This is a guest article.
Little Mac
You remember what it was like... it's 1988, and your mother is yelling at you to get your "little shit-eating ass" upstairs for dinner. You know that if you are late one more time, daddy will drink more of his grownup apple juice and physically express himself on you. As you fly up the stairs, heart pounding, you cannot take your mind off what just happened at your NES console just seconds before. It consumes your every thought and colors your every emotion. You got your ass handed to you by the Second Don Flamenco.
Eats Tapas (Don Flamenco I)
[If you don't know who I'm talking about, stop right here -- you're a pussy. You can either accept this reality and finish your life with a perm and a Miata, or you can take corrective action now by downloading Mike Tyson's Punchout and making up for the lost childhood that you never had. After that's done, come back here and read on.]
Eats Babies (Roid rager Don Flamenco II)
"What the f*ck just happened?," you think to yourself. Your thoughts linger back to 45 minutes ago when you faced that pufta Spaniard for the first time. He came out with a rose in his mouth like your gay uncle used to, pranced around the ring taunting you, made that little whimpering "mwhe" sound, and then offered his solitary Flamenco Uppercut. A Cobra Commander laser-gun-shot would have been more accurate -- all you had to do was dodge left and pound Flamenco like you do to your girlfriend on a Tuesday afternoon. If you were horrible enough at this game, and couldn't finish him before the second round, this Streisand would try to intimidate you with a "People like my hair. Don't mess my hair!" taunt. Remember the Flamenco Dance!?? "Haha," you chuckle to yourself.
Okay, so you are flying high, you take out King Hippo by punching him in his fat mouth, then repeatedly in his fat gut until he falls over, done. Then you take out the Indian guy, Great Tiger, with little difficulty (he only had that one magic spin move, which was only mildly annoying). Then you take out Bald Bull during his bull charge, little difficulty. You are now the Major Circuit champ, and you move on to fight in the World Circuit. You fight Piston Honda again, this time he's a little faster and with one or two new punches, nothing fancy. Next you face a new opponent, Soda Popinski, who isn't notable. Next, Bald Bull again, a little faster, nothing special. Then pops up... Don Flamenco! Again!? You laugh a little, confused. You thought you left him in the dust, surely he is a nobody, not even a contender...
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"People like my hair. Don't mess my hair!"
But this time, you get into the fight and WHAM! -- where the hell did that left cross come from? He has a jab? WHO THE F*CK HAS A JAB IN PUNCH OUT?!?!? What is it about the new blue ring that suddenly turned this techno-listening man-capri wearer into a modern day cannibal? Is it the new aqua gloves? Maybe he put bricks in them. He taunts you, so you try and deck him in his mouth. WTF!? He just blocked? ...and blocked again!? "Ah christ," you think as you see Little Mac turn into a pink flaming bag of vag. Flamenco smells blood, and starts pounding your ass harder than the realization that you're adopted -- Canadian by birth. "Flamenco strikes back!! Return of Don!" he screams between round 1 and round 2. Indeed, Don, indeed.
Donny-F taught you a couple of important lifelong lessons on that cold, dark day:
1) Humility.
1) Humility.
Just because you beat the shit out of/have intercourse with someone once doesn't mean you will always succeed the second time. Stay hungry.
2) Gambling and drugs will get you places.
Either Don Flamenco is the biggest sandbagging son of a bitch in modern history and he threw that first fight, or he juiced before the second. Because there's no other way to explain how many more babies the 2nd Don Flamenco could eat than the first. The 1st Don Flamenco was about as cool as the bride's drunk aunt when "Celebrate Good Times" comes on at the last wedding you went to, and about just as good as she'd be in a fight.
The second time around he was basically an improved Piston Honda with Jesus' abs. That's when it hits you: This dude brings the Justice -- that and he effed your mom in high school. Either way, drugs are involved. I know, I know, this is the kind of thing you'd expect from Von Kaiser, the Berliner at the height of Cold War when the East German werewolf women were still winning Olympic Medals. But, in the last analysis, Kaiser fought like a guy who's seen Hasselhoff live. I'll bet you a subscription to Nintendo Power that he's the one who got Flamenco to the "next level" with the needles in the butt. Communists can't be trusted, and neither can a man with a mustache. Kaiser's both.
Von Kaiser
The commie bastard.
It's all coming together now for you, isn't it? While
3) Fear the Spanish.
Let's not forget that most of South and Central America speak the devil's tongue. The Spanish have a proven history of dressing in silly outfits, confusing you with homosexual undertones, and then whipping your ass whilst giggling hysterically. For example, in 1997 when the world was entranced with Nick Cage's performance in Con Air, Enrique Iglesias silently attacked pop music and hasn't left since. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition before it's already upon them. Or was it the Spanish Armada? F*ck it, they are sly and deceitful and not to be trusted.
This article was contributed by "JW."
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