Post by SANGRE on Jan 31, 2023 0:58:23 GMT
When people think of Lynx, they have no hesitation blurting out words and phrases like “work horse”, “veteran”, or “mentor”. Much to his chagrin, they’ll never say “champion”.
However, one fact about Lynx that is rarely discussed, likely due to the morbidity, is his bout with kidney cancer. Although he defeated cancer, Lynx’s mind and body will never forget the cruelness of nature and life's fragility. Ever since the recovery, and likely due to neurosis, Lynx is self-prescribed to a stringent diet and exercise regimen. This relentless dedication to a healthy lifestyle is often the butt of the joke from MEZA, a die-hard fan of anything fried or sugary. Like a parent begging a child to eat mushy baby food, MEZA will plead for his coach to expand his culinary horizons.
But not tonight.
“Tonight’s on me, mijo!”
Following the ROAD WARRIORS event...
As Lynx hops into their traveling van, he tosses MEZA a can of beer. The suds is caught without issue, but MEZA’s face exhibits nothing but shock and awe. He tries to make sense of this:
“B-but-w-wait? Coach? Why?”
“Mijo, I’ve wrestled against Troy and Knight more times than you’ve seen your pepinillo... I’ve never won. For once, I can feel the blood warm enough to flow from these Chicano veins. As if I’ve been climbing this... mountain my whole life, always wondering what beautiful valleys and... mesas... appear beyond. I can see them now, mijo, and they are screaming for me. We must go to the sirens that beckon us.”
“I need a translation, Coach.”
“Let’s go fuckin’ dancing.”
We cut immediately to Lynx gyrating on the dance floor of some trendy Michigan night club. It’s only been an hour since they were escorted through security like big shots, but the liquor has far surpassed one half of the duo.
MEZA can’t help but feel some mystification while he watches his mentor from a bar seat. Is this a mental break? Do I stop him from indulgence? Is it from... the cancer? As he sips his whiskey sour, MEZA’s mind ping pongs from worry to elation. In all of the short years that Lynx mentored him, the student never witnessed any deviation from his own torturous diet.
A handful of cash slaps the bar next to MEZA.
“Four shots of Tequila for me and my boy.”
MEZA halts the transaction with one hand and grabs Lynx’s arm with another.
“Coach—I get your excited. Trust me, I’m in the clouds with joy that we beat Troy and Knight. I get your past and them being champions and all. But this?”
A puzzled frown turns into a delighted smile. Lynx takes a deep breath, temporarily regaining his sobriety, and reassures the closest thing he’ll ever have to a son:
“Mijo, that fact that you think of my well-being... it means the absolute world. But—if I don’t allow myself to feel these then the asshole cancer wins. Simple as that. We’ll go back to being boring and healthy manana.”
MEZA projects a frown of disapproval before slapping his own cash on top of Lynx’s:
“Only if I get first round...”
Within minutes the boys are throwing back shots like it was toilet paper in 2020. We see a series of shots where the intoxication escalates accordingly:
Lynx, with a tropical colored drink with an umbrella, steps forward like a crip-walking Frankenstein’s monster while yelling “MOSTAZAAAAA”. MEZA keels over laughing and spilling his drink.
Later, Lynx rips open his button shirt and demands that MEZA chop him:
“CHOP ME, HOLMES.”
MEZA’s chop completely misses the mark and slaps Lynx in the throat, causing him to spit it all over the bar.
Finally, MEZA piggy backs Lynx out of the club and through an alleyway before collapsing in front of a community board. The two drunkards brush off any injury with giggles. MEZA gets to his feet and notices numerous giant posters on the board:
“I BELIEVE IN DORADO – ROAD WARRIORS, 1/21/2023
MEZA rips the poster from the board, crushes it into a ball, and misses it as he attempts to punt it away.
“Fugg dat Dorito, Cooch.”
Lynx also rises to his feet and gently pats MEZA’s face.
“He’s dun nerthing to us, mijo. He’s [pounds chest] good man. Good chimpion. Butter than one who’s neder ‘round. He Pollo, but he good Pollo.”
“No sech things as good Pollos.”
