LISTA DE MUERTE 5: DIA 1 (FEARLESS)
Este es el asunto: Adrián y Hernán apostaron conmigo que no sería capaz de escribir el borrador definitivo de “Hydra” en los próximos 5 días. Son hermanos y amigos, conocen mis virtudes y mis defectos y saben de sobra que entre los primeros no se encuentran la puntualidad ni la facilidad de concentración (exagerando sólo un poco, yo parafrasearía al tío Paul Shrader cuando hablaba de cierta prostituta adolescente que él conoció –no me pregunten el contexto- y decía que tenía “la capacidad de concentración de un niño de cinco años”) Saben de sobra que necesito el triple de tiempo y por eso han hecho una apuesta muy dura conmigo, que me traerá graves consecuencias. Así que, a modo de diario de una derrota anunciada, comienzo la cuenta regresiva en este preciso instante para a quien pueda entretener. Mañana cuento avances y retrocesos.

Mis enemigos de esta semana: a la derecha un Adrián y a la izquierda un Hernán en versión “feka”.

Después, mis "gurús" del día: ICP.


La canción del día que ilustra mi estado de ánimo ante la gran tarea es la siguiente:

“FEARLESS” de Insane Clown Posse (CD “Bizaar” 2000)
I'll go to Alaska, bitch slap a polar bear and take its foodI'll mow the fucking lawn, on a land mine field like what, boomI'll roll a m-80 up in some papers, and smoke that shit upI'll share a dirty heroin needle with that dirty bitch Courtney LoveI'll run around the white house lawn, naked and screaming and busting shots at himI'll scratch my back with a chain saw, oh yeah, got itI'll walk through Compton alone, in sport Wranglers and a cowboy hatI'll head-butt a fucking unicorn, come here bitchI'll stand on a stump, and let you trim my toenails with a axeI'll sucker punch a gorilla, and then try to run with a banana hanging out my assI'll fucking become pen-pals with the unibomber and let him send me packagesI'll drive a ice cream truck through Ethiopia talking about free ice cream sandwiches[Chorus 2x]What's the matter, what's the matterwhat's the matter, are you scaredwhat's the matter, what's the mattertell me are you fearlessI'll let Sam Kinison borrow my car, if he was still aroundI'll bungee jump off a crane with only a spaghetti noodle tied onI'll clinch my butt cheeks shut, while a ruthless alien tryin' to probe meI'll receive an operation on my eyeball, while riding in a dune buggyI'll finger fuck a toilet, and French kiss a light socketI'll pick up a hooker with a deep voice, "Hi, my name is Jenny, Nah, no I wouldn't"I'll take all my clothes off, and run up and bear hug a cactusI'll sneak up to slick rick and snatch off his eye patchI'll eat a bowl of cluster bombs and spread jellyfish on my toastI'll fucking grease my ass up, and sit on top of a flag postI'll shoot a game of pool, with the grim reaper and then let him beat meI'll meet Jeffrey Dahmer at some kinda of bar let him take me home and eat me[Chorus 2x]Whats the matter, what's the matterwhat's the matter, are you scaredwhat's the matter, what's the mattertell me are you fearlessI'll through gang signs at the booya tribe up and downs like whutI'll hunt Michael Jackson's plastic surgeon tell him hey do me upI'll put my lips on a 81' novas exhaust pipe and smoke that fuckerI'll fuck a chick raw with crabs so big red lobsters trying to catch'emI'll start a record label and invest everything I got on M.C. HammerI'll wear a pink bikini thong and walk right through the slammerI'll take a chrome desert eagle 45 put it to the dome and dump itI'll go to a big ass bee hive on a tree, drop my drawers and hump it[Chorus]What's the matter, what's the matterwhat's the matter, are you scaredwhat's the matter, what's the mattertell me are you feared[repeats until end]