I begin as a shy student drawn to the demonstration out of curiosity. Eva Mendes is on the stage making a speech that is as honey on fire. Her magnificent figure is packed into a proper student’s outfit with a Mao jacket thrown over it for that touch of sexy red arrogance. Her impassioned plea for the rights of fruit pickers awakens the patriot within my shell of youthful bourgeois reticence. As the demonstration is dispersed by the General’s paramilitary police with tear gas and riot guns, I run to her. I capture her attention for a brief, thrilling second and utter but one word; “Gracias!” Eva Mendes nods politely and slips away as I succumb to the tear gas and collapse in a sobbing heap.
When I am released from jail, I vow to become a warrior for the people, and to one day do it with Eva Mendes.
In the ensuing months I emerge as the dashing leader of the people’s
insurgency. From our base in the Yutain Mountains we are a formidable
armed resistance to the General’s regime. One night our comrades from
the city bring supplies for us. Eva Mendes, stunning in peasant
clothing, is among them. She doesn’t recognize me as I have developed a
hard, revolutionary physique and a charismatic air. Her wide, dark eyes
consider me. Once we are alone with the twinkling constellations above, I
shower Eva Mendes with poetry and song. She blushes. I grow too forward
by brushing her cheek with my hand. She slaps and curses me. I beg her
forgiveness. “You are no gentleman,” she says, “You are a horse!” It
sounds cooler in Spanish. Anyway, she leaves and I don’t see her for a
Under pressure from our insurgency, the General forms a coalition
government with us. There is a ceasefire, but the general’s grayshirt
thugs are still causing trouble throughout the land. One day Eva Mendes
stumbles into my office crying, having been assaulted by grayshirts. Her
face has a few small cuts (nothing that would mar her model-perfect
complexion) and her dress is ripped in a sexy jungle-girl kind of way.
Enraged, I gather my supporters and we march on the grayshirt
headquarters to arrest the offending men. The general dispatches troops
to disperse us, but they rally to our side and the general is deposed. I
become the leader of our nascent social democracy and I prosecute Eva
Mendes’ attackers as my first official act. I visit Eva Mendes in the
hospital (she looks fabulous in bed), where she smiles and reaches to
touch my cheek. “You are my hero, presidente,” she says in a really
sweet and girlish voice. “It is you who are my heroine, Eva,” I say, and
take the Latin beauty into my arms.
Eva Mendes and I are married in the capitol’s largest cathedral with
hundreds of guests present. Her elaborate wedding dress stretches into
tomorrow. Her mere presence emits an almost radioactive glow. She is so
perfect that perfection itself wants to be called Eva Mendes. I myself
am quite impressive in my formal white uniform and regal haircut. After
the wedding we wave to the thousands of well-wishers lining the streets
from our open limousine, and then take a lengthy honeymoon cruise down
the Atlantic coast. We walk along beaches together holding hands, I in
shorts and a casual shirt, she in a loose white dress. The breeze tosses
her hair as we walk, kiss, laugh and occasionally skip rocks. She
retains her radioactive glow, particularly at night.
I do it with Eva Mendes on our honeymoon, and I do it with her afterwards. I do it with Eva Mendes a lot.
Eva Mendes becomes a much beloved first lady. She supports and inspires
me as I nationalize the fossil-fuel industry and initiate land reform,
universal health care and ambitious education programs, much to the
chagrin of the rich, the Americans and the corporate sector. The people
respond be electing and re-electing me. Eva Mendes and I travel the
world meeting other world leaders, whom she dazzles with her vibrant
personality, unearthly beauty and remarkable knowledge of all subjects.
At home, we entertain Sultans, Presidents and CEOs with commanding
success. Since I’m doing it a lot with Eva Mendes, eventually we
announce that she is pregnant with our first child. The nation rejoices.
Bono sends a letter telling me that I am a lucky bastard. Concerned
about Eva Mendes’ persistent radioactive glow, I have a doctor examine
The radioactive glow turns out to be radiation sickness. The grayshirts
had secretly poisoned her. Enraged, I launch a campaign to capture and
destroy them. Eva Mendes chastises me for this excess. “Be a gentle
leader, my presidente,” she says, and I resolve to do so, prosecuting
them fairly and without prejudice.
Eva Mendes dies soon after giving birth. I hold her hand as she gazes lovingly at her young infant son.
“You will always be my presidente,” she says, her hand on my face, as she gently gives up the ghost.
I am dispirited for a time, but I soon find strength for the sake of my
son, who remarkably does not have any ill effects from his mother’s
sickness. In fact, he seems to have an uncanny ability to see through
Eva Mendes is gone but not forgotten, and I have become a lone father
figure for the nation. Nonetheless, I find myself strangely fascinated
by my son’s nanny, Zooey Deschanel. She looks rather fetching in her
tight-fitting, frilly yellow dress.
Hall of Fame