What is love? Is it simply a chemical imbalance in the brain? Is it infatuation?
Compadres, love is so much more…
I have loved many women: Silvia, Josefina, Teresa, Leticia, Evita, Alejandra, Gabriela, Rosa, Araceli, Margarita, Maria, Adora, Adriana, Esmeralda, Jacinta, Tequila, Jesusa, Maricela, Ana, Paca, Dominga, Prozalda, Jonweldi, Vigilia, Fallita, Aania, Nestabeardia, Tralfandra, Lupercalia, and many more who I can’t recall. Each one of them held my being as if it was their own. My soul was entwined with all of them.
A strong Latino man is complete with his weaker female counterpart, and there were innumerable wondrous counterparts. I penetrated their hearts like Zorro’s truculent blade of love. To say that I was a Don Juan is understatement. There was no Latina skirt left impermeable from my machismo. They flocked to me. They yearned for me.
However, the void that I felt deep down wasn’t satisfied. Latina women weren’t cutting it anymore. I needed someone better to share my heart with. Someone who could appease my insatiable virility.
Drawing my memory back into childhood I remembered an image on Telemundo. Such graceful beauty, unmatched in contrast to Latinas… Then my neurotransmitters jolted and I spoke her concupiscent name: Alison Doody! Oh, how my heart raced whenever Indiana Jones was on Telemundo. Such Irish flair and friskiness! I required an Irish woman pronto to deflower with my virile salsa.
If you think about it, the Irish and Latinos are very similar aside from pigmentation. Both have large religious families, enough income from labor to put food on the table, and grande livers to consume large quantities of Corona/Guinness! The perfect match!
Compadres, go forth and make green beans! Miscegenate with the Irish!