TELEMUNDO PARA BUSTER

SO I WAS BROWSING CRAIGSLIST looking fruitlessly for a job that didn’t require a degree or involve rectal cleansing. I was frustrated, bored, on house arrest, and I had been filing applications all week. None of them had called back. So there I sat, like Steve Butabi looking for more girls to reject him when, nestled between a request for a live-in maid willing to perform her job topless and a hedge trimmer at a senior center, was the headline “SEEKING SPANISH-SPEAKING CAUCASIONS[sic]!”

“Spanish Speaking Caucasian,” I said aloud, “Why that’s me, by golly!”

There was very little information, but it said they were casting for a Telemundo show. On a whim, I snapped a pair of Photo Booth pictures and sent ‘em in. Expect nothing, gain everything, my friends. The very next day, I got a call from Let’s-call-him-Miguel who asked me my Zodiac sign and was I available tomorrow at 3? I said yeah but I got a DUI so I can’t get there. No problem, says Telemundo Miguel, we’ll just send a chauffeur out for you. I almost cry at these words. A chauffeur? Pour moi? Well thanks, Miguel.

So sure enough, the next day at three my driver appears. I still don't know what the premise of this show is. We drive to the heart of East LA ghettoville to pick up two of the other 'contestants' on the show, where we see three (count 'em, three) arrests of vatos going down. The girls are not ready, so the Driver and I have a pair of cigarettes and out come the two raunchiest girls I have ever seen. One of them looks like a skeleton with makeup on and I spot the beginnings of a cold sore beneath the six ounces of lipstick she has on, and the other looks like the female Latina equivalent of of Jack Black. Apparently, the driver tells me, there is a chance that I will be kissing these girls for the sake of the show. I look back at the hoodrats in the backseat and laugh at the driver's naivete. I kiss 7s, fuck 8s, date 9s. These are 2s, and there is no chance I will be kissing these two, televised or not.

So we make it to the very, very rundown studio lot and I'm ushered into the tiniest dressing room ever conceived. Inside are my four other male costars, and a supper peppy PA who looks exactly like Chayanne, and two bottles of champagne. The others have been briefed already, and they're all professional actors, which makes me nervous. Chayanne gives me the rundown on what this show is all about. "It'th called Dothe Corathoneth," he says his fruity latin tone, "and bathically you will be competing againtht thethe gentlemen for the heart of one girl bathed on your Thodiac thign." The producer comes in, a 30-something latina broad with a retainer and a lazy eye, and assigns us our Thodiac Thigns (excuse me, Zodiac signs). I'm assigned Virgo, despite my being a Leo and, from what I'm told, one hell of a Leo at that.

Let me just say that I know nothing of Zodiac signs, so I begin to worry that I'm not going to know what the fuck is going on. Then I realize that I am Buster, and I'm a champion bullshitter. I also realize that I have a pocketful of Xanax and an untouched bottle of seven-dollar champagne at my beck and call. I take both into the bathroom, finish the bottle, and pop a Xannie or two. I am feeling good. I am in the zone. I am up to the task.

And thank god for my intoxication, because apparently, whether or not we stay on the show is contingent upon how well we perform the tasks to woo the girls. The first of these is to dress up in full Mariachi regalia and serenade them with song.

Another producer arrives and asks me if I'm okay and assigns me my song, which despite only having five minutes to memorize under the haze of alcohol and drugs, I can still recite. Here goes.

Para todas las Latinas For all you Latinas out there
Yo les traigo un regalote I'm bringing a gift for you
No son joyas ni dinero It ain't jewels or money
Si no este bello papazote It's this rockin' handsome Jew

The translation, as you may have gathered, is a loose one. But nonetheless, after making a Zoolander-style entrance and getting my Mariachi gear on, I was called to the stage by the hottest 40-year-old Latin woman I've seen up close. MILF STATUS. Anyway, my fucking mustache wouldn't stay on because instead of spirit gum, they were using scotch tape. Welcome to Mexican Television. I strutted onto the stage and did the Mariachi Stomp up to the girls, and sang my little heart out. After the last line, I naturally had to do something ridiculous, so I pulled my hat off my head, pulled it to my crotch, and hung it on my belt buckle so it looked as though it was supported by a massive erection. Then I toss my mustache off into the girls' section of the audience (the audience was divided into men on one side and women on the other) amidst screams and peals of laughter. The crowd is mine. The rest of the guys do their thing, but none of them speaks a fucking word of Spanish so they sound like crap and it's kind of awkward.

