May He Rest In Pieces

I feel bad. Juancho took my challenge to heart (as he always does, the big lug), went back to the refuge and tried to get a close-up of the biggest gator out there.

A tourist heard the thrashing, and looked over just in time to see his left cycling shoe disappear into the mouth of this behemoth. I got there as soon as I could and took the situation in hand, but it was too late to do anything but tape the monster’s mouth up and pose for the local press. I think Juancho would have wanted it that way. That’s his girlfriend off to the right, wearing his reflective riding vest in remembrance, and his three greedy brothers in the background arguing over who gets his digital camera. He threw his camera clear at the last second, thinking of others even at the horrific end.

So let’s send up a tribute. Here’s to Juancho. Even his death is a seemingly impossible, yet strangely compelling tale.


10 Responses to May He Rest In Pieces

  1. Isn’t that a shot from when you were getting your pool redone after the tree fell on it? Everything’s big in Sasquatchia.

  2. S’quatch, Juancho’s Mama reads this blog. Want me to have heart failure? My son, born in redneck country, whupped by a gator? Too much for me to bear!

  3. lopo,

    I’m not sure who you are, but this is no time for false maternity claims. Everyone knows that Juancho came into this world under mysterious circumstances and was raised by feral cats (in the woods behind the mall) until he was seven.

    If it’s money you’re after, his will is clear that his entire estate goes to “the little children everywhere.” As soon as we figure out how to divide his various debts and get the word to these children, we’ll be doing so.

    I know it’s hard times out there, but have some decency.

  4. Juancho be very, very good to me. He love me long time when no other man be alive in my village. He the best man I know that day when no other man be alive in there.

  5. I never liked that guy. I am going to get Pete to ride a wheelie over his grave. I’d do it if I could, but alas, skill evades me, once again, in my hour of need.

  6. Next thing you know, he’ll be wanting brains. Brains BRAINS he’ll say.
    And his elbows won’t bend too good.

  7. listen here you nutters….he’s not on the islands with elvis and tupac. He wasn’t raised by feral cats….and never satisfied poor village girls, quite the opposite really. Juancho was seen just moments ago with che in sarajevo. he took fidel’s private jet (the poor old man can’t fly due to his illness) to belgrade and we smuggled him across the border into bosnia with al=quaeda operatives in a hand carved wooden canoe across the drina. i will keep you all updated on his well (or not so well) being. hasta el juancho siempre