Depending on where you are exactly and whom you ask, you will indubitably get a completely different and seemingly random response to your inquiry regarding the origins of the creature known as Mario Suazo.

Some people seem to believe that Mario Suazo is indeed an organic entity, but that he is also an utter genetic anomaly. These people believe wholeheartedly that Mario Suazo has been around since at least the Dark Ages and are open to the “possibility” that he’s been around much longer, perhaps since the beginning of human life on the planet. They sight as evidence Mario Suazo’s animalistic inclination towards blunt carnage and destruction. They sight as evidence his seeming inability to enunciate his words without sounding as if his jaw has just been stuffed overflowing with gravel. These people sight as evidence his seeming invincibility despite an ostensibly human appearance.

“He’s obviously human,” they will tell you. “He’s got flesh and bone and I’ve even heard of him bleeding on occasion. No doubt he’s a primitive man… of some sort.”

Others, conversely, are not so easily swayed. Human appearance and stature aside, these people believe Mario Suazo has been present somewhere in the Universe since the beginning of Time. They believe him to be a demon or ghoul of some kind. They don’t buy into any theories that Mario Suazo is mortal, by any means. Cut off his head, these people say, and he’ll simply pick it up and stick it back on and continue on with his day.

“I’ve never seen a human being stop a car speeding in his direction by punching it,” these people will say. Then they will add, rhetorically: “And besides, what is the viability, what are the odds, statistically speaking, of this ‘genetic flaw’ occurring at any point in history?”

 And yet others believe he is a certifiable monster. The genuine article. These ones believe that he was homegrown in some madman’s basement. They reckon that Mario Suazo’s person is a twisted amalgam of several different serial killers, petty thugs and animal species. His brain is obviously the result of some kind of splicing, they say. They reason that at his core Mario Suazo is half mass rapist and half wolverine, and they point to as evidence little more than the highly unlikely aforementioned scenarios proposed by the other theorists. Obviously he is not a genetic anomaly. Obviously he’s not a demon. It would be ludicrous to assume that those sorts of things exist in this boring ol’ world.

“But science,” they will say, “science is possible. Technology is possible. In fact, the technology doesn’t lie. It has proven itself capable of many glorious and horrifying things. Mario Suazo is only one more step in the evolution of scientific practice, one more step on the ladder of technology.”

But NOBODY believes Mario Suazo was simply and reasonably born into this world like everyone else. Nobody believes he is made exactly of the same stuff as you and me. Nobody believes he is simply aman. There is simply too much evidence that suggests otherwise. Nobody really knows where he comes from or who his parents are (although several people claim to have seen him pick up a car and throw it at his mother for her refusing to pay his rent), and nobody knows what has caused him to become what he is… so their only recourse is to make this shit up.

For nearly two decades he has been the stuff of cautionary tales around town. When I was in middle school and high school, parents would actually use the threat of Mario Suazo being out and about as a ruse to keep their children in line. (i.e. “If you don’t get to bed this instant, Mario Suazo’s going to come through that window and dismember you, limb by painful limb.”) This strategy was so effective that an inordinate number of high schoolers made it home by curfew for fear of any strange and terrible Mario Suazo encounters. Teenage pregnancy in the town dropped dramatically for several years during some of Mario Suazo’s more prolific years. Obviously, I haven’t been around long enough or often enough the past decade to know this is still the case, but I imagine it’s sort of difficult to pass yourself off as a ghoul as you’re teaching taekwondo classes on Monday and Wednesday nights at the local elementary school.

Manny Furious never pictured him as nothing more than a caveman who somehow ended up in our time. He never pictured him ambling in and out of polluted caves just outside of Rio Frio somewhere, dressed in little more than a saber-toothed tiger-skinned loincloth and wielding a massive wooden club. He never pictured him rubbing sticks together on top of a pile of petroleum to start fires to cook his freshly slaughtered meal of swamp rats and kittens. He never pictured him as the star attraction in a metropolitan zoo somewhere where the handlers have doped him up and made him so docile that bratty, over-privileged, W.A.S.P.y little kids can pet his head and feed him out of their palms.

He didn’t picture him as any of those things, because he believed there was nothing primitive about him. He is purely and solely the product of Civilization. Only technology and the irresponsible use thereof could manifest something as violent and thoughtless as Mario Suazo. Only in Civilization could be produced slavery, war, genocide, poverty, famine, the plague, firearms, the atomic bomb. And only in Civilization could something like Mario Suazo be brought into existence.

