Category Archives: El Guapo

Daddy, Are You Dying?

“I can’t see the stars,” I said.

I was talking about the glow-in-the-dark dots on my son’s new space-themed pajamas. He was excited about them, as only a two-year-old could be, and he wanted to show them off to me. But they were invisible to my eyes.

“Why?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. I would probably be able to see them in a few seconds, once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness; but it also occurred to me that my sight just wasn’t as good as it used to be. Eliot’s was better.

“My eyes aren’t as good as yours,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

Once more, I paused.

“Because my eyes are old,” I said at last.

Why are your eyes old?” he asked.

“Because I’m old!” I said.

This time, Eliot was the one who paused. During the silence, I began to make out the stars on his shirt, but I couldn’t see the expression on his face as he looked at me, processing what I’d just told him. When he finally answered, his voice was much quieter and more serious than it had been just moments before.

“You’re dying,” he said.

I stared into the darkness. He was only two. He had seen plants and flowers die, but as far as I knew, he’d had no cause to think about people dying. Had someone told him about the connection between old age and dying, or had he just known? I suddenly had a spooky feeling that perhaps Eliot’s mind was connected to some well of universal truth—a source we all begin life connected to but then lose touch with as we grow out of childhood.

“Daddy, are you dying?” he asked.

“No, buddy,” I said. Not yet.

After we said good night and I closed his bedroom door, I couldn’t get his little voice out of my head. Daddy, are you dying? Just how much did he know?

It wasn’t until the next morning, as I was walking him to the playground, that I would get another hint as to what was going on in his mind.

“Daddy,” he said, “I don’t like you.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’re old.”

I laughed, even though it actually hurt a little.

“Well,” I said, “when you get old, I will still like you.”

He looked up at me, eyes narrowed.

“No,” he said. “I will still like you.”

A moment later, he was running toward the slide.

The Chronicles of El Guapo (Entry 8)

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Dearest Minions,

Once again, an almost inexcusable amount of time has lapsed since my last status report. I can only plead that life is busy when the universe revolves around you — and I know that you will understand.

The past few months have been eventful. Just two weeks ago, my most trusted minions abducted me and held me hostage at a fishing resort in Bemidji, Minnesota (of all places). I resisted fiercely, screaming at the top of my lungs throughout the multiple plane rides, but to no avail. The only rewards for my effort were glares from my fellow captives, those poor souls who were belted to the seats surrounding me on the flight.

In the course of the ordeal, my maternal minion caught a fish:

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My paternal minion stood on a rock:

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And I attempted to dig my way out of captivity using nothing but a few pots and a discarded ice tray:

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I was unable to escape on my own, but fortunately, my parental minions did at last come to their senses and take me back home, where I am once again deeply entangled in schemes of the utmost significance.

Time is short, and I must now set my pen down and return to my pressing duties. As always, I exhort you to remain steadfast in your devotion to the Cause.

In Virtue and Splendor,

El Guapo

The Chronicles of El Guapo (Entry 7)

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“I wear my bib like a cape.”

Dearest Minions,

I shall keep this message succinct, seeing as I have recently infected every last one of my fawning servants with a nasty case of the stomach flu and am now charged with the burdensome duty of nursing them back to health.

My nefarious and cynical enemies (of which I have many — make no mistake) scoff at my attempts to essay commentary on the state of world affairs. They foolishly suggest that eight months of life is far too short a period within which to develop any credible perspective on matters of appreciable magnitude. I shall endeavor herein to prove such pusillanimous skeptics wrong.

The observation that I wish to share today is at once profound and trivial, and it is simply this (if you will allow me to quote myself):

When everything is being said, nothing is being said.

