning aspiring construction workers and fruit harvest technicians into human raisins at a pretty good clip, apparently. That is, when it doesn't get them shot for trying to tenderfoot their trespassing way through a desert that is jam-packed with raping, looting, beheading, drug-smuggling banditos locked in a turf war like something from Martin Scorsese on acid.
Now, normally, if the pool in your back yard was drowning neighborhood kids at a rate of a few hundred or more a year, you'd put a fence around it to keep the blighters out and hang a "trespassers will be eaten by piranha" sign on said fence and be done with it, but the guys doing the documentary did not strike me as being in the pro-fence camp. Further, since we've already put fence in most places that are easy to get to, that leaves the unfenced spots out in the middle of hell's back forty as the only lightly-monitored crossing places.
The film crew drove south and hooked up with a coyote in Altar to smuggle them back across the border somewhere in the middle of the Arizona desert, which I am pretty sure is not an authorized port of entry. I'm not, however, clear on the legalities involved, especially if you're breaking the law for the sake of Art and Truth as though you were working for Michael Bloomberg.
Anyhow, what I learned from all this is that hiking for days in the desert with just a couple gallon jugs of Gatorade between you and a really convincing Amenhotep IV impression is incredibly stupid and dangerous. You would think that this would be blindingly obvious, but apparently it's not.