Tell Me It's Real(139)

On the upside, I grew a fantastic mustache and was never seen much without my poncho. The locals, initially wary of a gringo among them, grew to accept me as one of their own. I was eventually presented with the bride of my choice and married a tiny little woman by the name of Esmerelda Arroyo. She bore me two children—Guapo and Hortencia—and we moved out of that little apartment above the bar to a rambling old farmhouse on a spread of land right outside of town. It was hard work, but at least it was honest work. I grew wheat.

Ten years later, masked banditos came to town and tried to take it over, as they had decided our little haven was the perfect place for a new center of operations for their cocaine empire. Women and children were held hostage, including my beloved Esmerelda, Guapo, and Hortencia. Deciding I’d had enough, I rode into town on the trusty burro I’d named Princess Snow Cloud, given her propensity for acting like a princess and looking like a fat, white cloud.

The bloodshed was great and the violence extreme, but I emerged victorious and saved my little town from the banditos and rescued my family. The townspeople gathered around me and lifted me in the air, chanting, “Gringo! Gringo! Gringo!” A statue was erected in my honor in the middle of town, showing me riding Princess Snow Cloud. It was made from the bones of the banditos as a warning for any other masked hooligans who tried to take over my town.

On my sixtieth birthday, as people laughed and drank and danced around me, I was asked by a young man if I had any regrets. I told him that I had just one. He asked what that was. I told him that I regretted never finding out if I’d actually been Freddie Prinze Juniored or not.

Of course, he understood exactly what I meant because over the years, Freddie Prinze Junior had become the most famous actor who ever lived, especially after portraying such memorable roles as Hank, the gay chimpanzee who fell in love with his animal trainer, and in a stunning revelatory performance, the title role in the biopic Material Girl: The Life and Times of Madonna. Madonna herself said that no one in the world had ever been more Madonna than Freddie Prinze Junior.

Two minutes later, I died of a heart attack, not yet having gotten to the refried bean buffet or my piñata.

I ascended into heaven and God was waiting for me at the Pearly Gates. He looked like a Hells Angel, which I thought was slightly odd. I didn’t know they had motorcycles in heaven.

“Hey,” I said.

“What’s up?” God asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing much. So, I guess I died, huh?”

“Pretty much,” God said. “Just kind of fell over.”

“Kind of a bitch way to go out, if you ask me. A heart attack? Really? Why not a blaze of glory?”

God rolled his eyes. “It could have been worse. I could have made your intestines explode. Are you going to whine the whole time you’re up here?”

I scowled at him. “Are you going to give me reason to?”

“You’re harshing my buzz, man,” God lamented.

“I don’t feel bad about that at all. I didn’t know you were allowed to have a buzz. Aren’t you supposed to be smiting people right now?”

“I’m God. I can do whatever I want.” He eyed me. “You want to go for a ride on my hog?”

I contemplated this. “Are you hitting on me? Because that means two things where I come from.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Maybe. But I meant on my motorcycle, not my dick. But why don’t we see where it goes, and I could mean the other thing too.” God leered at me and my insides felt tingly.

“Why not? You’re, like, the ultimate daddy fetish.”

“Damn right,” he snorted. “All those ‘Our Fathers’ gives a guy a complex, let me tell you. You ready to rock?” A cloud descended and took the shape of a Harley. God slid a long leg over it and revved the engine. He looked back and winked at me.

“Do I get a helmet?” I shouted at him over the noise as I moved to sit behind him.

“Live a little,” he shouted back. “You’re already dead.”

And then I rode off into the sunset on the back of God’s motorcycle, clutching him as tightly as I could.

The end.

You still there?

Ha. I’m just fucking with you.

But I bet you totally got pissed, didn’t you? Come on, admit it. For a second there, you screamed, “Noooooooo!” and then thought about ways you could murder me and hide the body without getting caught. I’m honestly a little hurt that you’d believe that (and a little scared about how bloodthirsty you seem to be; do me a favor and get some therapy. It sounds like you need it so you don’t end up killing me or some hookers). Please. Do you really think I’d do something as stupid as cheating on Vince after falling in love with him over the course of a week?