| “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 |
| The Wife Whisperer |
| 200motels DOMESTIC RELATIONS |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
| Nonsense |
| Bullshit |
| Hi, folks! This is Dorkley Pato for the National Geographic Channel. Y’know, life is already tough enough. But when you got a nasty, crazy woman, that makes things even worse. Not that there aren’t a lot of stoopid idiotic men around, but they’re easier to handle. Just take away their beer. As one guy told me, “Nothing is worse than no beer.” Generally speaking, if you take away a man’s beer for a couple of days he becomes mild as a pussycat. If that doesn’t work, a good, sound punch in the face or a baseball bat upside his head will work wonders for a guy's attitude. You can’t do this with women, however, because they are a protected species, like every other kind of wild animal. And they know they’re protected. That is why after an evening of insulting a man, smacking him, threatening to throw him out of the house and clean him out of all his money, their last words are invariably, “Don’t you dare! I’m going to call the cops on you!” The cops! Who wants to get beat up and maybe shot by the cops, forced to sleep on the filthy concrete floor of a holding cell and dragged before a female judge while his old lady is in the courtroom moaning, “Look what he did to me!” That is why men across America are turning to César Maricón, The Wife Whisperer, whose peaceful techniques for taming and pacifying crazy women have become renowned throughout the world. We have César in the studio here tonight. César, to what do you owe your success in dealing with crazy women? “Well, first of all women trust me because I’m totally gay, like a hairdresser. So since they know that I don’t want to immediately jump on them like a straight guy does, they are willing to listen to me. Second of all, I always get control of the situation, which women crave. Women need to know their place in the animal hierarchy, like wild hyenas in the African veldt.” So now you are going to show us an example. “Exactly. We are going to the New Your mansion of Turdley Wildenstein, one of the richest men in the world. But he still can’t control his woman. “Here we are at the door. I’ll just ring the bell. Now we are in Turdley Wildenstein’s living room. Turdley, can you explain the problems you are having with your lovely wife, Lunesta?” “She’s spending $20,000 a week on shopping for clothes and cosmetic surgery. She’s had her face lifted so many times that her mouth is up to her eyebrows.” “That’s terrible.” “Yeah. And then she smacked the maid in the head with her cell phone, opening up the woman’ s head for 46 stitches, and I had to settle out of court for $500 grand. “I tried everything. I threatened to divorce her but that just made her worse. I tried to take her credit cards away, but she bit my hand so hard that I had to have a fingernail surgically removed.” “Now, Turdley, did you try removing all the mirrors from the house?” “Why, no!” “So that’s what we’ll do. See, I took out all the mirrors from the house. Now she has nothing to see herself in. See how she’s running from room to room looking for a mirror? Now she’s getting tired, until she just slumps down on the floor from exhaustion and starts drinking from a bottle of vodka that she pulled from her handbag. “Now, when she’s passed out on the floor, you can go in her wallet and take away her credit cards.” “César, you’re a genius!” “Next we’re going to JFK Airport, where a crazy woman has missed her plane because she was too busy shopping in the duty-free shop. See, she’s throwing a fit. She’s screaming, banging on the ticket counter, stamping her feet and throwing herself on the floor. “The reason she’s doing this is because all her life she has learned she can get anything she wants by throwing insane fits of rage. Her father, her boyfriends, her husband have always given in to her fits, so now she thinks that if she stamps her feet and goes ballistic the airport authorities will make the pilot turn the plane around and come back for her. “Now in a case like this, you have to take her space away from her. See, I’m moving up close to her and refusing to back off. Every time I move up, she backs away. “Now I have her backed all the way back to a broom closet, away from the passenger area, where there’s no audience to watch her throw a fit. Now she’s totally exhausted and demoralized. I just slip a muzzle on her and the airport cops can move in and arrest her without having to taser her or shoot her.” Another job well done. “Now we are going to Gallagher’s Steak House in midtown, where the ex-wife of former baseball hero Art Shamsky, Kim Shamsky, is waiting for him to come out so she can assault him and scream at him. She claims he left her with AIDS, herpes, syphilis, gonorrhea, bedbugs, crabs and cancer from sleeping with other men and then infecting her while they were married. She’s got a reporter from The New York Post and a video cameraman with her so they can blast the whole incident over the front page of tomorrow’s edition of The Post. “Here comes Art Shamsky out the door of the restaurant. Let’s see what she does now.” “You whoremongering faggot piece of shit! You infected me with every disease known to man, you piece of garbage! I had to have my uterus removed because of you, you degenerate scumbag!” “Are you getting this, boys?” “Yeah, we’re getting the whole thing, Kim.” “See how Art Shamsky’s running away from her with his tail between his legs? He’s on the defensive. He doesn’t know what to do. Kim Shamsky is the dominant dog. She’s dominating the whole situation. “Now, look what I do. First I bribe the Post reporter with free tickets to the Knicks game. Then I hire a Korean hooker to push her tits into the face of the video cameraman and offer him a blowjob. See, they’re leaving. “Now Kim Shamsky realizes that nobody is paying any attention to her screaming fit. To placate her I give her a rubber dog bone with a bell in it and a little squeaky mouse to play with, and she’s happy, playing with the little doggy toys. Meanwhile, Art Shamsky is able to jump in a taxi and get away.” Well, that’s all for this week, folks. Tune in next week, when we’ll accompany César Maricón to Alaska and see how he prevents Governor Sarah Palin from cutting off her brother-in-law’s testicles with a serrated steak knife This is Dorkley Pato for Nat Geo. |
| BOW-WOW-WOW! Her bark is worse than her bite! Wotta porker! |
| You rat bastard! |
| Help me! Help Me! |
| YUCK!!! |