| “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!” |
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| Recently it was revealed that a defense contractor, The Lincoln Group, was paid $25 million to develop propaganda to be disseminated in Iraq. One of the themes they proposed, a terrorist version of “The Three Stooges,” was rejected by the Pentagon. Using the Freedom of Information Act, this writer was able to obtain a copy of the script. SCENARIO: Curly Sayyed is at the kitchen table stuffing explosives in the body of a dead dog. CURLEY: Let’s see. An artillery shell, three hand grenades, two sticks of dynamite, a box of bullets. [Reaches for pepper shaker] Don’t forget the gunpowder, nyuk nyuk! And one cup of napalm. Now all it needs is a timer. [Winds up an egg timer and throws it in] Thatsa’ spicy meatball! [Starts sewing the dog up, singing] I’m singing in Bahrain I’m friends with Hussein Mohammed calls from the other room: MOE: Saddam! Here boy, come to papa! Where is that damned dog? Curley, have you seen my dog Saddam? CURLEY: [Frightened] No, Moe! MOE: What are you doing in there? CURLEY: Nothing, Moe! [To dog] I gotta’ put you away. I’ll get back to you later! Curley grabs dog off table, runs over to the closet and opens the door. Closet is filled with bound and gagged hostages. HOSTAGES: Mmmph! Mmmph! CURLEY: Sorry, folks! [Slams door] Curley runs over to the microwave oven, throws dead dog in microwave and closes door just as Mohammed walks in the room. MOE: I said, What are you doing in here? CURLEY: I was just getting ready to make a bomb. MOE: Well, that can wait. Come into the living room. I want to show you my latest invention. They walk into the living room. MOE: Well, how do you like it? CURLEY: What is it? />MOE: What do you mean, what is it, you stinking offspring of an imperialist pig? It’s an Osama Bin Laden doll for the kids to play with. Do I gotta’ explain you everything, you moron? CURLEY: Oh, it’s so cute! It’s even got the little beard and everything! MOE: Yeah, and it’s got the little kalashnikov. And when you press the re-dial button on your cell phone it blows up, and you got the little puddles of fake plastic blood and everything! CURLEY: Moe, you’re a genius! MOE: Well, I didn’t get a Masters Degree in Engineering from The University of Riyadh for nothing! Abdul walks in. ABDUL: Sorry I’m late, boys. My bus got run over by a tank. Look what I got for us. CURLEY: Matching suicide belts! I want the green one! MOE: Just hold on, there. I get the green one ‘cause I’m the boss. CURLEY: Who made you the boss? MOE: Oh, a wiseguy, eh! Mohammed pulls out a rocket launcher and fires it at Curley, who goes flying out the window. Explosion is heard. Curley crawls back in the window, all messed up. MOE: Now who’s the boss!? CURLEY and ABDUL: You are, Moe. MOE: All right! Now, where’s my dog Saddam? [Walks back in kitchen] Saddam, boy! Saddam! Curley rushes in and gets between Mohammed and the microwave oven. MOE: Hey, what’s going on here? What have you got in the microwave? CURLEY: [Frantic] It’s a surprise! I was just getting ready to fix it. MOE: Oh, a surprise, eh! Well, let’s cook it and find out what it is. CURLEY: Moe, no! Mohammed reaches around Curley and pushes the button on the microwave. The whole place explodes, with rockets and bullets whizzing around. When the smoke clears, the place is a shambles. The Three Jihadis are standing in the rubble with their clothes torn to shreds and soot all over their faces. MOE: [To Curley] What was in that oven? |
| 200motels BEIJING OLYMPICS |
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| SCENARIO: Curly Sayyed is at the kitchen table stuffing explosives in the body of a dead dog. CURLEY: Let’s see. An artillery shell, three hand grenades, two sticks of dynamite, a box of bullets. [Reaches for pepper shaker] Don’t forget the gunpowder, nyuk nyuk! And one cup of napalm. Now all it needs is a timer. [Winds up an egg timer and throws it in] Thatsa’ spicy meatball! [Starts sewing the dog up, singing] I’m singing in Bahrain I’m friends with Hussein Mohammed calls from the other room: MOE: Saddam! Here boy, come to papa! Where is that damned dog? Curley, have you seen my dog Saddam? CURLEY: [Frightened] No, Moe! MOE: What are you doing in there? CURLEY: Nothing, Moe! [To dog] I gotta’ put you away. I’ll get back to you later! Curley grabs dog off table, runs over to the closet and opens the door. Closet is filled with bound and gagged hostages. HOSTAGES: Mmmph! Mmmph! CURLEY: Sorry, folks! [Slams door] Curley runs over to the microwave oven, throws dead dog in microwave and closes door just as Mohammed walks in the room. MOE: I said, What are you doing in here? CURLEY: I was just getting ready to make a bomb. MOE: Well, that can wait. Come into the living room. I want to show you my latest invention. They walk into the living room. MOE: Well, how do you like it? CURLEY: What is it? />MOE: What do you mean, what is it, you stinking