| “Welcome to Lucha Libre Night at the Taco Bell Arena in Chihuahua, Mexico. I’m Edificio Del Huevo, your color commentator, and I’ll be assisted by six-time Mexican female mud wrestling champion, Rosita La Chingada.” “¡Hola amigos!” “We’ll be reporting on the hugely anticipated grudge match tonight between Mexican champion Comandante Marco and his American rival, El Grande Bush. There’s a lot at stake in this battle for North American supremacy, wouldn’t you say, Rosie?” “¡Ooooh sííííí! Mexico has been pushing for a rematch since 1846, when the malditos gringos cabrones put a gun to our heads and made us sign over Texas and California. Now if we want to go there for a vacation we have to swim through rat-infested sewer pipes, and mutherfuckers telling us ‘Speak English! Speak English!’ I like English. I luv it! But I don’t need no gringo mutherfucker breathin’ down my neck. “Anyway, if Comandante Marco wins the match tonight, we gonna get back all our land and then we be telling you cocksuckers to speak Spanish. “I know the first thing I’m gonna do when we take over is to move into the Presidential Suite at the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas and go skinny-dipping in the Grand Canal. Show the mutherfuckers what a real Mexican chocha looks like!” “Sounds good to me, Rosie, but as they say ‘Don’t count your huevos rancheros before they’re hatched.’ Remember, the norteamericanos are not going to give up all that loot without a fight. “And as we speak, El Grande Bush is entering the ring. He’s wearing his trademark pink tu-tu, dunce cap and glitter mask, and they’re playing his music, ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise.’” “Hey, Bushie, Bushie! Can we get a word from you for our studio audience?” “Waal, I’d like to address my remarks to the brave men and women fighting in Eye-Rack for the forty-second consecutive year. I honor the sacrifice you are making in the war on terror, and I want you to know that I plan to win tonight so that when you come home you’ll have a home to come home to. “The threat we are facing in this arena here tonight is whether our western states will remain The Home of The Free And The Brave, or are allowed to become an open-air taco stand like the one on Alvarado Street in downtown LA, where the crackheads and stray dogs hang out, behind the convention center.” “How inspiring! What’s your strategy for fighting Comandante Marco?" “I plan to shock and awe him with my lightning speed, twist his head in the ropes and bite his knuckles.” “Excuse me, Ed, cut out that shit. Here comes Mexico’s national hero, Comandante Marco of the Zapatista Revolutionary Army of Chiapas. He looks ready for battle with his headdress of quetzal feathers, jaguar-skin tights and crocodile nose mask. His musical accompaniment is the Mexico City rock band Molotov singing their anthem ''Viva México Cabrones.' Every time I hear that song it brings tears of pride to my eyes, especially the part where they sing ‘No Me Llames Cerdo.’ When I was a leetle girl in the shantytown overlooking the security wall separating Nuevo Laredo from Brownsville, Texas, my mother used to lull me to sleep by singing to me from Molotov’s romantic love song ‘Chinga Tu Madre’, where they sing: Nos vemos Acapulco a la fin de semana Mientras yo cuido à tu hermana Chinga tú chinga tu madre [Ed. See you in Acapulco But first I fuck your sister] “Hey, big boy! You got something to say to your fans?” “Hola, Rosie. I dedicate my life to the glory of Mexico. After I win, not only are we going to reconquer our lost territories, but we are going to sacrifice El Grande Bush on the ancient Mayan altar at Chichen Itzà by ripping out his still beating heart and feeding it to the pirhana fish that swim in the holy cenote. The whole ceremony is going to be filmed by Mel Gibson for his upcoming movie “Jews of The Jungle.” “Sounds great, sweetie. Only how do you plan to vanquish such a great warrior like El Grande Bush?” “I plan to shoot him with a curare-tipped blow dart and then, when he’s paralyzed, I’m going to stomp on his balls.” “And there’s the bell! The two fighters are circling each other warily, looking for an opening, and they are being watched by the masked referee, El Misterioso, who is also wearing a mask. Ed, what do we know about El Misterioso?” “Only that he gained fame as the fiercest lucha libre fighter in South America.” “Wow! Now El Grande Bush leaps forward and head butts Comandante Marco in the chest, but instead of falling onto the mat El Comandante does a backflip, kicking Bush in the face. Bush goes down and Comandante Marco sits on his face, locking him in a French Butt Hold, squeezing the air out