| “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 |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
| Nonsense |
| Bullshit |
| 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? |
| THEY GOT GAMES! |
| 200motels BEIJING OLYMPICS |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
| Nonsense |
| Bullshit |
| 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!” |
CHUCHA LIBRE
| 200motels POLITICS |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
| Nonsense |
| Bullshit |
| Eli Manning's Baby Bottle |
| 200motels National Football League |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
| Nonsense |
| Bullshit |
| Giants quarterback Eli Manning looks so young that instead of biting a teeth-protecting mouthpiece he should be wearing a baby's pacifier. But you don't need the wisdom of the ages to be a football quarterback, just a natural affinity for the pigskin. Who am I to argue with the natural selection process of the NFL that designated this kid to be the most promising new star of football? By and large, he appears to have fulfilled his advance billing, leading the Giants to a mostly successful season. New Yorkers expect results from their sports teams, all the more so because their own lives are so fraught with deceptions and disappointments, most of which are the result of their own inadequacies. When they unmercifully booed A-Rod during his 2006 slump, or with their current fitful roasting of the Knicks, what they are really doing is exorcising the tortured demons that live within their own insignificant selves (this little piece of philosophizing is never going to win me any popularity contests in New York, that's for sure!). This last week was Manning's turn to be roasted on the spit after last week having his youthful backside impaled on the horned battle helmets of the Vikings. New York, famous for throwing tickertape and confetti on its winners, has another, rather less edifying substance that it is pleased to regale on the heads of those who disappoint, like the monkeys in the Bronx Zoo who are late in receiving their bananas ha-ha! Manning accepted this unflattering treatment with dignity and reserve, taking the hit for his poor showing against Minnesota and promising a more enterprising performance the next time around. As it happens, luck was on his side today against the formidable Bears in their freezing Chicago lair. While the weather was not anywhere near as revolting as it was later on for the Steelers-Bengals game, it was not Springtime For Hitler either, with a frigid, icy wind and rain coming off Lake Michigan, cutting through player' unprotected hands and bodies like a razor blade. No physiognomy can long endure that type of exposure, including those of the Bears, who should be used to it by now, if such a thing could be possible. But it never is. Nevertheless, Chicago quickly took control of the game in the first quarter under the skillful direction of Rex Grossman, who immediately drove 79 yards on 4 completions to score 7-0. If Manning's passing faltered, with two passes intercepted that I can remember, including one snatched right inside the Bears' own end zone by Charles Tillman and a fumble when the freezing ball slid out of his hand, his running game was more reliable, notably through the efforts of Derrick Ward, who rushed for first downs with the regularity of the milkman who delivers Manning's infant formula (I can't help myself). This went on for so long and was so effective that the Bears, being from Chicago after all, assigned some goons to cripple him, which they did, ending his participation in the fourth quarter. By now, however, the Giants had got into the rhythm of the game and were able to carry on to victory despite Ward's absence. In a surge of inspiration Manning managed to complete a contested pass to Amani Toomer in the Bears' end zone and followed up with four completions for a final scoring opportunity with a minute and a half to play. So Manning gets to survive another week in New York, an effort made all the more onerous by the immense weight shifted onto his young shoulders by the execrable prestations of the city's other trained seals, like the Jets, who, though they cut up the Dolphins for bait, still reside in the Porto-San of humanity, and that gang of dribbling cretins whose name I cannot bring myself to invoke. Eli Manning. He got the name of a quarterback. He has the sophistication and assurance of a quarterback. He throws the ball and wins games. Will he develop into another Namath? Broadway Eli? Well, something anyway. |
