¿Como se dice? Quiet on the Set
Oct 4, 2016 18:21:45 GMT -5
Post by El Grandé Malo on Oct 4, 2016 18:21:45 GMT -5
“So,” the feed opens on the smiling, obviously amused, face of the masked man and believer in all things bueno. Unlike the last taping, Malo is thankfully on the ground and, apparently, tucked up inside his hotel room. Behind him, the curtains are drawn and the lights dimmed even though the red numerals on the bedside clock clearly read three-forty pm. The iPhone, still sans any kind of tripod; seriously, doesn’t he make enough yet to afford one of those? The phone is carefully balances on its side and in front of the television – pointed at the seated and, again, smiling Malo.
“So, it would appears that Malo, he has shown the TresGW peoples more in mi first match than the Lion Dens peoples saw. Did you see this, mi amigos?” he asks, holding up a slightly cramped sheet of paper. He points at some of the words, their curly script too difficult to make out on the page, “Malo, he has found himself elevated from opening the show – to nearly the main events. Now, I is not going to take all of the credits for this,” he grins, “because I is not facing just anyone this week. No, this week I is facing … a star!”
His head nods up and down, his arms spread wide and open as he bites at his bottom lip. “Malo, he is the muy grand fan of Señor Gaines; I has seen all of his video cassettes many, many times. So, this match is going to certainly be one for the fans.
Señor Gaines,” Malo gives a very slight shrug, “there is no mistake is the very good actor, but what he is not,” he says with a small shake of the head, “is the nice mans.
Like many peoples who work in the media, you think that you is entitled to something, señor. You think that you is entitled to bend the ear of greater America, to spit your brand of hatred to the masses without the care in the world! It is muy apparent, amigo, that like many of your kind – you know, the fanatical liberal-conservatarians of the far upper-right-middle – you feel free to say what you want, so long as nobody dares call you to task, or ask you to explain your opinions.
You has grown very complacent in your world of vlogging and self-righteous preaching, señor. Malo, he is all for giving the mens and womans the opportunity to go for their dreams – but, amigo,” he squints, “you does not sound like you even want to be doing this.”
He waves his hands about, though not in any indication of the room. “You, señor, you think that you has the right to say hateful things without retribution. Mi amigo, Pedro – he calls you out on Twitter, but still, you does not think enough of him, of me, to take the steps back and look at your life.
Amigo, you could be great at this and with your background the fans could really get behind you – but you don’t care about any of this, por que?
What is it about mi amigo, Pedro’s words that struck you so? Malo, he is not Mexican, but I has never said that I was. I is the pride and joy of mi hometown in upstate Maine where I first started my journey along the path of lucha. While you was enjoying kraft services and late afternoon call times, Malo was sweating and bleeding in dirty gymnasiums across western Canada.
While you were accepting awards and accolades, Malo, he was fighting in front of three hundred, working class, migrant workers in small towns south of the border.
While you was turning up your nose at Pedro, at Malo, I was here; singing your praises.”
Malo’s head dips towards his chest for a moment. It hangs there for a beat of three before rising once more to stare into the camera.
“Amigo, Malo has no ill-will against you. I is less interested in the politics of your world, and more interested in the joys of mine. My world is about tres things, chico; the fans, the wrestling, and mi amigos. Look down your nose at any of these and you is having the problems with me. Malo, he does not make the wild accusations or outlandish promises. I will not guarantee a victory this week – only that the Malo you gets in the ring will give you nothing less than his best. If you want a victory, amigo, then you is going to have to do it by proving you is better than the greatest luchador to ever come out of Ms. Provencher’s third grade class!
Malo is waiting for you, señor, leave the excuses in your dressing room and get on the Bueno Bus!”
“So, it would appears that Malo, he has shown the TresGW peoples more in mi first match than the Lion Dens peoples saw. Did you see this, mi amigos?” he asks, holding up a slightly cramped sheet of paper. He points at some of the words, their curly script too difficult to make out on the page, “Malo, he has found himself elevated from opening the show – to nearly the main events. Now, I is not going to take all of the credits for this,” he grins, “because I is not facing just anyone this week. No, this week I is facing … a star!”
His head nods up and down, his arms spread wide and open as he bites at his bottom lip. “Malo, he is the muy grand fan of Señor Gaines; I has seen all of his video cassettes many, many times. So, this match is going to certainly be one for the fans.
Señor Gaines,” Malo gives a very slight shrug, “there is no mistake is the very good actor, but what he is not,” he says with a small shake of the head, “is the nice mans.
Like many peoples who work in the media, you think that you is entitled to something, señor. You think that you is entitled to bend the ear of greater America, to spit your brand of hatred to the masses without the care in the world! It is muy apparent, amigo, that like many of your kind – you know, the fanatical liberal-conservatarians of the far upper-right-middle – you feel free to say what you want, so long as nobody dares call you to task, or ask you to explain your opinions.
You has grown very complacent in your world of vlogging and self-righteous preaching, señor. Malo, he is all for giving the mens and womans the opportunity to go for their dreams – but, amigo,” he squints, “you does not sound like you even want to be doing this.”
He waves his hands about, though not in any indication of the room. “You, señor, you think that you has the right to say hateful things without retribution. Mi amigo, Pedro – he calls you out on Twitter, but still, you does not think enough of him, of me, to take the steps back and look at your life.
Amigo, you could be great at this and with your background the fans could really get behind you – but you don’t care about any of this, por que?
What is it about mi amigo, Pedro’s words that struck you so? Malo, he is not Mexican, but I has never said that I was. I is the pride and joy of mi hometown in upstate Maine where I first started my journey along the path of lucha. While you was enjoying kraft services and late afternoon call times, Malo was sweating and bleeding in dirty gymnasiums across western Canada.
While you were accepting awards and accolades, Malo, he was fighting in front of three hundred, working class, migrant workers in small towns south of the border.
While you was turning up your nose at Pedro, at Malo, I was here; singing your praises.”
Malo’s head dips towards his chest for a moment. It hangs there for a beat of three before rising once more to stare into the camera.
“Amigo, Malo has no ill-will against you. I is less interested in the politics of your world, and more interested in the joys of mine. My world is about tres things, chico; the fans, the wrestling, and mi amigos. Look down your nose at any of these and you is having the problems with me. Malo, he does not make the wild accusations or outlandish promises. I will not guarantee a victory this week – only that the Malo you gets in the ring will give you nothing less than his best. If you want a victory, amigo, then you is going to have to do it by proving you is better than the greatest luchador to ever come out of Ms. Provencher’s third grade class!
Malo is waiting for you, señor, leave the excuses in your dressing room and get on the Bueno Bus!”
