My First Meeting with El Extraño El Guapo; or “And Then I Smoked Two More”

I can’t remember what day it was, maybe it was yesterday, maybe it was two days ago. It’s all a blur. Since El Caliente was found dead I’ve been drunk out of my mind. Not because I’ve been sad. I’ve just been drunk out of my mind since then. He was a pretty amusing dude, though. All the gay jokes he made about JaGe were fucking classic. Well, I think they were gay jokes. I don’t recall him ever speaking English to me, but he’d mention JaGe from time to time, and let’s face it, the only time people ever mention JaGe, it’s a reference to him being gay.

Anyway, after the whole Vegas ordeal, I lounged around the HQ for a couple of hours with not much to do. StraTT was out doing… something. JaGe was still in South America (from what I heard he was managing a gay strip club and fending off rebels or something), Brom said he was scouting out some new cheer leaders to hang out on the side lines and cheer on the competitive cheer leading squad he’s been trying to get off the ground, and E-Rokk was off somewhere. He had sent me a correspondence through one of my many high tech cellular devices saying something about a new wife, Steven Segal’s new band, and ‘Jungle Fever’. Since I had nothing to do, and no one to do it with I loaded up my mobile kegerator, put on a more or less clean bathrobe, grabbed my RWS/Hammerli 850 Co2 AirMagnum .177 caliber competition pellet rifle, a laundry basket full of condoms filled with ferret cum and headed for the roof. See, I’ve got a pretty decent set-up up there. I have some expensive German lawn furniture that I put near the edge and get a tan. Some times, times like this, I use my vantage point for mischief. Like the time I let all of JaGe’s pigeons loose one by one and shot them all dead with a shotgun. He was pretty bummed, especially because I used their blood to make a big silhouette of a crow on the side of HQ. He can’t watch that movie (The Crow) any more with out wailing. It’s pretty funny.
From my vantage point, which over looked a very busy 4 lane intersection with a lot of foot traffic, I could see the mid day crown gathering at the cross walk awaiting the signal to go. I took a long pull off of my drinking tube and flung a few condoms on the crowd below. It’s always something special when you get a direct hit, and over the past few months my aim has become something of local legend. The one that made me particularly happy this day was the woman with two small children in a stroller. The condom landed on top of her head and most of the ferret come splashed across her twenty dollar Cost Cutters hair do. Some of it made into the stroller. 10 extra points for each person who gets “fragged”. Nice. I had a good laugh at the mother and her children’s expense and went back to my laundry basket. I gave it a good ten minutes and went back to the ledge. People were milling about with disgusted looks on their faces as they surveyed the strewn condoms. Bombs away. I let loose with a hefty barrage and giggled manically as one after another people got a face or head or back full of Mothra’s Revenge. What always amazes me is when the first two or three get hit, all the other people start looking up. It’s 20 points if you get some in a person’s mouth. By my count, I was nearing the 200 point mark, with a head shot being worth 30 points. I love this game.

I let the crowd disperse after the “Bukakki Bombardment” and relaxed in the sun for a short bit. I decided it was time to make with the RWS. It had been some time since I had shot the thing, so I started off with a little target practice on the crotches and knee caps of men in suits. After honing in my skills again, and putting 5 business men to their knees, I began sniping birds and other small animals out of the trees down the way. My pellet rifle is great for killing prey with out too much blood splatter or de-gutting. So I tend to make each shot count and wait for someone who is strolling along and shoot a squirrel or something out of a tree so it lands a few feet away from them. Good times. Good times.

As I went back to my perch for some more sun I heard a helicopter over head. Figuring it to be a local news or police chopper I grabbed my pellet rifle and drew a bead on it. As it came with in range I saw the Hey Stupid logo in bright orange on the bottom of it. Neat… company. I figured correctly that it was E-Rokk returning from his excursion and ran downstairs to let Boddington out of his room and ordered him to ready five bottles of cold champagne “Hold the glasses” and bring it to me on the roof where I would be awaiting E-Rokks return. He had tears in his eyes, as he usually does these days (his whoreish mother recently died) but he assured me he would be swift about it. I nodded and said “Good” and returned to the roof. The chopper was nearing its landing so I got ready to expose myself as soon as E-Rokk de-boarded. Boddington arrived shortly with a cooler containing the champagne. I dismissed him with a firm squeeze of the genetalia and told him to go get something to eat. “There should still be some bugs and beans in El Caliente’s closet… er, room”.

The chopper set down and E-Rokk stepped out to the sight of me holding a bottle of bubblies in each hand and my bath robe, dick and balls majestically billowing in the wind created by the helicopters rotor. He smiled. I smiled. The helicopter pilot (who is new and not yet used to our antics) vomited. My associate approached me and took one of the bottles.