MEZA drags his hand from the top of the board to the bottom and tears down each Dorado poster. Standing in a pile of his undoing, he admits:
“I dun’t belweeb in Dorito. Not today. Not never.”
However, one fact about Lynx that is rarely discussed, likely due to the morbidity, is his bout with kidney cancer. Although he defeated cancer, Lynx’s mind and body will never forget the cruelness of nature and life's fragility. Ever since the recovery, and likely due to neurosis, Lynx is self-prescribed to a stringent diet and exercise regimen. This relentless dedication to a healthy lifestyle is often the butt of the joke from MEZA, a die-hard fan of anything fried or sugary. Like a parent begging a child to eat mushy baby food, MEZA will plead for his coach to expand his culinary horizons.
But not tonight.
“Tonight’s on me, mijo!”
Following the ROAD WARRIORS event...
As Lynx hops into their traveling van, he tosses MEZA a can of beer. The suds is caught without issue, but MEZA’s face exhibits nothing but shock and awe. He tries to make sense of this:
“B-but-w-wait? Coach? Why?”
“Mijo, I’ve wrestled against Troy and Knight more times than you’ve seen your pepinillo... I’ve never won. For once, I can feel the blood warm enough to flow from these Chicano veins. As if I’ve been climbing this... mountain my whole life, always wondering what beautiful valleys and... mesas... appear beyond. I can see them now, mijo, and they are screaming for me. We must go to the sirens that beckon us.”
“I need a translation, Coach.”
“Let’s go fuckin’ dancing.”
We cut immediately to Lynx gyrating on the dance floor of some trendy Michigan night club. It’s only been an hour since they were escorted through security like big shots, but the liquor has far surpassed one half of the duo.
MEZA can’t help but feel some mystification while he watches his mentor from a bar seat. Is this a mental break? Do I stop him from indulgence? Is it from... the cancer? As he sips his whiskey sour, MEZA’s mind ping pongs from worry to elation. In all of the short years that Lynx mentored him, the student never witnessed any deviation from his own torturous diet.
A handful of cash slaps the bar next to MEZA.
“Four shots of Tequila for me and my boy.”
MEZA halts the transaction with one hand and grabs Lynx’s arm with another.
“Coach—I get your excited. Trust me, I’m in the clouds with joy that we beat Troy and Knight. I get your past and them being champions and all. But this?”
A puzzled frown turns into a delighted smile. Lynx takes a deep breath, temporarily regaining his sobriety, and reassures the closest thing he’ll ever have to a son:
“Mijo, that fact that you think of my well-being... it means the absolute world. But—if I don’t allow myself to feel these then the asshole cancer wins. Simple as that. We’ll go back to being boring and healthy manana.”
MEZA projects a frown of disapproval before slapping his own cash on top of Lynx’s:
“Only if I get first round...”
Within minutes the boys are throwing back shots like it was toilet paper in 2020. We see a series of shots where the intoxication escalates accordingly:
Lynx, with a tropical colored drink with an umbrella, steps forward like a crip-walking Frankenstein’s monster while yelling “MOSTAZAAAAA”. MEZA keels over laughing and spilling his drink.
Later, Lynx rips open his button shirt and demands that MEZA chop him:
“CHOP ME, HOLMES.”
MEZA’s chop completely misses the mark and slaps Lynx in the throat, causing him to spit it all over the bar.
Finally, MEZA piggy backs Lynx out of the club and through an alleyway before collapsing in front of a community board. The two drunkards brush off any injury with giggles. MEZA gets to his feet and notices numerous giant posters on the board:
“I BELIEVE IN DORADO – ROAD WARRIORS, 1/21/2023
MEZA rips the poster from the board, crushes it into a ball, and misses it as he attempts to punt it away.
“Fugg dat Dorito, Cooch.”
Lynx also rises to his feet and gently pats MEZA’s face.
“He’s dun nerthing to us, mijo. He’s [pounds chest] good man. Good chimpion. Butter than one who’s neder ‘round. He Pollo, but he good Pollo.”
“No sech things as good Pollos.”
MEZA drags his hand from the top of the board to the bottom and tears down each Dorado poster. Standing in a pile of his undoing, he admits:
“I dun’t belweeb in Dorito. Not today. Not never.”