At this point, the girls pick who they want to eliminate, which is the guy two seats down from me who's sweet but kind of a moron. I almost get nervous when one of the girls picks me to be eliminated, but she was the only one who wanted to vote me off so fuck her.

We take a break for commercials, and one of the girls asks me who I'm with. I'm like, "I'm here by myself." She goes, "No, who are you with?" I tell her adding "no" to the exact same question does not change the fact that I don't know what the fuck she's talking about. She laughs and says "What agency?" I say, "The Craig's List Agency" and she just looks kind of shocked. Apparently her agent actually booked her for this thing.

The hostess of the show walks by and I ask her how we should pick if we like her instead of the contestants. She laughs and gets something to eat. On the way back, I flirt with her for a few minutes and joke about her having shit in her teeth. She laughs again and says, "Chocolate!" and I rub her cheek to brush some brownie remnant off. We go back to our positions.

Next challenge up: Pole Dance time. I won't go into the details, but it consisted of me climbing up the pole and doing my best stripper slide to the ground, then humping it for thirty seconds until they cut.

Apparently the girls had no challenges, which was bullshit, but whatevs. The last bit was great.
I had to recount a story of how I'd gotten a girl to fuck me who didn't speak English. I have several of these stories, so I picked my best one (I'll type it out later, I have a meeting to get to) and let her rip. The hostess made fun of me for the length of the story, so she made me pick up a mannequin (like, pick up a mannequin in a bar, not physically pick it up) and tell me how I'd get her in the sack without touching her. We cut to the commercials and the guys rave at me and tell me I'm the best.

Back on the air, and down to the wire: Who gets to pick who? This part is interesting. The girls get to pick guys based on attraction, but the guys have to reject or accept based on who's willing to kiss who. The producer comes over and naturally, the two girls I have to kiss are: A, the hottest one there and I'd give a finger to fuck, and B, Herpelip from the car ride over. I say fuck that, I'll kiss A but I ain't getting an STD for the sake of your show. They say it's a stage kiss, there's no tongue. I remind her that Herpes are not spread by the tongue, and she leaves in a huff. The other male contestants are actors (read: whores), so they assign the pretty kid to stage-kiss with Herpelip and Hottie. Instead, I get to do my favorite thing in the world:

REJECT BEAUTIFUL WOMEN WHO WANT TO MAKE OUT WITH ME.

Little Miss Taurus comes up, a 98-pound Latina Iman who many, many men would break old ladies' knees for a date with, and I look at her, hold her hands, pull her close, and SHUT HER THE FUCK DOWN. I am having a blast. I sit back down. Surprise surprise, the next girl picks who? Shut up, she picks moi. I tell her she's too fucking short for me. The next one comes up and describes her perfect man, looking at the ugly fuck to my right most of the time, then she says "Virgo!" and I'm called to the stage once more. I'm on a roll, baby. I tell her I don't like her tattoos and up close, she doesn't smell that good. SO NO, THANKS BUT NO THANKS. The fourth girl comes to the stage. There's no way I've managed to capture the hearts of four Latin hotties, is there? Oh, wait, yes there is. In spite of my drunken douchebaggery, she picks me, and I get to reject my fourth fuckable Latina of the night. She almost cries, and shoves me as she does the walk of shame off the stage. I cackle with laughter and return to my seat. Then, in the scripted part, pretty boy and Herpelip make out, and I laugh at the bullet I've dodged. Then the other girl comes up and simply says "Ese", and points to Pretty Boy, they stage kiss, and we wrap.

I flirt with the hostess of the show some more and she gives me her number. I LOVE MILFS. Then Chayanne grabs me and says it's time to pick up my compensation for the show. We walk over to a folding table and hands me a stack of tens. I'm like, whoa, we actually get paid for this shit? I had a blast! I count the stack to see what I've earned for dressing like a mariachi, pole dancing, and grinding on a mannequin, and the total is a whopping 80 dollars in cash.

Apparently that is the price of my dignity.