[ OOC: El Tiburon's account was inactive and therefore he couldn't post. This was sent to me 06/06/19 11:29 PM Board Time and it shall be counted as it was posted at that time. ]




"Gather 'round niños. This is a story about growth, a story about overcoming the odds, fighting when all hope is lost.

But most of all, this is a story about how a man became...


A mang."

[That shit sounded great. Ignore the fact that I've had enough tequila to drown my pet burro and I'm feeling looser than the excess skin around El Gilmour's suddenly-thin-again waistline. Hey! There's an XWF camera I feel like I should speak into!]

"Coming outta' the deep blue and still making topical references to the XWF. What a coincidence, mang. What. A. Coincid--"

[Ooh, a jukebox. Fuck! It doesn't work. Time to give 'er a little of the finesse game anddddd I just punched the fucking thing. But it works! The Mexican, Fonz. Call me Arturo Fonzarelli.]

"Ayyyyyyyy" [Two thumbs up, natch.]

"Alright baby, lets see what's on the most played list...

Kolovrat?

Skinfull?

Blood Red Eagle?

Que lo fuck, mang. I've never heard of any of these. Time to hit this place with a little energy."

[Boom, there we go.]


[Insert rad collage of me grooving alone in the middle of the dance floor, throwing more ass than a PAWG trippin' on a store clerk refusing an expired Sunny-D coupon. My hips can go for dayssss mang, the powerful thrusts could break some levees and re-introduce a whole community back to the hellish existence from whence they came and still struggled to overcome. But my ass looks en fuego. My Air Jorge's are on point. The only thing missing is a señorita to squeeze my dorsal.]

"Ayyyy chicas! Come on over and let me see if I can smell any blo--"

[Ew fuck. That one doesn't have hair.]

[Neither does that one.]

[Fuck me, none of these dudes do either.]

[I don't remember a sign advertising a chemotherapy support group meeting.]

[A speakeasy for people with Alopecia maybe?]

[I'm perplexed. What could cause a bunch of bald white folk to congregate in a dusty little bar like this? Then, I remember where I am.]

Birmingham, Alabama

"Ohh...fudgies."

[But surely they couldn't tell I wasn't one of them right? I mean I could pass for just a really tan guy named George or something, I think. Then I notice the pairs of beady little eyes. Two by two they focus on me and their expressions turn to hatred. This is probably how women looked at Vinnie Lane when the roofies wore off the next morning. BUT HOW!? I have a mask and my suit covers the Mexican flag waving majestically across but cheeks of my culo. Oh no.]

"My suit."

[Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. I'm wearing my gay pride month suit, the dolphin costume.]

Burly white power guy wiith an oddly melodic voice and disturbing knowledge of children's sing-a-long songs: "Gayyyyy shark do do do do doooo."

"Hey! I'm not gay! I'm Mexican!"

[Ah fuck, Poseidon just shook his head. Why are you such an idiot? And sure enough, now they're all looking murder-y.]

Other white guy (they all look the fuckin' same lets be honest): "Well well, a spic delivered right to me. Santa must've put me on the good list."

"How 'bout I wrap some mistletoe around my dick and you kiss my juevos like you kiss your sister?"

[Damn, maybe I am gay.]

White woman (I think, tough to tell with no hair)(also he/she may be his brother/sister/husband/wife): "You show him what we do to spics like him around here!"

[There's that s-word again. Given that white people are huge fans of missionary sex and driving the speed limit, I'm not really going to get on their case about their lack of creativity in the insult department. But it is pretty lazy.]

One of the fucking whities from before, I've lost track honestly: "Oh, this tacohead is going to get a firsthand look."

[Tacohead is even fucking lazier, I'll be honest. Thank Poseidon I'm not writing this guy's dialogue.]

"You know who's really in for a firsthand look of some real violence? My opponent at this week's Savage, Lux. Tell you what that little--"

Generic white #1: "What?"

"Hmm?"

Same honky: "Opponent? Lux?"

"Oh, yeah. I have a wrestling game this weekend and since the cameras were here I was going to take the opportunity to talk some smack on my opponent."

Honk-o:"I'm literally threatening your life right now and you're going to just randomly pontificate about some wrestling match? That doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

[True.]

"I'm sorry. It's been a long time since I've been in a bar fight and I'm just not really sure what I'm supposed to be doing, you know?"

White devil: "Yeah no, I totally get what you mean. Truth be told I'm just coming off recovery from a kidney transplant myself so it's been quite a bit since I've been in a good ol' fashioned tussle."

"Oh no kidding? That's very brave of you."

Snowman: "Thank you kindly; I just see it as the least I can do, you know? This is a fantastic community and anything I can do to help, well you bet I'll be there with bells on. Even if it means giving up an organ."

"Unless it's a darkie, am I right!?"

Dandruff monster: "So right!"

[We both chuckle. Bonding is fun]

Bipedal puddle of vanilla pudding: "So tell me about this Lux feller, eh?"

"Oh, we're not fighting anymore?"

Running out of derogatory names for white people: "Oh I fully intend on cutting your intestines out and hanging you with them, but I always love a story."

"Here's the thing about Lux: Is he a mang? Is he a womang? Is he a little boy with a mang-gina? I don't fuckin' know. Everytime I've tried to watch him all I see is some long winded and confusing word soup that's less palatable than Barney Green's asshole after a brisk, 15 second jog. He/she has that Mr. Satellite disease where instead of developing an interesting narrative to keep their viewers enthralled and the audience entertained, they just pull a fistful of convoluted bullshit from their assholes and expect us to accept it because there's a bunch of fancy words and some well placed swears. Has anyone ever walked away from their couch after a Lux promo and were a better person for it? No. If anything, that windbag's face is a dog whistle to the BMI-rich to go on ahead and anally evacuate those trans fats because they weren't at risk of missing anything important. A Lux appearance evokes the same response as incest porn: morbid curiosity but nothing to milk yourself over. I can honestly say I'd rather watch a dying man throatfuck a puppy with parvo than subject myself to one of Lux's pseudo intellectual, dime-a-dozen promotional videos.

I almost feel bad for the little fuck playing host the personality-less broad. If I had that worthless bitch occupying my headspace I think I'd widemouth a gloryhole and pray that my uvula gets probed by a lit stick of dynamite."


End part 1