“I had this patient strut into my office like he was Latino Heat once. He acted like a hot shot, yet he desperately wanted a psych exam. After spending twenty minutes listening to him detailing every life experience he’s ever had, he finally got to the point…”
“Everyone treated him like he’s beneath them: like he’s a dog.”
“Right when I was about to ask him why he thought that was, I saw it— a tattoo of himself on his thigh smiling right at me.”
“As a medical professional, I tried to hold it together while he blabbered on about how he sparred with Chael Sonnen once and that Bob Burnquist taught him to skateboard years ago in Rio, but I just couldn’t get that damn tattoo out of my head.”
“Because while this guy talks a big game, and despite all his experience, a tattoo like that made him a walking contradiction.”
“How could I, a mere psicólogo, break it to him that he’s lame as fuck?”
“Don’t you see, oh self-proclaimed Pride of Mexico? I’m having the same problem with you.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard how you’ve wrestled black bears in Canada, and you’ve rambled about the viejo’s stories more than my professor spoke about the Hippocratic Oath in med school.”
“You strut around and call yourself The Big Bad to anyone within earshot.”
“Big Bad what?”
“Has living with coyotes turned you into the Big Bad Wolf now?”
“Your stories are great, you sound really cool and all… but what’s with the chibi self-portrait on your trunks, ese?”
“That alone changes you from a big bad wolf to a little yippie chihuahua in my eyes, and that’s why I can’t take you seriously.”
“Someone needs to level with you, and as your doctor that responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders.”
“Which leads me to exactly my point: you’re a walking contradiction, cabron. Who you say you are doesn’t match up to who you really are.”
“You’re little and lame.”
“All those years ago I didn’t have the heart to diagnose my patient as I should have, and he walked out of my exam room like the contradiction he was. But I get to rectify that mistake with you by doing what I should have done then…”
“I’m going to put you down.”
“Verbally and physically.”
“You aren’t big or bad like you say you are. I look down on you, not because of your experience, but because your chibi trunks make you about as intimidating as a little chihuahua nipping at my heels, trying desperately to take my shiny sapphire belt as your chew toy.”
“But you will never take my Mettle Championship from me, perro.”
“All that you’ll take from me is your medicine, and ohh, yo tengo tu remedio, El Grande Malo.
“When you step into my veterinario officina at Unmasked, my lethal injection will render you lame like the pequeño chihuahua you are.”
“Yip, yip, yip…”
“Now, who’s a good boyy?”