“Your balls look looser than usual” he said. “I know. I’ve been weighting them to try and stretch out my sack. I’m going for the record.” “That’s disturbing.”“No where near as disturbing as what I plan on doing with it once I reach the desired length.”

Just then, I happened to look over E-Rokk’s shoulder at the chopper and noticed a rather small and familiar looking Mexican with weary eyes and large sombrero exiting the craft. His head was down to avoid the wind of the still spinning rotors as he made his way towards us. But when he looked up, there was no mistake. It was the Ghost of El Caliente. I shouted “Hey-zues Chree-stay! It’s a ghost!” and urinated a little. As the urine ran down my leg E-Rokk saw my look of shock and awe and turned around to see what had gotten me in such a state. He turned back to me and laughed hysterically.

“Dude, you should see your face right now. Oh my God! Did you just piss yourself?!”“A little…” I trailed off in fear and astonishment. “Gross. Anyway, that’s not a ghost, man. That’s El Caliente’s brother… El Extraño. He’s come with me from… somewhere. I don’t know, really. He speaks English pretty well, though.”“Wow… the similarities are incredible. Where’d you find him, the day labor line?” “No. He was working for George Lucas.” “George Lucas? What the fuck… He’s a spy, dude!” “No, it’s alright. He’s cool. He owes me his life.” “This is going to end badly, you know that, right?” “You’re paranoid. El Extraño, come here. I have someone very important for you to meet.”

The Mexican approached and I angled my dangling penis towards him, prepared to urinate on him if he made any sudden moves. “Nick, cover yourself… There will be no golden showers for this man.” I looked cross wise at E-Rokk, while keeping the Mexican in my peripheral vision. Then it spoke to me.

“Halloh. My name ees El Extraño El Guapo. My father was murdered by goat weeth whan horn when I was a boy… My mother was a whore weeth weeth tres nipples. We were well fed as cheeldrin. I am at your service.” He bowed at the waist. “I’ll be damned… you really are his brother.” I said in amazement. “See, I told you. He’s good shit. Anyway, I’ve got something I’m going to watch and then I’m going to bed. Did you let Boddington out yet this morning?” “Of course. You think I hauled this cooler up here myself?” “Good point. Anyway,” He turned to El Extraño “Nick will take good care of you.” “Thank you, sir. I ahm very happy to be here.” Again, the Mexican bowed and E-Rokk made his way inside.

I looked at the Mexican and made a peace offering.“You want some fucking champagne?”“No thank you sir. I have taken a vow of sobriety… My seester, she died from drinking too much tequila from a chicken’s ass.” “Hmm… Look, buddy,” I looked at him sternly and spoke very seriously. “That’s a fucked up story. But people who don’t get drunk cannot be trusted. You owe E-Rokk your life, is this correct?” “Si.” “If I tell him you won’t get shit faced with me, he’ll instruct Boddington our indentured servant… er, butler, to throw you over the side of this building. Do you want that to happen?” “No, senior.” “Ok, then, drink up.” I handed him the bottle. “We’ll finish these up before we get you started on anything heavier.”

He took the bottle from me and drank heavily. He finished almost half the bottle with out putting it down. “Jesus… I thought you didn’t drink.” “Only recently did I take my vow, signor.” “Recently? How long ago did your sister die?” “Two days a-go. She was twelve.” I puked in my mouth a little bit. “That’s… disgusting. Follow me, I want to show you a game I like to play. You know anything about ferrets?” He shook his head and drank from the bottle again.

We walked to the edge of the building, El Extraño towing the cooler, where my laundry basket full of goodies had been baking in the sun. When I explained to him exactly what they were full of he seemed disinterested. “You know, the come of the burro is known in my native land as the most horr-ee-bile substance known to man. Not only that, but the orgasm of the burrow weell feel a large bucket. Much more than a ferret.” “Wow… that’s terrific. We’re getting a burro. But here, take a few and have at it. There should be a good sized group down there in a few minutes.” I was right. About 3 minutes went by and there were a good two dozen pedestrians below us. “Bombs away, sport. Bombs away.” I said, and patted him on the shoulder.

To my surprise his aim was amazing. Every one of his shots went directly into the face of a passer-by. And as they began looking up with mouths agape, El Extraño began targeting their pie holes, and hitting them. This man was beautiful. One of the Bukakki Bombs actually got lodged in an old mans throat, forcing him to choke. When the Good Samaritan next to him started in with the Heimlich maneuver, El Extraño hit that man in the eye. I laughed so hard I sharted. Not only was his aim perfect and his range strong, but his speed was marvelous. It wasn’t 2 minutes until our stash was entirely depleted. When I finally finished laughing, I sat down in my German lawn furniture.