Mario Suazo was so devastating a person that the cops and “authorities” were even frightened of him. Rio Frio’s Sheriff had outright refused to confront Mario Suazo ever since he turned 11, because, as The Sheriff put it in an official town hall meeting: “That fucking kid will rip my head from my shoulders and use it as a goddamned bowling ball!”

On the rare occasion when law enforcement officials do confront him, Mario Suazo usually ascertains possession of their tazers and puts them to use against the police officers, themselves… usually in their groin areas or eyeballs.

Nevertheless, it takes a particular combination of circumstances—life-rhythm, lifestyle, friendships, dumb fucking luck, dumb fucking fantasies involving his girlfriend, etc—for someone to actually encounter Mario Suazo. My understanding is that most people have actually never come face to face with the beast outside of his taekwondo class or prison/jail. Most people have simply heard stories about Mario Suazo from second and third-hand sources or from reading about his exploits in the “Crime and Police Reports” section the local newspaper.

Nevertheless, it takes a particular combination of circumstances—life-rhythm, lifestyle, friendships, dumb fucking luck, dumb fucking fantasies involving his girlfriend, etc—for someone to actually encounter Mario Suazo. My understanding is that most people have actually never come face to face with the beast outside of his taekwondo class or prison/jail. Most people have simply heard stories about Mario Suazo from second and third-hand sources or from reading about his exploits in the “Crime and Police Reports” section the local newspaper.

The Third Time Manny Furious saw Lemon Crush….

The third time Furious saw Lemon Crush, he was at the front of the hospital, talking to El Crow and Pedolo about the lack of character development for Goku in the Dragon Ball Z series. He had brought this point up with his own clients on numerous occasions to emphasize the importance of having supportive, loving relationships toward not just minimizing the symptoms of mental health and substance use disorders, but toward increasing feelings of well-being and happiness in general. Most of his clients had never actually seen a signle episode of Dragon Ball Z or its affiliate series, and therefore had not a speck of dust of a clue of which he spoke. But the gist of his point was thus:

That Goku, the protagonist of the series, was basically of the same personality and character during the nearly 30 years and more than 600 episodes of the series which consisted of Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, and Dragon Ball Super (And, perhaps, maybe, Dragon Ball GT, but who knows?). He is still the good-natured, loyal, but oblivious, naive, self-centered dolt he’s always been. On the other hand, the character of Vegeta, the one-time antagonist of the series, but current secondary protagonist, has gone from being a violent, genocidal psychopathic villain to a genuine family man and defender of life. Furious attributed Vegeta’s evolution to his, Vegeta’s, relationships with his wife Bulma and children, Trunks and Bulla, all of which are supportive and loving relationships with people whom, perhaps most importantly, wholly accept Vegeta for who he is–which is a surly, defensive, insecure, egotistical little man. Paradoxically, however, by accepting such traits, they have slowly worn the edges of those traits, while cultivating the loyalty, friendliness, pride and protectiveness that were also inherent in Vegeta’s character. In short, the character has changed and grown through the dynamics of his relationships. Goku, conversely, is married to Chi Chi who, while not a bad person by any means, does not accept Goku as he is and who is always trying to forcefully change his character traits. In response, Goku, as any person would, resists the push to change, and thus stagnates as a character and a person.

Such dynamics are as true for Japanese cartoon characters as they are for human beings, as anyone who has ever tried to change someone can attest to.

Furious was explaining this theory to El Crow and Pedolo as Lemon just happened to walk by.

“What are you guys talking about?” Lemon asked with a chuckle and friendly, curious tone (as opposed to an intrusive, nosey one).

Holy shit, Furious thought. He was too engaged in the topic of conversation and had missed the shudders of his Lemon Crush sixth sens trying to alert him of her presence. Instead, she had seemingly materialized from the depths of the ether. He was shell-shocked, as if he had bitten down unexpectedly on a fork.

He stared at her dumbly, uncertain of how to direct either his thoughts or his tongue.

El Crow looked at her dumbly and with sheer incredulity. How dare she intrude so rudely on this intimate discussion?

Pedolo looked at her dumbly, because that’s pretty much the only look he has.

“Okkk…” she said, rasiing her eyebrows and pursing her lips.

