Sunday, June 19, 2011

My El Paso (Part Two)

"If this is what winning looks like maybe it's time you considered other options," I said to Charlie Sheen, but I didn't call him to add to his trials and tribulations.  I called him to cash in a favor from an old friend.  I've known Charlie Sheen back when he still called himself Carlos Estevez.  We graduated from Ysleta High School together.  What I wanted was a few quotes from him for the El Paso Times's "My El Paso" community journalism project, because, as we've all heard these past few weeks, Charlie has quite a way with putting words before and after each other.
     Charlie was happy to oblige.  Having recently been fired by CBS he had some time on his hands and saw this as an opportunity to rehabilitate his reputation.
     "I want to submit some photographs, too," he told me.  "Will these do?"
     I looked at the photos he had just sent to my phone.
     "Carlitos," I said, affectionately using his old name, "these are completely inappropriate."
     He ignored that.
     "My El Paso?" he began.  "Where do I begin?  My El Paso is bitchin'.  A total freaking rock star from Mars.  My El Paso is addicted.  'Addicted to what?' you ask.  Addicted to winning, duh!"
     Click, click!
     "Hang on," he said.  "I've got another call.  It's probably Chuck Lorre calling to apologize."  Pause.  "Nope.  That was John Cryer, my co-star from Two And A Half Men.  Now, where was I?  Oh yeah, My El Paso is on a drug.  A drug called El Paso.  It's not available, because if you try it you will die.  Your face will melt off, and your children will weep over your exploded body.  Dying is for amateurs."
     Click, click!
     "Hold on, I've got another call.  It's probably CBS offering me more money to come back."  Pause.  "Nope.  That was John Cryer again.  He's been losing a fortune since the show's stopped production.  Now, what was I saying?"
     "My El Paso..."
     "Yes, My El Paso has Adonis DNA and fire-breathing fists.  My El Paso has tiger's blood in its veins and poetry in its fingertips.  And most of the time--this includes naps--My El Paso is an F-18, bro, and it will destroy you from the air!  Hold on a sec.  Let me take a drink from my magic daiquiri.  That'll make it all better."
     Click, click!
     "Hang on.  Another call.  It's probably my agent with some twenty million dollar deal to star in some big-budget blockbuster."  Pause.  "Nope.  It was John Cryer again."
     "What does he want?"
     "I don't know.  He won't stop crying."
Fifty Shades of Satire

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