Chicharito Spills the Beans

♫Ay, ay, ay, ay! Canta y no llores!♫

A quick look at our site stats suggests most of you sick, sick readers are only here for Aaron Ramsey scat pr0n, pics of “elokobi body”, and the “cyprus fantasy premier league code”. So you probably don’t expect to find quality insights and hard-hitting journalism here. However, one of our intrepid sources managed to score some face time last night at the cantina over cheladas with none other than Javier “Chicharito” Hernandez. We’ve got an exclusive transcript of what the Little Pea had to say, after the jump.

Más tequila, bartender! What a day, man. I don’t get it, güey. I am a simple, hard-working vato from Guadalajara. I come to Manchester to work for Señor Alex, pinche gringo. He tell me if I work hard and train everyday, he will make me a star!

At first, everything nice. I play, I score some goles, que padre. Sure, I have to fight for playing time with Meester Rooney, El Danny and El Dimi, but everything was good. Señor Alex takes me on the road, we go everywhere. Over the summer, I work very hard and play in many pinche games in South Africa and China against cabrones who can’t even lick my botas, you know what I mean, cabrón? It was going to be a good year for me.

Then, out of nowhere, Señor Alex hires that putito Robeen Van Persie. Arveepee! I say to myself, “No mames, la chingada! Que mierda es esto?” But I keep working hard in training. I keep my head down and do what Señor Alex says, pinche gringo. After all, I am Chicharito, the star of El Tri! I am not scared of putitos from Amsterdam, güey.

So this morning I come to Old Trafford, put on my pinche suit and tie for road games, pack my bag and line up for the bus to Goodison Park. I even put extra gel in my hair. Then Señor Alex walks by and says to me, he says, “Paco! Listen lad, you’re not on the bus today. Report to Carrington instead. Oh, and bring a sombrero and some work gloves. That’ll do, lad.”

I do not know why Señor Alex always call me Paco. My name is Javier, not Paco. Pinche gringo. And why did he ask me to bring a sombrero? I don’t know, but I show up at Carrington like he told me, and there was the grounds crew. They tell me to grab a lawn mower and get to work! Cabrones! I am the star of El Tri, not some huevón gardener! I have a work permit. My father played for El Tri, órale! Que madre!

You know why this happened? Because of that putito RVP. He took my yob! He squash me like a bug! I am Chicharito, not Cucaracha! I hate him with the all the violent passion of a Juarez cartel drug lord. And I will have my revenge, cabrón. You wait and see.

I will wait for him outside his casa. Then when he comes home, I will say to him, I will say, “Robeen Van Persie! My name is Javier Hernández Balcázar. You kill my career. Prepare to die!”

Más tequila, bartender!

Ed note: a rough night for Chicharito, no doubt. We wish him all the best in his future endeavors. Except with El Tri, because fuck ’em.

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