Help! I’m dating the daughter of a cartel boss!
Let me tell you a tale, a cautionary one at that, for you may yet find yourself in this situation, from one gringo to another. You’ll think I’m not like him, I can be better. Nicer, more polite, stronger. I welcome you to try but don’t say I didn’t warn you when you get cut up and turned into Taco Bell meat, I barely got out alive myself. So listen friend, and listen well, while I tell the tale of the cartel from hell.
Ooh baby, you should have seen this chick! Drop-dead gorgeous, perfect blonde hair, pretty smile, rockin’ body! And legs?! Yep, those too. I moved to London a while ago and since arriving the ladies have been coming like Horde Mode on Gears of War, just when you manage to amputate the last clingy one and you think you’re free, another one runs at you trying to slob your knob. But there was something different about this girl. I met her when I was walking along in the park one day. She was scurrying over with glasses on and a bundle of college textbooks in her arms and, due to her scatterbrain nature wasn’t looking where she was going and bumped into me. Luckily I was a gent and offered to help this nerdy girl pick her books up, but then her glasses fell off and her hair came loose and it turned out this nerd wasn’t a nerd but actually a stone-cold babe, score! We got to talking, bit of flirting, you know how the ladykiller does it. Eventually I had to go so I asked for her number and she wilfully obliged: 07987 231890.
(If you need a visual aid, here is a picture of Cara Delevingne)
After a few texts we agreed to meet. A lovely coffee date, I’ll spare you the details of our sordid encounter, suffice to say it was classic stuff from me, bit of “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” type patter. It all went swimmingly, we shared a kiss as we walked along the pier, got some ice cream and one date quickly led to another, and another, and yet one more after that. After some time we got close enough that she asked me to meet her family. I say “family”, I learned that really she doesn’t have much of a family as in fact her mother died when she was young before she birthed any more children. This left her and her dad alone with each other. I listened to her telling me this (“Aw, nooo… That’s terrible… I’m so sorry”) and agreed to meet her at her family home the next weekend.
I arrived that Saturday a bit nervous, I was trepidatious walking up to the door, I barely even registered how nice their house was, one might even call it a mansion, it looked like the kind of place some Mexican drug lord would have owned, wondering how her father afforded such a swanky pad, I knocked on the door, trying to assure myself that I was a perfectly nice boy that no reasonable father could have a problem with.
(If you are reading this story to your children, do a cartoonish Mexican accent for this next bit) Hey ese… You the guy that’s been seeing my daughter, huh hombre?
I was dumbfounded, this man was a Danny Trejo lookalike in a Tony Montana outfit. This was especially weird because his daughter was very white and blonde. He had appeared clutching a large knife and smoking a cigar, the perfect vision of a Mexican drug lord. I sheepishly stepped forward and reached out a firm, yet trembling hand, for a handshake, “So, what do you do, sir? How do you earn your keep?”
Only three gringos are ever gonna touch my daughter, hombre: The first one was the doctor when she was born and the last one’ll be the tailor of the dress she wears to the funeral of whichever poor white boy was the middle one.
This was a hell of an introduction, but I knew that how I established myself now would dictate our relationship for as long as I was seeing his daughter. I steeled myself and bit back “Hey listen ‘homes’, I’m dating your daughter whether you like it or not, so if you’ve got a problem with that, you can fuck right off back across the border!” I immediately felt a thump on the back of my head and hit the dirt.
I awoke several days later in a daze. Looking around I could see I was on a garbage barge. With aching joints and feeling extremely rough I hoisted myself up and started searching for any members of staff on hand to assist me. This was a relatively small barge so I was in line of sight of one immediately. So I sauntered up to this man casually, trying to seem like I pretty much knew what was going on, I just needed it confirmed. “Say fellow, it’s just slipped my mind, would you remind me where this ship is going and where we are?” He gave me a bit of a snooty look as if he was wondering how I got onto this garbage barge without knowing where it was going, bit rude. He then sighed and said “Think we’re somewhere near the Maldives, mate. And we’re about 12 hours away from arriving at the big volcano in the sea where politicians burn all their incriminating files, so we’re gonna drive straight into that and burn up too obviously, you should really know this.”
This was not what I wanted to hear, nevertheless I said “Ah yeah, course it is, I did know I just couldn’t remember exactly, cheers mate.” And I walked away with a thumbs up. Fortunately, while I was awaiting this grim fate I stumbled upon Jacob Rees-Mogg’s laptop and, once I had gotten past all the child porn pop-ups, began spinning this epic yarn to relay to you, friend. As this black box of a laptop runs out of battery life, I plead with you: Heed this warning, do not let the same thing happen to you, before you go on a date with any girl in the future, ask her straight up “Are you the daughter of a cartel boss?”… Now I think about it, I don’t know if that’s what he actually was, never got that confirmed, I just assumed.
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