EVERY SELF-RESPECTED CHOLO HAD TO BE CURRENT ON THE FINE INTELLECTUAL READINGS OF LOWRIDER MAGAZINE – OK, MAYBE NOT SO MUCH THE READING, BUT MAYBE, ACUTELY VERSED ON THE ANATOMY OF THE FINE FEMALE CREATURES ACTING AS HOOD ORNAMENTS.
The moment the Senators had been waiting for had arrived and it came at the end of practice – they found out when they would be getting uniforms.
“Senators, I have two announcements to make – one, Gilbert here will be our new assistant coach and two, I have some news about your uniforms.”
“The Milpitas Rotary Club has agreed to sponsor us and we will all be meeting after practice on Tuesday next week for pizza at Mountain Mike’s and uniforms.”
“Make sure to write your sizes down on my list and the number you want – there is no guarantee you will get either, so let’s just hope for the best ok!”
Coach Deanda was kidding right? “No guarantees on either,” what in the heck did that mean – “no guarantees on either!”
The Kid took his turn with the clipboard and at first wrote down “size large” and then nervously scratched that out and wrote “x-large” with the number choice of 44 – ala Reggie Jackson.
The Kid needed a ride home and he threw off the rest of the catching gear as fast as he could so he could beg a ride from Steve the Giant and his brother Gilbert.
“Steve, do you think your brother would give me a ride home since I have a little bit of a problem with my bike over there?” The Kid begged.
“HAHAHA, C’mon, I’m not sure I can even get a ride home with Gilbert. Grab that end of your bike and I’ll carry the other end and we’ll just put my bike and your piece of **** in there before he notices.”
Gilbert was packing up his aluminum bats and was talking with Coach Deanda as The Giant and The Kid made quick work of shoving the two bikes into the back of the old camper.
There was just enough room in the back for the two bikes and two covert stowaways who happened to stumble upon Gilbert’s latest edition of Lowrider Magazine.
The Giant did the honors of flipping through the pages as the two boys gawked at the huge, ummm…tires, when suddenly they heard the driver side door to the camper creak open.
“Shut Up! The Giant motioned with his mouth and finger as Gilbert climbed into the camper’s driver seat and ripped out of the parking lot in his normal B-A-D A-S-S M.O. (Modus Orangutan).
The camper drove down the road for about half a mile before The Giant and The Kid couldn’t help but burst out in laughter at a cartoon in the magazine illustrating a fat Cholo character farting in a swimming pool and claiming the bubbles were from a non-existent Jacuzzi.