December 10, 2009
Morning has broken
My new morning ritual: Watching a variety show called “Don Cheeto” on Spanish-language EstrellaTV.
I stumbled on it yesterday morning as I was flipping through the cable looking for news.
Stupid Jeff and his stupid gringo behaviors.
All this time, I could have been watching Don Cheto.
The host, who is the namesake of the show, is a giant Hispanic tubby who, yesterday, was wearing an orange Guybera shirt, fake blond wig and moustache and a cowboy hat.
What caught my eye? A midget dressed as Chucky running around with a knife and sickle throwing sombreros at everyone in the band.
Then the highly attractive strapless chicas in the band returned fire.
Rebuffed, the miniature man then ran to head-butt the camera.
This must be what it's like to live in Gary Busey's head.
For good measure, Latin Wee Man (who resembled Mitch Albom more than a little bit) then trashed the set and writhed around on the ground committing a very diminutive tantrum, during which he threw a knife at Don Cheto's bulbous Latin groin.
I am exactly this easy to amuse.
I had no idea what was going on or what the people on the show were saying, but a warm bath of euphoria swept over me as I was watching. I felt like Bill Hurt in "Altered States," simultaneously depriving my senses while bombarding my brain with too much cerebral stimulus.
If there is such a thing, I may have been experienced a "television high."
I stumbled on the show as Salad Boy was having breakfast. As I walked him out the door to go to his bus stop, I said, “Adios, muchacho.”
He said, “Dad, please don’t start talking like that show.”
I make no promises, mi amigo. No promises at all.