¿Comó se dice? What Not to Wear
May 17, 2016 11:45:35 GMT -5
Post by El Grandé Malo on May 17, 2016 11:45:35 GMT -5
“Well, hola señoritta …” The words seem to drip from the blackness as the camera slowly adjusts to the low level of filtered light. Nearby tables are adorned with a multitude of objects in an attempt to create a romantic ambiance. Chili pepper Christmas lights dangle from overhead, small bejeweled jack-o-lanterns glow merrily and plastic candles, their flickering paper flames almost enough to take away from the multiple power cords running down the backs of the tables, fill whatever remaining space there happened to be.
Down on the floor, nearly being swallowed by the leopard print beanbag chair he’s attempting to lounge in, sits El Grandé Malo – his normally black Bueno Club t-shirt traded in for one in the loudest of neon pink cheetah prints.
Unlike most weeks, Malo has managed to wedge his iPhone enough to grant him the ability to not hold the device at arm's length. Newfound freedom and a cheeky smirk on his face are where we find him today.
“It would appears that you and I,” he leans onto his side, the beanbag chair slowly absorbing him as he does, “we has a collision course set for this week. Now, I is never the mans to beep beep my own horns but,” he smirks, “toot toot.”
Malo continues to grin as he sinks lower and lower in the pleather wrapped poof. He attempts to look nonchalant as he leans back to the left and tries sitting up a little higher. “There has been many the days where I has sat here on my royal throne and listened to you, señoritta. To the untrained eyes, many would sees you as standing-off-ish, a borderline no-bueno chickita. But to Malo’s much trained eyeballs,” he smiles, “there is more there beneath the surfaces.
As someone who has been called the Baron of Bueno, the Duke of Dolce, the Prince of Piquito, the Boss of the Cakes …” pausing, his head tilts to the side as he seems to catch that last bit. “I … I am not the Cake Boss, I do not even like cakes; I is more of a …” he struggles to sit up even more as he tilts his head, an eyebrow somewhere beneath his mask arching upwards, “a … pie… mans!
No, no, no” he shakes his head vigorously, his smile like a sliver of ivory beneath his ginger beard. “I kids, I kids; Malo, he is not the creepy blanco van type. No, I is the serious kind of mans who takes this opportunity seriously. From early on in the Lion Dens, you and Señor MacBumbum have been two of the, how you say,” he scratches at his coppery chin, “power players, in the whole of the Dens.
Not the bi-week goes by when Malo does not see the pairs of you in that ring putting on the show. Talented and beautiful … a deadly combination, but I has been told that I too am equally distracting.” At this, he mimes tossing long, flowing hair, but only manages to lose his balance and fall face first into the beanbag chair. Struggling for breath as he slowly suffocates amongst the small beads, Malo manages to roll himself completely out of its clutches – leaping to his feet and dusting himself off while glaring at the beanbag chair of death.
“Señoritta, mi Carmesí Baronesa, I do not wish to hurt you or to make the example of you. In fact, I is hard pressed to understand how the dos of us have even been paired together this week. On one of the hands, perhaps this is indicative of the management and their happiness with how Malo and his amigo Pedro dismantled the bumbling British brutes at At All Costs. This,” he smiles, “could be a reward for the jobs well done. But, on the other hands this could be quite the opposite. Perhaps Malo, he has not been pleasing to the powers that are and now they want to see him suffer.
Reward, punishment … reward, punishment … reward, punishment … reward, punishment” Malo holds his hands out to the side, figuratively weighing the options. “I will always make the errors on the side of the glass being more full; mi madre, she always say that Malo is the optimus!
So I continues to look on the bright side of this week's pairings, Señoritta; but I will leaves you with a piquito word of the caution. Do not mistake Malo’s kindness for the weakness like so many has in the past. While I am, and always will be, the force for bueno in this company – I will not hesitate to knock your silly little title right out of your name and leave you more negro y azul than carmesí.
Los dos dolores royals maybe be vying for the Apex championships, but Bueno Club? We’re more than content to continue playing the role of the spoilers – buckle up, Señoritta – this ride is about to get a little more bumpy!”
Down on the floor, nearly being swallowed by the leopard print beanbag chair he’s attempting to lounge in, sits El Grandé Malo – his normally black Bueno Club t-shirt traded in for one in the loudest of neon pink cheetah prints.
Unlike most weeks, Malo has managed to wedge his iPhone enough to grant him the ability to not hold the device at arm's length. Newfound freedom and a cheeky smirk on his face are where we find him today.
“It would appears that you and I,” he leans onto his side, the beanbag chair slowly absorbing him as he does, “we has a collision course set for this week. Now, I is never the mans to beep beep my own horns but,” he smirks, “toot toot.”
Malo continues to grin as he sinks lower and lower in the pleather wrapped poof. He attempts to look nonchalant as he leans back to the left and tries sitting up a little higher. “There has been many the days where I has sat here on my royal throne and listened to you, señoritta. To the untrained eyes, many would sees you as standing-off-ish, a borderline no-bueno chickita. But to Malo’s much trained eyeballs,” he smiles, “there is more there beneath the surfaces.
As someone who has been called the Baron of Bueno, the Duke of Dolce, the Prince of Piquito, the Boss of the Cakes …” pausing, his head tilts to the side as he seems to catch that last bit. “I … I am not the Cake Boss, I do not even like cakes; I is more of a …” he struggles to sit up even more as he tilts his head, an eyebrow somewhere beneath his mask arching upwards, “a … pie… mans!
No, no, no” he shakes his head vigorously, his smile like a sliver of ivory beneath his ginger beard. “I kids, I kids; Malo, he is not the creepy blanco van type. No, I is the serious kind of mans who takes this opportunity seriously. From early on in the Lion Dens, you and Señor MacBumbum have been two of the, how you say,” he scratches at his coppery chin, “power players, in the whole of the Dens.
Not the bi-week goes by when Malo does not see the pairs of you in that ring putting on the show. Talented and beautiful … a deadly combination, but I has been told that I too am equally distracting.” At this, he mimes tossing long, flowing hair, but only manages to lose his balance and fall face first into the beanbag chair. Struggling for breath as he slowly suffocates amongst the small beads, Malo manages to roll himself completely out of its clutches – leaping to his feet and dusting himself off while glaring at the beanbag chair of death.
“Señoritta, mi Carmesí Baronesa, I do not wish to hurt you or to make the example of you. In fact, I is hard pressed to understand how the dos of us have even been paired together this week. On one of the hands, perhaps this is indicative of the management and their happiness with how Malo and his amigo Pedro dismantled the bumbling British brutes at At All Costs. This,” he smiles, “could be a reward for the jobs well done. But, on the other hands this could be quite the opposite. Perhaps Malo, he has not been pleasing to the powers that are and now they want to see him suffer.
Reward, punishment … reward, punishment … reward, punishment … reward, punishment” Malo holds his hands out to the side, figuratively weighing the options. “I will always make the errors on the side of the glass being more full; mi madre, she always say that Malo is the optimus!
So I continues to look on the bright side of this week's pairings, Señoritta; but I will leaves you with a piquito word of the caution. Do not mistake Malo’s kindness for the weakness like so many has in the past. While I am, and always will be, the force for bueno in this company – I will not hesitate to knock your silly little title right out of your name and leave you more negro y azul than carmesí.
Los dos dolores royals maybe be vying for the Apex championships, but Bueno Club? We’re more than content to continue playing the role of the spoilers – buckle up, Señoritta – this ride is about to get a little more bumpy!”
