| “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 |
| THE TEXAS WINE COMPANY! |
| 200motels VITICULTURE |
| Comedy |
| Tragedy |
| Nonsense |
| Bullshit |
| Here at Bush Vineyards, we are taking a non-traditional approach to winemaking. Although we have our standard commercial brands like Grassy Knoll Chardonnay and Jack Ruby Rosé, we have made a marketing decision not to target the effete white wine-swilling oenophiles who populate our nation’s coastal regions for the very sound reason that that market is already oversaturated by both domestic and overseas winemakers. Frankly, that market segment has been wrung dry and in order to keep market share, the distributors are having to keep coming up with infinite tedious variations of the same old stale snob scene. How many times can you show slender blondes in billowy white dresses being seduced over a candelabrum by a guy driving a Lexus while the sound track bellows the death scene aria from La Wally before you finally decide to swear off the stuff out of utter boredom? Our market research is indicating that there is huge growth potential in a market segment which has been totally ignored in this industry, rural whites with a household income in the range of $15,000 to $35,000. These are your beer drinkers, or they go straight for the hard stuff. They are looking for a drink they can consume at tailgate parties outside a stock car track while listening to 50,000 watts of AC/DC belting out “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.” For these people, anything between Budweiser and Jim Beam is strictly flyover country. But to address this target audience we have to develop a product which is divorced from their popular conception of what a wine currently is. Our marketing people have come up with some intriguing and original concepts to target this potential audience, labels that will excite their imaginations and stimulate their latent patriotic buying impulses. These are brand names designed to hit home with a nascent wine-consuming market hitherto undiscovered by the industry, the same way as a fabulously rich mother lode of natural gas in the Sonora badlands can be tapped, piped and marketed where once there were nothing but prairie gophers and wily coyotes. We have our Château Alamo, our Chez LBJ, and our Saturday Night Special Sagebrush Puke with the little pieces of grape left in to give the effect of real redneck vomit. Shoot, what Frenchie ever thought of a thing like that? That’s not all! Our research shows that the customer is uncomfortable with a cork bottle stopper, so we replaced them with twist-off bottle caps loaded with a small explosive charge like a party favor, so that when you open the bottle you don’t get a popping sound, you get a bang! “Bang bang bang” like the Fourth of July! Hot dawg, that’s the old Texas spirit! Incidentally, in an effort to connect with our Mexican population here, we got our line of Pancho Villa Chili Pepper Wines in beef, chicken and quesadilla flavors! Now, we’re the first winery to get away from bottles completely and sell our wine in cans. This one here, our Bullseye brand, features a picture of Kennedy’s head in the crosshairs. Our El Paso Wetback Wine has a picture of a fetching Mexican senorita swimming across the Rio Grande, in honor of the contribution made to our culture by our southern partners in Nafta. Here’s a photograph of our Brownsville facility. You’ll notice that all the grape pickers are wearing striped suits. That’s because we signed an agreement with the Texas Department of Corrections to use convict labor, which is real popular with the picture taking public. We had to space the grape vines a little farther apart to make way for the ball and chain that each con has attached to his leg to make sure that our labor force doesn’t run away ha ha. In some cases we have been making use of depleted oil fields by stringing the grape vines over abandoned derricks. We use Mexican labor to pick the grapes because we found that they are particularly agile at swinging around the derricks on ropes to get to the vines. Sort of reminds you of an old Tarzan movie, don’t it? Also, the same way that free-range chickens are tastier than chickens whose movements are confined, we find that grapes which have been crushed more tenderly give out a more generous flavor. Therefore, we don’t crush our grapes underfoot, but instead we get women with large soft behinds to sit on the grapes. Heck, if I was a grape, I’d like that better, wouldn’t you? We let the grapes ferment in disused oil storage tanks and we throw in some tumbleweeds for aging, which gives our wine its distinct Texas personality, and then we run it through some Hoover vacuum cleaners to filter it and take out the excess water. What you have left is pure, sparkling Texas wine with a distinctive bouquet of sagebrush and just a hint of petroleum residue to denote its authentic provenance. Then we load it into barges and float it down the Houston Ship Canal to our bottling facility outside Galveston for shipment to a Seven-Eleven near you. I hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour of our winery and I invite you to stop in down the road at the Texas State Prison Museum where you can have your picture taken sitting in a genuine electric chair. |
