| "Get out of my way, you pathetic runt," snarled the seemingly enormous woman as she veered sharply to avoid tripping over Edward Niño Hernández. Flipping her a tiny bird, Hernández watched as she turned the corner before daring to speak. He was, he knew, a broken little man. |
"That perra tonta would have been all over me a couple of days ago," Hernández observes bitterly. "Now all of a sudden I'm not good enough for her. It just goes to prove what I've always said, these putas are all the same... [continued here]
Could it really have been a scant nine months ago that Edward Niño Hernández finally achieved his childhood dream of growing up to be crowned the world's shortest man? He had long harbored a secret resentment towards his skimpy superior He Pingping, which suddenly seemed meaningless when his rival departed this mortal coil after a short illness. It was a whirlwind five weeks of nonstop action where, ironically, nothing seemed beyond his reach. Then tragedy suddenly struck for the 27½" Pride of Bogotá, as the Guinness World Records Committee caustically cut him down to size by crowning 26½" Khagendra Thapa Magar to the title that Hernández had held for such an wee amount of time.
"It was brutal, you no?," asked Hernández, using the abbreviated form of 'know'. He usually speaks in rapid fire short little sentences punctuated by frequent curse words, which actually seems kind of cute when you see them emanating from his meager mouth.
"I was like cojeme, that hijo de puta is only eighteen years old. I had to wait until I was twenty-four to take the title. I'm telling Guinness, hey, give it a couple years, how do you know the sawed-off pendejo won't grow. And you know what? He did! A full pinche inch and a quarter! Of course I've also grown another quarter of an inch, so technically Magar and I would be tied for the title, but I guess it really doesn't pinche matter because now you've got another eighteen year old hijo de puta who's only 23½". Mierda! What the does a nanus have to do to get a little respect?"
"Vete al infierno, Junrey Balawing. If that's you're real name. 23½"? I'm calling you out for doping, pendejo, because nobody could be that short without some sort of human anti-growth hormone. Yo mataria tu!"
"Yeah, but Guinness doesn't care. All those conchatumadres at Guinness ever cares about is getting their names in the paper no matter who's heart they have to break, the pinche maricóns. But me, I'm doing fine. I'm still waiting for a callback from John Waters, but I've got a commercial for those Reese's Minis in the can that's going to be running on all of the Spanish stations in South America... Kinda cute. It opens up with me about to bite into one of the peanut butter cups and it looks completely normal until the camera pulls back and shows me standing beside a pit bull. Very good acting, because I'm telling you, that puta was enormous. But then, Edward Niño Hernández doesn't scare easily. I've got ice water running through my veins. Just about a pint, but I know at the end of the day, I'm a smaller man in my heart than any of these other bastardos."
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