| “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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Hi folks, I’m OJ Simpson for the Bullshit Channel. You know, when you’ ve been blessed to lead a life like mine, as a historic sports hero and an acclaimed movie and television star, sometimes all the public adoration and celebrity can go to your head. You start to believe you can get away with anything. I’ve had some wild times; dashing through airport terminals, climbing over walls, hacking people to shreds with a knife and then writing books about it… Fortunately, I’ve been supported by my fans, notably African-Americans, who have never let me down, like the twelve jurors who voted to acquit me in spite of the overwhelming evidence against me. Once again I am in trouble, this time for rescuing my sports memorabilia from a criminal clique of gangsters and profiteers who had planned to cash in on my life’s work without even sharing any of the profits with me. Now that I am back in possession of my treasures, I’d like to share them with you, the viewing audience, in the hope that you will support my cause by bidding for them, and thereby help me to defray some of my legal expenses. Therefore I am presenting you The OJ Simpson Sports Memorabilia Collection, commemorating great moments in sports history lived by me and a few of my closest friends. The first item I’d like to share with you is a photograph of me with former FBI director J. Edgar Hoover taken at the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs. What makes this photo a one- of-a-kind collector’s item is that Director Hoover is wearing a dress. Now, this is certainly something you don’t see every day, folks, at least until New York mayor Rudolph Giuliani started showing up at social functions dressed like Marilyn Monroe and living with gay guys. The next item is the broken baseball bat thrown by Yankee pitcher Roger Clemmons at Mets batter Mike Piazza after Piazza told Clemmons that his wife’s crotch smelled like a French camenbert cheese. Naturally, Clemmons doesn’t like the French at all, and as a result this bat had to be surgically removed from Piazza’s butt, which makes it all the more remarkable. Look, it still has the brown stains on it! Now this next piece should appeal to you animal lovers out there in Televisionland. This is the stick that Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick used to pry open the mouths of his pit bull fighting dogs before his career as a dog fighting impresario was so rudely shut down by the cops. As Whoopi Goldberg so delicately put it, the police simply have no respect for cultural differences. Now, here are some used hypodermic syringes not used by Giants slugger Barry Bonds to inject steroids into his butt. And next to them are some condoms used by Mets catcher Paul LoDuca during his anthropological research into the mating habits of Philadelphia strippers. This little beauty should excite fans of New York Yankee third baseman Alex Rodriguez. This is the “Fuck You” t- shirt worn by A-Rod’s wife, Cynthia, to cheer him on during games at Yankee Stadium. But here is the pièce de résistance: a copy of my book “If I Did It,” autographed by none other than the father of my supposed victim, Ron Goldman. Let me hold this up for the camera. See, the inscription reads “So what if OJ is a murderer. Money is money.” Now, there’s a ringing endorsement, folks! Did I do it? Who can remember back that far? But here’s the bloody glove I did or didn’t wear that fateful night. And for the high bidder for the glove, I will throw in, absolutely free of charge, a free ride in the white Ford Bronco. That’s if they ever let me out of the Las Vegas Jail, that is. |
| THE OJ SIMPSON SPORTS MEMORABILIA COLLECTION |
| 200motels SPORTS MARKETING |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
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| Bullshit |