“That was great, man. Really, really great. You’re going to fit in here, my friend.” I sighed. “I don’t know what to do now, though. Megh. Fuck it. Let’s just get drunk and spit on people.”El Extraño pulled up a German lawn chair next to me. “I have an idea of something we can do, signor. Do you like to smoke?”“Sure I do. I’ve been smoking the entire time we’ve been up here you fucking retard. What the hell’s wrong with you? Asking me a retarded ass question like that. Fucking Mexican.”

“No, signor, you meess-understand. Do you like to smoke…” He paused as he took off his sombrero. “Marheewaanah?” With that, he produced a ridiculously large plastic bag that took up the entire inside of the top of his floppy Mexican hat. In it was another bag (also ridiculously large) of crystallized red purple and blue haired buds, and a bag of large tightly rolled Castro sized cigars. I thought to myself ‘Yeah, ok… let’s roll up some fatty blunts and listen to 2Pac in the Hey Stupid Theater.’

“Great idea man, let’s roll up some fatty blunts and listen to 2Pac in the Hey Stupid Theater.” El Extraño removed two of the cigars, rolled everything back up, packed it tightly into his sombrero, and put it back on his head. He stuck one cigar in his mouth, and handed me the other. “For you, signor. But I do not have a lighter. May I use yours?” “Um… Ok, yeah, sure. We’ll smoke some cigars, I guess. But um… let’s finish these and then go smoke some fucking fatties. We’ll get my ferrets high and watch them gorge themselves fat when they get the munchies.” I handed him my diamond encrusted Zippo. “It’ll be hilarious.”

“What ever you say, boss. But these, are special ceegars. I hand rolled them myself.” He puffed on his stogie, trying to get a good burn. Once he got it going, he handed my diamond encrusted Zippo back and continued. “You see, when I was a very small child I was forced to hand roll ceegars for my father. He was too poor to buy hees own, so I had to steal tobacco and dry and roll it for heem. Eet was hard to learn, but I learned quickly. He beat me in the ass with a steek wrapped in barbed wire and dog sheet when my ceegars were not good enough. Many of my wounds became eenfected, and now my ass is nothing but scar teeshue.”

I stared at him in awe as I in turn tried to get my ‘ceegar’ burning. “That’s amazing.” I said. I was too engrossed in his story to pay much attention to the taste and smell of my smoke but as he finished his tale of woe and misery (and hilarity) and lay back in the sun, I began to take note of the flowery taste and aromatic scent of my smoke. I puffed, thinking to myself ‘Man, the nicotine content of this is incredible. I’m getting a wicked head buzz off of this.’

“Holy Christ El Extraño… the nicotine content of this is incredible. I’m getting a wicked head buzz off of this.” He laughed and took a very large long pull of the stogie. “Oh, senior. There ees no nicotine in thees. Thees, senior, ees the finest marheewaanah ever grown in the jungles of South Ameerica. Oh… and there ees about a gram of Columbian cocaine in it as well. You like?”

As he spoke, his voice became increasingly distant and sounded like he was shouting into a tin can. A bird flew through the air and as he shat, it fell in slow motion, while everything else was happening in real time. I took a bong hit sized pull of smoke and inhaled deeply, searching for a hint of taste from the cocaine, while the bird flew on.

“Oh, wow Exandro… I’m gettin’ faaaa-ded.”The Mexican laughed and said “Would you lie to wear my sombrero?” “Yeah! That’d be aaaaaawe-some, duuuuu-de. We need more champagne.”“I agree.”He handed me the sombrero, and got up to retrieve two fresh bottles of the bubbly stuff. With the sombrero a-top my head, and the Castro Blunt poking out of the corner of my mouth ala’ Clint Eastwood, I headed towards the chopper. I felt like going for a cruise around town… or making cheap shot jokes at Boddington about his dead mother being a circus whore. I climbed aboard and started jamming at buttons, flipping switches, and turning knobs. My Castro was blazing away, and the cockpit was rapidly filling with smoke. It was as if there was a fog that had rolled in and targeted where I was sitting. El Extraño approached me and knocked on the cockpit window. “Signor. What are you doing? Do you even know how to operate thees thing?”“Hey, dude, climb up in here, man. I got a great fucking idea… we’ll totally hot box this mother fucker. Then we’ll head to the theatre and listen to some 2Pac.”