“Hub..a..da,” Furious managed to mumble. Stupid fucking word virus. The only consistent antidote is the presence of someone you find painfully attractive. “Dragon Ball Z”

“Isn’t that a cartoon?” Lemon asked.

Anime,” El Crow corrected her.

“Anime. That’s Chinese right?”

“Japanese.” Pedolo’s head wound corrected her.

“You got all of that from watching a Japanese cartoon?” She asked. “That’s so interesting.”

“Hub…a..da,” Furious replied. The word virus now nearing full remission.

“You wouldn’t understand,” El Crow said, dismissively.

“Well, maybe I would. I’ll check it out and let you guys know what I think,” she said. “Besides, sounds like something my son might enjoy. Thanks.”

With that, she ambled away, walking in that jolly, swaying way that annoyingly content human beings have a tendency to do.

After several beats, El Crow and Pedolo returned their attention to Manny Furious. With Lemon now removed from his presence, the word virus began to reboot itself in his CNS, but that took a lot of his body’s attention, and he stayed frozen, watching Lemon get smaller down the hallway, before turning down another hallway and disappearing completely.

“What the hell are you doing?” Pedolo’s headwound asked.

Furious didn’t respond.

“Yeah, what the fuck is your problem?” El Crow said.

Furious’s attention returned to the present moment.

“What?” he asked.

“Why are you leaning like that?” Pedolo asked.

Furious looked down at himself, and noticed he was still leaning heavily toward the direction where Lemon left to. He looked like a bent straw, and his lower back began to seize.

“Oh, huh. I don’t–”

He straightened up, wiped something imaginary from the front of his shirt. And the three went back to talking about despite his lack of character development, Goku’s biggest asset is his good-heartedness, which is so pure and unadulterated, it has allowed him, throughout the series to change other characters, generally villains who he has fought against, into friends who fight with him.

Secret Admirers

Manny Furious woke up early on New Year’s Day because he’s a loser who didn’t stay up all night getting drunk. Plus he had work, because he somehow had gotten himself a job that requires people dumb enough to apply for the job to work holidays. Anyhow, the sun was out bright but it was visibly frigid outside and he turned up the thermostat, which has a mechanism that would allow him to schedule it to kick on automatically at certain times of the day and to specific temperatures, but even seven years of living with such a luxury is not long enough, apparently, to combat his natural laziness and refusal to make the effort to learn how to engage such a mechanism.

He jumped onto the internet and scrolled through facebook, liking everyone’s New Year’s posts, except it was 7:30 in the morning, and he became self-conscious because everyone would realize he was up so early and therefore a loser who didn’t stay up all night getting drunk. So, first he wrote a tanka that went:

Every other year

I seem to have a midlife

crisis. It bodes well

for my longevity, I

attempt to convince myself. 

Then, he checked his email.

Much to his surprise a “secret admirer” had sent him a message stating:

“To a very handsome man,

                May the New Year bring you much joy and find you in the

                perpetual protection of the Angels, Buddhas and Immortals.


                                                                                 Your Secret Admirer”

That was nice. He had always wanted a secret admirer. Beginning in his youth, and even occasionally in the present,  he had often times borne the misfortune of being a secret admirer himself, but had never had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of one’s affections or overtures. That, combined with the unexpected blessings of good will made his eyes well and forced him to fight back tears…although one (or two) managed to manifest through sheer will.

He took a screenshot of the email and forwarded it to his old buddy, Fat Milo, hoping it would make him envious. To Furious’s surprise Fat Milo was awake and texted Furious back immediately.

“You sent it to yourself, last night. Right before you went to bed, probably,” Fat Milo texted, circling the 9:30pm time stamp in the corner of the email with a digital red marker.

“So?” Furious texted back.

“So…what’s the point?”

“I always wanted a secret admirer,” Furious texted, simply.

Furious lamented his ever-present laziness, once more, in failing to establish a new, fictional email account instead of using a pre-existing one under his own name.

He ventured into the frost and into work, and spent the rest of the first day of the new year looking up pre-Socratic Greek philosophers on Wikipedia and playing chess frustratingly poorly on his phone. Basically, activities that didn’t require him to actually do the job that he was getting paid to do.

He also wrote the following poems:

The Cold and I–

When did we become

Such bitter enemies.


                                                      kept jerking off in public. 

                                                     When asked what the hell

                                                     he was doing

                                                    he stated he only wished he could address

                                                   his hunger

                                                  by rubbing his tummy. 

                                                 What an