"Ay yay yay. Mi sombrero es mui GRANDE!"
He decided to begin a quest at once, to find a hat more suited to his personality than a big ass sombrero.
Shmelmo looked in his wallet, only to find $2.74.
"All right!", he yelled.
Shmelmo ran out the door, tripping on his Teen Magzines, and hopped in his Yugo, his sombrero making the door entry more difficult than needed.
The hat store closes at 5:00pm, and if he hurries he can make it in time to buy a hat before they close!
1 Oh Shit... He Didn't Make it. So he decies to break in the glass... Upon His entrance he is thwarted by the spanish speaking Taco Bell DOG... Aye Aye Aye... he screams as.... 2 the cute little taco mascot leapt for his throat and started tearing away at his poncho. 3 At that moment, from the back of the store came a loud hissing noise. 4 And Lo and behold Don Juan DeMarco comes marching from the back store room. Trailing behind him the longest trail of women any single person has ever seen 5 On closer examination, they were actually large lounge lizards. It seems that Mr. Depp had gotten too far "into" his role as Hunter S. Thompson, and was having a bad flashback. Sadly, not a one of them was sporting the Latin headwear that was the object of Shmelmo's lusts. 6
Returning his thoughts to matters at hand, Shmelmo regarded the stunted canine currently gnawing at his carotid artery. The poor little guy, Shmelmo thought. Or at least, that's what Shmelmo would have thought if he had been capable of English internal monologues; the actual words amounted to something more along the lines of "norble grink phlarpitt," which in the noble tongue of Shmelmo's ancestors can be loosely translated as "holy fuck, there's a rat-dog at my gullet." 7 Ceasing the rat-dog by its mane, Shmelmo prized his neck from its sharp teeth, whipped out his shortsword and slashed it from ear to ear. Blood gushed from the short incision as the would-be-rodent's heart continued to pump. Being a man of limited resources, Shmelmo instantly saw the prospect of what he held in his hand. He turned to the people abouthim and.... 8 screamed, "The beast has been slain! You need not live in fear any longer! You are no longer captives of the evil rat-dog's kingdom!"
Shmelmo paused, and silence ensued. Around him stood hundreds of amazed onlookers, stunned by their new freedom. Don Juan suddenly hollered, "NO MORE RAT-DOG!", and did a spontanious backflip. Cheers erupted from he crowd, and Shmelmo was hoisted up onto their shoulders.
"Please", Shmelmo attempted to yell over the deafening roar, "ALL I WANT IS A NEW HAT!" 9
"And new hats you shall receive!" proclaimed Don Juan, "But for now, praise and adulation! We must celebrate! Join me at... 10 José's Haberdasherie, on the corner of Cuervo and Gold!" The amorous De Marco daintily toed the cadaver at his feet. "But first, my friend, I must away to my oceanside retreat, and change my simple-yet-dashing garb. I will see you in... oh, ten minutes?" Juan took Shmelmo's ignorant gape to be an affirmative. "Very well, then," De Marco added, before hesitating a moment. A few forceful (yet oddly mincing) strides brought him directly before the still unenlightened Shmelmo. Juan firmly grasped his cheeks and planted a lingering, tongue-laden kiss directly on Shmelmo's lips; this lasted for several minutes before the ermine-clad lover of legend disengaged with a wink and a whispered "for luck!"
The adoring masses now began to thin, as all of the would-be revelers made their way to the site of a party destined for the history books. As Shmelmo watched Mr. Depp's swishing, swaggering strut away, two ideas vied for dominance in his thoughts; 1) I thought Don Juan De Marco was a guy, and 2) what's a 'haberdasherie?'The newly renowned Spanican stumped his uncertain way after the crowds, taking heart in the thought that maybe, just maybe, his newly won fame could help him find a hat, preferably a big, wonderful sombrero.
Soddenly, Shmelmo sighed. He was allowing himself to be distracted. No, José's Haberdasherie, on the corner of Cuervo and Gold, would simply have to wait; Shmelmo needed to find a hat store. 11
Being a man of the world, Shmelmo found a cybercafe and negotiated a shaort amount of net access for only $1.00. He logged on and hastily reaquainted himself with a world he had once known intimately. He typed in www.askjeeves.com and proceded to ask jeeves for the addresses of the local milliners. He was determined he would find a hat, and besides, he had heard that an entry requirement of the swish establishment he was to go to was a strict dress code including a smart hat! As usual, Jeeves came through with the goods. There was a hat store, a milliners, just around the corner. He logged off, paid the cashier and made his way to the shop. As he entered the door, a quaint little bell alerted the miliner of his presence. "Can I help you, amigo?" ventured the milliner.