El Extraño climbed aboard and handed me my champagne. We sat for a while, smoking and inhaling, sharing stories about our childhood and drinking. It was a good time, I think… I don’t remember much of it. After some time had passed we decided to head into the theatre. Upon exiting the craft, I grew queasy and promptly deposited all contents of my stomach onto the helipad. I squatted down to try and regain my equilibrium before we made the trek, but squatting wasn’t a great idea, however, because I naturally assume a squatting position to shit. You see, I hate shitting on American toilets. It disgusts me. Sitting to take a crap is for lazy Americans, and that’s why I had a golden European style toilet installed in my vault. Being as how I hadn’t taken my daily deuce, and had consumed much alcohol, coupled with the fact that cocaine always makes me shit, my bomb bay was full. And sitting there squatting in my bathrobe with El Extraño doing tai chi to ‘center himself’ off to my right I unloaded a full three pounds of the most heinous and vile butt pudding right out of my naked ass and onto the helipad. Fortunately my bath robe was billowing in the wind and was saved from the destructive nature of my poo-poo platter by mere inches. I felt very much relieved, and it remarkably sobered me up a little bit. “God… I feel relieved. All right man, let’s go listen to 2Pac.”

“Signor Nick, that was the most awful theeng I have ever seen one muchacho do. You were like a… what is the English word?… Ah! A bazooka. Yes, you were like a bazooka of human waste. I applaud you, sir.” “Thanks for the compliment. Let’s go.”

We hung out in the theatre for the rest of the evening and well into the night. We listened to 2Pac for a while, and then watched juice while we took turns harassing Boddington with jokes about his dead mother and making downright outlandish requests. One that I remember El Extraño having made was 8 blue wax figurines of the Virgin Mary, which he then broke in half and beaned Boddington in and about the head with. It was marvelous. Some of E-Rokks “wives” were forced… er, offered to join us in watching some fantastic (and at times rather sickening) home made “Pornografía de burro”. He said it not only starred four of his remaining sisters, but also had a cameo by his cosine the “Gran burro violación de mujer”, or ‘Gran violiacion’ as he referred to her. It was really some low budget shit, but good for a laugh. One of the “wives” ended up screaming and yelling about ‘violations of human rights’, so we made Boddington tie her back up… er, tend to her.

The oddest thing happened, though, around 2 a.m. Maybe it was the mix of Schlitz, budget champagne and The Glenlivit, perhaps not, but El Extraño suddenly ceased being able to speak English. It was the damndest thing. I kept yelling at him and throwing punches at his neck (which he did well at avoiding most of the time), and I could tell by the quizzical and troubled look on his face that he fully understood what I was saying and was trying to communicate, but to no avail.

“You stupid fuck-tard, you sound just like your ass hole brother! I can’t understand a word you’re jabbering. You got any more of those burro porns?”I tried several times speaking Engrish to him, but he had no comprehension of the language, so after a good hour or two of that scene I decided to dump him back off on E-Rokk. “Here,” I said as I pushed the Mexican through his bedroom door. “He’s speaking in tongues. He’s your fucking Mexican. You deal with him. I’m going to go give Mothra a bath and feed him some of your 12 sided die.”

E-Rokk looked at me from where he lay, giving his man hood several long strokes and grinning like a monkey who’s just inserted his finger in his anus and sniffed it. “Hah… you stupid Kraut Nazi inbred, I can’t believe you still to this day can’t understand a word of Spanish. Anyway, he apologizes for his sudden and inexplicable failure at communicating in your foreign tongue; He also said that he enjoyed hanging out with you, and being as how you and El Caliente were such close friends, he considers you family, and grants you permission to fornicate with all of his sisters and both of his mothers.”

“Oh. Well tell him I said ‘yeah, whatever.’ I’m all sorts of messed up. This mother fucker smokes too much weed, I can’t hang any more. I’m going to bed. Do whatever you want with him, my hands are clean.” As I turned around and walked away, fully intent on feeding Mothra some twelve sided die, I heard E-Rokk say something to the effects of “C’mon El Extraño. I want you to meet some ladies. They’re from East Europe. They look young, but I assure you they’re all over the age of 15…” but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I was too tired and too drunk and stoned to really care. So I grabbed one of the East European women who’d come to stay at the Hey Stupid Head Quarters and serve as a ‘community morale enhancer’ and a bottle of champagne. After locking my vault from the inside I drew a warm bath in my fine Italian marble hot tub Jacuzzi for myself and the girl. I shed myself of my robe and after some fiddling around with the beauty who spoke in a foreign language that I couldn’t understand at all, I laid back in the rippling water and drifted off to sleep.

 

~ by Nick Fit on January 23, 2008.