Dos Equis

The Best of Life is But Intoxication

Inside of a hotel at the Best MidWestern Motel, Dos Equis was staring at a wall, tapping a magic marker on his chin, as if he were deep in thought. He took off the cap, inhaled the heavenly fumes deeply, then closed the lid again. After his eyes stopped watering, he continued to stare at the wall and pontificate. The camera swung around to reveal that NFW's Drunken Luchador had been busy writing on one of the hotel's walls. It showed the latest New Frontier Wrestling Power Rankings. World Champion Joe The Plumber was on top; then National Champion Rook Black; then Television Champion "Snorathon Man" Impulse (Dos Equis' edit); then Tag Team Champions the Hollywood Wrecking Crew. What came next were the top 10 singles wrestlers: Steve Knox, Teresa Quaranta, Doc Curiosity; Felix Red; Cameron Cruise; Brock Alyas; Legion; Dos Equis; High Flyer; and Vic "The Bull" Tarano.

XX: Need to get into the top five to challenge for a middle-tier title. Well, Alcoholicos, I lived up to my word. Cameron Cruise is NOT the TV champion. This makes me very, very, very, very happy. I was sooo happy, that I had one of the flunkies backstage get some exclusive audio from inside Cruise's locker room after he didn't win the match.

Dos Equis holds up a digital recorder and hits play.

Crying Baby: WAAAH! WAAAHH! WAAAHHH! WAHHHH!

XX: Hahahahahahoohoo. Ah, sweet victory. The Drunken Era has only just begun. And Cruise, we're not done by a long shot. But before I get to you, I have dos pieces of business to attend to.

XX: Primero: Legion. You are ranked number seven, and I am ranked number eight. So it's real simple, Legion. You want to speak of chaos? Then you must speak of Dos Equis. For two Rejects to be defeated by one woman – well, as Shania once said, that don't impress me much. Look, just because some guy you knew in ninth grade signed up for your web site doesn't impress me much either. If you want to keep doing your stupid little videos whining about the Heel-In-Chief, that's great. You want a taste of chaos? Put on an aluminum foil mask, gloves and boots, a green cape, play with General Lucintheskywithdiamonds and your underage minions in the backyard, and quit ruining my alcoholic buzz. Your chaos should not be televised, or even paper wasted for writing down the script for your video. Keep this up and I will Beersteinerer you through your stupid little propaganda table outside the arena off a van or large dieciocho-wheeler.

XX holds up the digital recorder and hits play again.

Crying Baby: WAAAH! WAAAHH! WAAAHHH! WAHHHH!

XX: Ah, how much I hate Cruise…Next piece of business! Phil Atken! I feel like Bret Hart, compinche. You totally screwed me out of the TV title on Crash. For this, you must pay. I don't care if it's in Cincinnati or Cleveland, I demand vengeance! In the form of a Luchador Death Match! Here's how it works, Phil, President Mayfield and your crack booking team. Let's say after I pin you, you have diez seconds to get up. If you get up, before you can continue, you must down un shot of tequila. Then the match continues. If I pin you again, which I will, and if you get up by diez again, which is very doubtful, you would have to down DOS shots of tequila. And if I pin you a tercer time, and somehow you manage to crawl your urine-soaked body up out of a pool of your own bloody vomit, then you must down not just un, or dos, but TRES shots of tequila!

XX: Well, Alcoholicos, we're just about out of time for today. Remember: Dos Equis, being reasonable, must get drunk. The best of life is but intoxication. The drunk era is envelope you!

Fade to –

BANG, BANG, BANGBANGBANG!

XX: This seems ominous.

Dos Equis heads to the door, then cautiously looks through the peephole. All he could see was a piece of paper with a caption scrawled on it: To be continued in Cleveland…

NEXT CHAPTER: Future Shock >>