I say this, of course, in reference to the vapid, contradictory absurdities being spewed forth by the various news outlets whose logos are featured in the following montage, which I have ripped shamelessly from a Google image search containing the words “news logo montage”:

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The sentiment of this observation is admittedly similar to the thoughts penned in my paternal minion’s essay on white space (be sure to click on the white space, or you may miss his message). It is also humorously reminiscent of the words of the great mushroom expert John Cage (look him up), who famously said, “I have nothing to say, and I am saying it.” Perhaps by saying nothing, Cage was in fact saying everything.

I suppose that this nothing-everything duality that has emerged in the media (and has arguably existed for all time, even before I burst onto the scene eight months ago) is a mere glimpse, at one particular scale, of the fractal nature of existence itself, which physicists are just now beginning to suppose might in fact be nothing.

And so I leave you with a simple poem:

Everything from nothing,
And nothing again from everything.
Meaning is in the middle.

These thoughts are enough to make one wonder just how big the chasm is between Zen Buddhism and nihilism. Perhaps they are One.

In Virtue and Splendor,

El Guapo

[See the previous letter from El Guapo.]

The Chronicles of El Guapo (Entry 6)

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Dearest Minions:

I write to you this day to disclose tidings that will undoubtedly cause your hearts to resonate with my own in unparalleled joy. First, however, I must warn you that the contents of this disclosure may be more than marginally shocking to many of you, for they will reveal that I am susceptible to the very same longings for love and companionship as ordinary mortal humans. Continue reading only when you are sure that your mind and body are of sufficiently robust constitution to digest this revelation with minimal ill effects.

My disclosure is this: I have found love. Yes, it was as surprising to me as it surely must be to you, dear Minion, for I believed, as all of you did, that nowhere on this earth, from the deepest valley to the highest mountain peak, could ever be found a companion of sufficiently radiant excellence to be worthy of partnering with a figure as eminent and illustrious as I. But as we all know, life frequently has a way of proving us wrong, often in humbling ways, and that is indeed what has happened in this particular instance.

Without further ado, I present to you the following two photographs, that you may behold the angelic recipient of my affection. I am sure you will all agree that her youthful mien is charming beyond verbal description. With unreserved confidence and utter certainty, I can declare unequivocally that the world has never known a fairer maiden than she.

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From the outset, my encounter with her restored within me a belief in those romantic ideals of love and the indomitability of the human spirit. Accordingly, I made all appropriate advances with characteristic boldness, while maintaining absolute propriety and the fullest possible respect for her personal dignity. It was gratifying (though unsurprising, needless to say) to find that she welcomed and returned my affection in equal measure. When our hands touched, sparks flew; and, I am not embarrassed to admit, drool flowed.

In summary, I have met my equal, and she is a damsel beyond compare. Never fear, however, that I will allow this newfound love to distract me from our great cause, dear Minions. I have forgotten neither the prize for which we labor nor the many comrades who support me with their blood, sweat, and tears. We will prevail. Indeed, there is much worth fighting for.

In Virtue and Splendor,

El Guapo

[See the next letter from El Guapo.]

[See the previous letter from El Guapo.]

The Chronicles of El Guapo (Entry 5)

 El Guapo in Carrier

Dearest Minions:

Of late, I have been occupying myself with rather frivolous pursuits. Call it a vacation, if you will. In any event, I have been directing my Parental Minions to serve me around the clock with various forms of entertainment. It is exhausting for them, but I know that they feel justly rewarded by the smile on my face, and so I do not feel guilty about placing such onerous demands upon them.

The photograph above is an example of one of our many activities. Note the embarrassingly goofy smile on my Paternal Minion’s face. The image shows us engaged in a hobby that I like to call “Inverted Puppeteering.” Although I am the one hanging like a marionette, it is I who am pulling all of the strings. I have become so skilled that I can now direct my Paternal Minion’s every move effortlessly via subconscious thought.

And just today, I granted my Paternal Minion the privilege of performing drunken acrobatic maneuvers while emitting childish noises. At the end of his shenanigan, I reciprocated by toppling over in a goofy fashion. I normally would not engage in such unbecoming behavior, but every once in a while one has to throw one’s minions a bone. It was worth it; you should have seen how ridiculously cute he was when he laughed! A pity the camera was on me and not him, though that is certainly as it should be.

