English literature has been deluged by memoirs, commentaries and travel logs depicting the fascinating adventures of hearty souls and brilliant intellectuals. In contrast, "Throw Me Under the Bus...Please" is a cynical yet humorous account of a bus tour through Mexico in the company of my doting wife, two children and demanding parents. The book is neither a traditional event-oriented memoir or detail-laden synopsis of a foreign land. Rather, it reflects my sardonic but insightful reflections as I become an unwitting captive aboard a meticulously prompt tour bus meandering through the architectural wonders of pre-Colombian Mexico. I am a quirky "everyman," guided by a thoughtful wife, humbled by my rapidly maturing pre-teen children and plagued by my cajoling parents. Although rife with facts and tales concerning Meso-American culture and architecture, the details serve primarily as a backdrop for my inner stream of sarcastic musings. Think Virginia Woolf meets Bob Hope, on the road without Bing Crosby for support.