Read Online The Cowboy Bible and Other Stories by Carlos Velázquez - Free Book Online

de la Cruz. Famous for its cholos and male prostitutes and, oh, for the quality of the coke sold there. Don Devil himself begins the auditions after midnight and a toke. According to some folks, he could start earlier but he never misses the five o’clock telenovela and at around eight he takes off for the gym. He dines at ten and then, yeah, the proceedings begin. I’d been told the lines could get as long as a bank’s, or like those at soccer stadium box offices. But I was pretty much by my lonesome. Maybe because it was Sunday and everybody was still hungover. There were just four of us. There was a man in front and, oh, how he loved to argue. It was Old Man Paulino, a corridos composer determined to show Satan that spiders are oviparous. I’d also been told Don Chamuco liked a little pussy. But it wasn’t true. The truth is that when it was my turn, he treated me with cool efficiency. I was told to go to window number four for a stamp, then to number twelve for various signatures, and then at the register I finally signed the contract for one soul. I waited fifteen days for my new aptitudes to arrive via DHL.
    When I count to three and clap my hands, The Cowgirl Bible will wake up and not remember any of this. So, one two three, and you’re back, said the very portrait of the salon’s teenage cowboybiblish hypnotist. Now, let’s dismiss the doctor. Thank you for your help. Please pick up your honorarium. Thank you.
    And now let’s return to the story.
    The words quoted above, directly from The Cowgirl Bible, are excerpted from the book Black Magic: Real or Mental Cumbia? , authored by Dr. RHA. During various periods, more or less from cool to post-cool, The Cowgirl Bible thought that by going to therapy she could rid herself of her belief in Satan, and that way she’d be free of her deal and it’d be impossible to take her soul. But no way, you can’t play crooked on the king of crooks, lord and master of smuggling, software piracy, and made-in-China Virgins of Guadalupe. Time takes its toll, and it wasn’t long (a space of about five centimeters that’s found between the fingers when spread out as if the hand were a kite) before The Cowgirl Bible felt the twenty-three grams of her soul being seized.
    It was a year, then two, that the Devil hadn’t shown his face at PopSTock!. He was very busy, with Jorge Reinoso, representing malice in Almada films. Around that time, The Cowgirl Bible’s third record debuted at the peak of the Top 40 lists, right at number one. Her single, Subscribe to Marie Claire, was nominated for song of the year by Esténcil Miusic Aguords because of its use of pastiche, le collage, and cats-up with the electric razor.
    And then it happened: She was invited to take part in the recording of Celso Piña’s DVD, Cumbia Power . Celebrating his twenty-five years of playing vallenato , the DVD would capture a live concert of Celso’s hits accompanied by various invited guests. This was, both superficially and at the deepest level, a helluva privilege: to play alongside PopSTock!’s favorite son. Only a very select group of artists would play with Celso onstage, which seemed to indicate that The Cowgirl Bible’s career had been forged by fire and would come roaring out of the flames. Could she—drunk and drugged—dance naked to The Return of the Son of Monster Magnet † and keep her rep unscathed? She, had, in fact, already done it at some party. In time, that would become one of The Cowgirl Bible’s very few appearances on film.
    The Cowgirl Bible could barely remember Hungry Daddy Freaky Satan when, out of the blue, another messenger appeared to muddy the waters. Be careful, warrior girl, because the feds are looking for you, they warned her. At a personal level, this kind of threat can be used to rationalize a farewell tour, featuring the corresponding DVD and the enjoyment of many accompanying honors. How many celebrities, late in life, at the time of their death, would take care