offspring of an imperialist pig? It’s an Osama Bin Laden doll for the kids to play with. Do I gotta’ explain you everything, you moron? CURLEY: Oh, it’s so cute! It’s even got the little beard and everything! MOE: Yeah, and it’s got the little kalashnikov. And when you press the re-dial button on your cell phone it blows up, and you got the little puddles of fake plastic blood and everything! CURLEY: Moe, you’re a genius! MOE: Well, I didn’t get a Masters Degree in Engineering from The University of Riyadh for nothing! Abdul walks in. ABDUL: Sorry I’m late, boys. My bus got run over by a tank. Look what I got for us. CURLEY: Matching suicide belts! I want the green one! MOE: Just hold on, there. I get the green one ‘cause I’m the boss. CURLEY: Who made you the boss? MOE: Oh, a wiseguy, eh! Mohammed pulls out a rocket launcher and fires it at Curley, who goes flying out the window. Explosion is heard. Curley crawls back in the window, all messed up. MOE: Now who’s the boss!? CURLEY and ABDUL: You are, Moe. MOE: All right! Now, where’s my dog Saddam? [Walks back in kitchen] Saddam, boy! Saddam! Curley rushes in and gets between Mohammed and the microwave oven. MOE: Hey, what’s going on here? What have you got in the microwave? CURLEY: [Frantic] It’s a surprise! I was just getting ready to fix it. MOE: Oh, a surprise, eh! Well, let’s cook it and find out what it is. CURLEY: Moe, no! Mohammed reaches around Curley and pushes the button on the microwave. The whole place explodes, with rockets and bullets whizzing around. When the smoke clears, the place is a shambles. The Three Jihadis are standing in the rubble with their clothes torn to shreds and soot all over their faces. MOE: [To Curley] What was in that oven? CURLEY: [Like a moron] I forgggget! MOE: You forget! Well, here’s something to help you remember! Moe starts chasing Curley around, firing a machine gun. Curley runs around in circles, jumping up and down to dodge bullets. CURLEY: Whoop! Whoop! Scene fades as the theme music plays. THE END |
| “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!” |
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BYE BYE BELICHICK! |
| 200motels NFL UPDATE |
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| When Bill Belichick ran off the field without shaking hands with winning Giants coach Tom Coughlin after losing the Super Bowl in the last minute of the season, it's because, like a dying man, he saw his whole life passing in front of his eyes. He remembered every evil, cheating thing he ever did and he knew that the chickens were now coming home to roost to pay him back for all his nefarious behavior. He knows what he did, all the taping of opposing teams' defensive signals going back to since he started with the Patriots in 2000, taping opposing teams' practice sessions, probably bugging their locker rooms, bribing refs, paying hookers to knock on opposing players' hotel rooms the night before games, etc. With all the high-stakes gambling that goes on, he probably used the inside information that he had to bet games and rake in thousands or millions of bucks like disgraced crooked NBA ref Tim Donaghy. He almost got away with it. NFL commissioner Roger Goodell already rolled over for him once, destroying the evidence when he got caught taping Jets' signals. If Belichick would have succeeded in achieving a perfect season and the Super Bowl, his celebrity would have made him untouchable. Nothing succeeds like success. He would have achieved what disgraced President Nixon was shooting for - unlimited power. Like Nixon, he overreached and got caught up in a disgraceful mess of his own contrivance. Like Nixon getting defeated by the determined efforts of a couple of young people, Woodward and Bernstein, Goodell was undone by the determined efforts of a young Giant team led by neophyte quarterback Eli Manning. These Giants saved football from a fascist dictatorship run by Belichick who, if he had been able to achieve unlimited power, would have turned the NFL into a gangster empire run exclusively for his benefit. He definitely would have had a cultural influence on the larger world, corrupted as it already is by the abuses of power perpetrated by the Bush administration, which seized power in a stolen election and used it to empty out the economy into the pockets of his supporters. But when Plaxico Buress caught the final touchdown pass in the last seconds of the Super Bowl, Belichick knew that he would not have the power to stop all the investigations that would inevitably close in on him. He knew that he was washed up, and that his career was at an ignominious end. This writer immediately knew it as well. Right after that game, I predicted that Belichick was washed up and that he would not be returning with the Patriots next autumn. I am sticking by that prediction. Belichick is through. He will be lucky to avoid going on trial for massive cheating like the NBA ref, Donaghy. Remember, you heard it here first |
