Cuatro Equis

Beerboarding

Our scene opens in a non-descript room, as Futurequis shoves Dos Equis inside. Both are identical, aside from the differences in height, weight, hair color, eye color... Alright, only their outfits match, assuming you ignore the fact that they're different sizes. Barb L. Fish, Dos Equis' luchador girlfriend runs in after them. She's wearing pink scrubs and a matching pink mask.

BLF: You can't do this to him. It's torture!

FUTUREQUIS: No, waterboarding is torture. Alright, here we go. We're here to do two things. A. Determine if beerboarding is torture. B. Toughen me-slash-you up. And hopefully break you of this alcoholism so you can lose that beer belly and we can contend for the Tag Team Championship.

XX: Barb thinks my beer belly is sexy.

FUTUREQUIS: You told me you're a certified lifeguard, Barb. If anything happens, just pretend he was swimming in a pool filled with beer instead of water.

XX: Mmmm....beer pool.

BLF: Does Mayfield know what you're doing? Does he condone this?

FUTUREQUIS: Of course not. And there will be no leaked memos ever to prove otherwise. Most likely. I'm his CIA. He just doesn't know it yet.

XX: I don't trust Mayfield.

FUTUREQUIS: No? I do, so you must.

XX: Really? That makes sense.

BLF: No. It doesn't! None of this makes sense. Ever since I came to NFW, it's been like living in Bizarro World.

FUTUREQUIS: (Pointing to a cot in the middle of the room) Lay down here, me.

Dos Equis hops on the cot and lays down, as Futurequis ties his feet together with duct tape, then elevates his legs using some phone books.

FUTUREQUIS: Just remember, Barb is your personal EMT, ready to do that mouth-to-mouth crap in case something drastic happens.

XX: Drastic?

FUTUREQUIS: You know...in case you drown, get alcohol poisoning, whatever. There's a lot of beer here. Now, the average person can last for 14 seconds being waterboarded if done properly. But there's no chance of that happening here.

XX: What, me lasting 14 seconds?

FUTUREQUIS: No, the "done properly" part.

XX: *Gulp* I'm having second thoughts.

FUTUREQUIS: We'd have to check at some college fraternities to see what the beerboarding record is.

Futurequis grabs a towel.

FUTUREQUIS: Now, you have two options here. Either I can take off your mask, dunk it in the beer and put it back on backwards, or I can just take your mask off and dunk this black towel of death into the beer and put it on your face.

XX: A true luchador never takes his mask off!

Futurequis punches Dos Equis.

BLF: Hey!

FUTUREQUIS: Wow, that was so hard I felt it. (Shaking his right hand) Mainly around my right hand.

Futurequis yanks off Dos Equis' mask, as Barb obscures his face from view, dropping the towel over it. Meanwhile, Futurequis dunks Dos' mask into beer, pulls it out, and squeezes out the excess foamy goodness back into its container before putting the mask back onto Dos Equis head, backwards as promised, but not covering his mouth. The scent of beer works as smelling salt for Dos, who inhales deeply, repeatedly, probably trying to get a buzz from the beer fumes. Futurequis bends down and retrieves a pitcher of beer.

XX: Busch?

FUTUREQUIS: OK, that's just scary.

XX: At least it's not Keystone. Although I'll probably have the sh!ts for the next 48 hours. Their slogan should be, (singing) "Head for the toilets, from Buschhhh...beeeeer."

Futurequis holds Dos Equis' nose.

FUTUREQUIS: Remember, this is for our own good. We're gonna go on five. Ready?

XX: No.

FUTUREQUIS: One. Two.

XX: What part of– *gurgle gurgle*

That's the sound you hear as Futurequis dumps the beer onto Dos' mouth.

FUTUREQUIS: Start timing him, Barb.

BLF: One! Two! Thre-NO! Shoulder up!

XX: *Coughcoughcoughcough*

FUTUREQUIS: What are you doing? You were supposed to last for at least 14 seconds.

XX: *Coughcoughcoughcough*

BLF: X, are you OK?

FUTUREQUIS: I'm fine.

BLF: Not YOU. Other you.

FUTUREQUIS: Oh, right.

XX: I'm fine. But I don't lay down for any pitcher of beer! That was fun. It was way better than I thought it would be. It was like being in a beerfall.

FUTUREQUIS: I barely got any beer in you.

XX: Can't we do this with a better beer? My ass is already feeling leaky.

BLF: Gross!

FUTUREQUIS: Is beerboarding torture?

XX: Absolutely not! Unless you are talking about Busch, which should be illegal, along with Keystone. More better beer please! If I had known it was gonna be this good, I would have done it way sooner! It is like it went straight to my lungs then into my bloodstream!

FUTUREQUIS: It's gonna be harder to get us sober than I thought.

XX: How about some Blue Moon? I could drown in that all night long, future me! Get me drunk, put me in a wheelchair, and get me to the show so we can rack up even more tag team victories! The drunken era is envelope you!

NEXT CHAPTER: Out Of Control >>

© 2009 John Leary