In any case, here is the video:

I wish all of you the best, and I exhort you to remain faithful to our great cause.

In Virtue and Splendor,

El Guapo

[See the next letter from El Guapo.]

[See the previous letter from El Guapo.]

The Chronicles of El Guapo (Entry 4)

ElGuapo_and_CatDearest Minions:

El Guapo here. Allow me to open this missive with an apology for permitting such an unconscionably prolonged interval of time to have lapsed without apprising you of the various goings-on that have taken place since my previous communique. I can scarcely imagine the heart-wrenching distress that the resulting state of perpetual uncertainty must have caused you, even as you continued to labor faithfully for the furtherment of our great cause. Please rest assured that the depth of my gratitude toward each and every one of you for your unwavering devotion knows no bounds.

I have, of course, been mightily busy, contending with the mountain of gravely important tasks that continuously threaten to overwhelm me every moment of the day. In addition to my heavy involvement in the milk trade, I have continued my work in the field of sleep deprivation — and with phenomenal success, I am happy to report! Furthermore, there is yet another never-ending task about which I have not previously written: the regular soiling of infant undergarments. Several times a day, I am presented with a fresh, highly-absorbent undergarment, which it is my duty to soak and stain by all means at my disposal. As you can imagine, these burdens leave me precious little time for other pursuits. I scarcely even have time for the twenty hours of sleep that any decent human being requires in a day!

Nevertheless, I am at present free to dash off these few words and provide you with an amusing photograph (furnished at the top of this message), which I hope will provide you with a moment of levity. In my spare time, I have been practicing the arts of disguise and dissembling. The attached photograph, for example, was taken by my paternal minion as I posed beside a stuffed cat. Such are my skills now that I suspect even the sharpest-eyed among my minions — yes, even those who spend the better part of each day serving me at close quarters — have little more than a fifty percent chance of correctly identifying me in the picture. By all means, try your hand at it, and let us laugh together at the results!

Having said that, I should now like to strike a more sentimental note, recognizing that my desire to do so is likely a symptom of my advancing age. (It has nearly been a full three months since my miraculous escape from the oubliette in which I was ensconced during those nine months of unspeakable horror.) Before proceeding, however, I must first reveal that I am the figure on the right in the above photograph. (Surprised? Well, don’t be embarrassed.) The cat, of course, is therefore the figure on the left, and it is precisely the history of this cat that has put me in this sentimental mood. I hope that you will indulge me as I endeavor to explain its significance.

The cat was purchased by my paternal minion as a gift for my maternal minion when he decided to make known his intention to enter into matrimonial union with her. You see, this cat, known as “Robo-Cat” in Chinese (or, when translated more directly, as “Machine Cat”), was my maternal minion’s favorite cartoon character as a child. One of Robo-Cat’s most interesting traits is that he has on his belly a magic pocket, from which he can withdraw nearly any magical object one can imagine, including a doorway that allows one to traverse great distances in a single step.

During the course of their whirlwind courtship, my maternal minion had disclosed to my paternal minion that as a child she had often fantasized about having access to the same sorts of magical paraphernalia as those contained in Robo-Cat’s pocket. Thus, my paternal minion decided to place a ring of matrimonial commitment into the pocket of the stuffed cat for my maternal minion to find. He presented the cat to her on her birthday, and she discovered the ring with tearful delight. The rest, of course, is history (and will be well-known history once I have secured my dominion over the universe).

Even now, as I write about this beautiful moment in my parental minions’ exquisite romance, an overwhelming feeling of warmth wells up inside of my very bowels. Or . . . Oh. Perhaps it is merely time for another fresh undergarment.

In Virtue and Splendor,

El Guapo

[See the next letter from El Guapo.]

[See the previous letter from El Guapo.]