12 "Shit on a shingle!" quod Shmelmo. "Hector Aswípe!" Our hero simply was not prepared emotionally to confront his childhood nemesis. As children on the condom plantation, Shmelmo lived in constant dread of Hector. Bigger than most of the other kindergarten slave laborers, at 32 years of age Hector towered over his peers and could usually cow them into submission. Now, once again faced with his antagonist, Shmelmo instinctively assumed the classic submissive posture of his people: pants around ankles and ass-cheeks akimbo. 13 As he got into the familiar posture, anger began to well up inside him. "NO!" he screamed. "You shall not degrade my people any longer! We SHALL be free of your tyranny!". With these words Schmelmo was engorged with courage. Then, he noticed that his pants were still around his ankles and his shirt was not quite as long as it should be. 14
"Good lord! And to thought I had seen some nasty plumbers!" grubmled Aswípe, "This takes the cake. Can you even go 10 minutes without embarrasing yourself somehow?"
The answer happened to be no, since at that moment, Schmelmo's toupe slid off of his head, fell down behind him, and hit the floor. Bad enough as that was, Schmelmo didn't even realize he had been wearing it in the first place. 15 Immediately, our hero's teeth began to chatter. His abnormally low body temperature was originally what had prompted his quest for sombrero, and now what little insulation his scalp had been enjoying was now gone.
Shmelmo decided to play it cool. "Pardon, señor," he groveled. "I am looking for a hat. Perhaps you have some?"
Aswípe looked poor Shmelmo up and down. "Hmm," he mused, scrutinizing Shmelmo's noggin. "You look to be about a size 32-stupid."
Shmelmo was impressed. "Very close, sir, but I'm actually a 32-IGNORANT." 16
With that, Shmelmo peeled off each of his white gloves in rapid succession, and proceeded to slap Aswipe across each cheek.
"This, sir," Shmelmo stated with an air of defiance, "is a duel." 17 Promptly he pulled out a leather case and opened it. "Choose your weapon señor". Hector was flabbergasted by what he saw inside... 18 "I'll take the tommy-gun," Hector declared.
"Damn, That leaves me with the Rainbow Trout." But Schmelmo was a brilliant strategist, and he had a plan for outwitting Hector and his machine gun, using nothing but the dead fish and his expired credit cards. 19 Shmelmo's plan was simple, yet genius in it's own right. "Ten paces", he said solomnly, "turn and shoot."
Hector began walking, and Shmelmo began counting.
"One... two..." Shmelmo's grasp on his trout tightened.
"three... four..." Hector narrowed his eyes.
"five... six..." Shmelmo wet himself.
"seven... eight..." Hector grinded his teeth.
"nine... .... ...."
Shmelmo took off running with his trout, dodging stunned onlookers, and causing Hector to fire recklessly into the crowd. 20
Shmelmo looked back in terror... He hadn't seen so many mexicans drop to their knees since he watched "Brown Rice - The international gang bang championships" on XXXpn last year! 21
We here at RANT would like to take this opportunity to beat Sechy Monkey senseless. We now return you to the Story of Shmelmo. 22
Shmelmo hastily hotfooted his way across the bare asphalt, with the voice of the vengeful Shmelmenian deity, Webadmin, still ringing in his ears. "Christ God," our hero whispered fervently. "This SechyMonkey fellow must be quite evil indeed to have so aroused the mighty Webadmin's wrath."
Unfortunately, once again had Shmelmo's innermost thoughts failed to wend their way through his larynx intact. To wit, those around him swore to their dying day that the sprinting Latino garbled something reverently, a something that sounded not wholly unlike "nipplegrarbingefrararararFUCK."
Suddenly, unexpectedly and completely unbidden, a very odd thing happened to Shmelmo--he had an idea. Perhaps Webadmin could aid Shmelmo's seemingly doomed quest, and even wreak some little vengeance for those trespasses visited upon his honor!
"O dread Webadmin," Shmelmo thought, "mightiest of all forces on this world and any, Ye whose very whim causes the stars to shake, yea, even unto ruin; great and wise Webadmin, all-powerful, all-knowing, all-ass-kicking, I beseech Thee hearken unto monody I maketh unto Thee, and deign grant this boon to me, wretched supplicant though I am!"
Now, had our pathetic and ninny-pated protagonist been able to actually vocalize this prayer intact, the awesome Webadmin might well have bestowed upon the sniveling Shmelmo all he asked, and more. However, the best that Shmelmo's unschooled tongue could come do was "Jesusfuckin'Webadminpissonthebuggerersan'gimmeagoddamnhat."
These words are those that fell upon Webadmin's ear, and He heard them, and heard that they were NOT good, despite all of the other things that were. Unfortunately for Shmelmo, Webadmin's mighty mind came to a decision in a flash, and the very firmaments shuddered with the resonations of His implacable will given voice:
"That little shit needs a good smiting. TOO right he does." 23