of Bush like an Anaconda python between the steel vise grip of his powerful glutes.” “With his last, dying breath Bush reaches between Marco’s legs and manages to insert his two fingers in the man’s nostrils and flip him across the ring like a slingshot. Bush jumps to his feet and delivers a shattering roundkick to the head of El Comandante, who goes flying into El Misterioso who, enraged, punches him in the face. Hey, he’s not supposed to do that. He’s the ref!” “Wait a minute! Now El Misterioso grabs a folding chair and breaks it over the head of El Grande Bush.” “The audience is going berserk. The mariachi band Los Tigres Del Norte has started playing the romantic sentimental love song ‘Volver’, I suppose expressing their wish for a return of Mexico’s northern territories. Meantime, on the American side, Ted Nugent is shooting off machine gun riffs from his guitar. Oh no, that’s not his guitar, it’s a real machine gun! Now gunfire is breaking out all over the place and bullets are flying.” “Comandante Marco and El Grande Bush have recovered from the surprise attack by El Misterioso, and they’re punching the shit out of him in the corner of the ring. They rip off his mask.” “Omigod, it’s Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela, and he’s got an oil gusher shooting out of his butt!” “Well, let’s get out of here before the whole place explodes. Reporting to you from Taco Bell Arena, I’m Edificio Del Huevo.” “And I’m Rosita La Chingada…” “Wishing you a big cuevo en el culo, cabrones!” |
CHUCHA LIBRE
| 200motels POLITICS |
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| Bullshit |
| I told my girlfriend, Magpie, that she needed to start greasing her butt with Vaseline so she could fit through the revolving door at Macy’s, and she smacked me. Women’s butts in New York are expanding at a fantastic rate, and I feel it has something to do with E=MC2 and the expanding universe. Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. A fat |
O FATSO MIO!
| 200motels HEALTH |
| Comedy |
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| Bullshit |
| butt helps female snowboarders like Kelly Clark get more thrust to do spins. Also, from the male standpoint, it presents a larger target for other kinds of thrust. But it ain’t too esthetically pleasing, unless you’re an aficionado of Botero’s sculptures. Let’s face it, in the “sex appeal” category, and that’ s where the money is, the streamlined European models are beating our girls hands down. You’ve heard of the Arms Race? Well, this is the Butt Race. We need to mobilize our nation’s resources to get our women’s butts down to the size where they don’t create a vacuum effect each time they pass through the Lincoln Tunnel. Our nation’s infrastructure is suffering from the strain of all these fat butts destabilizing our bridges! Women of America, I implore you! Stop stuffing yourself with Cheez Doodles and Snickers bars. You are displacing too much volume! The girls in my gym know they have a problem. That is why they outnumber the men by a ratio of 100:1. But they only represent a minuscule portion of the female population at large. Don’t get me wrong. American men aren’t too freakin’ fantastic either. But checking out men’s backsides is not my job. There are enough guys in New York happy to do that. I am here to inspect women’s bodies, and I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of the challenge. Oh, I used to be fat, but I took off a couple hundred kilos and now I can almost fit into my Santa suit. I used to be so fat, I went for a physical and my blood type came back “Ragú.” Peeping Toms would reach in my window and pull down the shade. When I took a bath, I didn’t leave a ring around the tub – I left stretch marks. But I got a grip on myself, and now I have a target date of 2010 when I’ll be able to find my pecker without the use of a periscope. I realize it’s unfashionable to criticize fat people, especially since they're the majority, but it’s getting harder and harder to move around midtown because of the gridlock caused by huge, blubbery butts taking up all the space on the sidewalk. I saw a cop giving a woman a ticket because she didn’t have a red flag attached to her butt. Levis is coming out with a line of relaxed fit jeans with “WIDE LOAD” stenciled across the back. Also, you can’t get a seat on the subway because of all the people who need one seat for each cheek. The Staten Island ferry has cops to distribute the fat people equally on the boat for fear they’ll all crowd onto one side and cause it to tip over. Even the Statue of Liberty has been put on a diet because there’s no room left in New York Harbor for the Queen Mary. |
