The man, the myth, the legend - El Santo

EL SANTO
…Or “The Saint” for those of us unfortunate to speak the native language of this brilliant, chiseled specimen of manhood.

Most know the exploits of this bastion of honor and kickassery, so a detailed account is not what you’ll find here – I am not his biographer (that guy actually gets paid). Instead, the journal I keep here will be my attempt at keeping a record of my travels and adventures with, perhaps, the greatest man the human race has ever produced.

He is El Santo. Wrestler. Explorer. Crime Fighter. Monster Hunter. Poet. Lover. He is the iconic figure emblazoned upon the minds of every man, woman, and child. Men want to be him; women want to be with him; and children want his autograph. He is El Santo…and he is my friend.

When we first met, I was just a mere boy pissing away my existence one day at a time. I thought the sun revolved around me; I thought I knew it all. Then, on a jaunt down to the local McDonald’s while passing through Tallahassee, Florida on some foolish errand, I came across a thundering behemoth of awesomeness in a silver mask. His name was El Santo, and he was in the midst of laying the smackdown on a group of at least thirty mangy-looking homeless people.

Or so I thought. Turns out it was a nest of VAMPIRES, and our beloved hero had traveled there to destroy them at the behest of the Governor. Seems he didn’t want this particular nasty coven growing or spreading any further across his great state (or mixing with the other vamps tolerated by the government). Of course, all of this information I discovered much later, after Santo filled me in…and after I came to after getting knocked out and nearly eaten.

Killing a vampire is a nasty business regardless your strength, size, or level of awesomeness. They’re a hearty breed, and those of an evil bent are a real pain in the ass to kill. That said, certain members of humanity have a natural inclination for dealing with and destroying rogue members of the supernatural community. That night, long ago in the parking lot of that Floridian Mcdonald’s, I found out I had the stuff.

I never meant to get involved. Really I didn’t even want to land a punch. Still, when faced with an icon like El Santo stomping mudholes in this group like a giant stumbling through a rainforest, I found my inner machismo propelled to new heights. Before I knew it, I launched myself into the fray armed only with a spork and my building rage. This was The Calling, Santo told me later…and the rest is history.

Since then me and Santo have traveled up and down the many roads of this world, and others, tracking down evildoer and monster alike. We’ve dedicated ourselves to upholding Right and Honor. We’ve promised to help those in need, whatever their situation, and wipe out the darkness whenever it slithers into our path.

Some struggle all their lives to ascend to greatness, and some have it cast upon them whether they deserve the mantle or not. And then there’s those few who could give a rat’s ass about semantics and just wanna send evil’s sorry backside screaming back into the underworld.

This is where we come in…and this is our tale.

When next I speak, it’ll be on our unorthodox partner and his linking with our duo to form…THE HOLY TRINITY OF KICKASS. Yeah, Santo wasn’t too keen on the name either, but this new guy had his heart set on it…

COMING SOON – Chapter 2: WWJD

My name is Dan.

Other names I go by include Ralien, Varjay, and Dmclaney. Mostly, however, it’s just simply Dan. Hey, I’m used to it…

I am a husband, father, and member of the workforce. I am also an aspiring writer, a part-time artist, a general observer, a wannabe musician, a confused poet, and a bumbling philosopher. I am a jumbled mess of emotions, opinions, and differing ideas.

My interests are as vast and varied as my moods. Some days I feel like a book, others a movie, and some days I just want to be left alone. For further info, please click here.

Currently, my family and I reside in Southeastern Alabama (the location of my birth, sadly), though we detest it here and long to romp happily through the swaying corn fields of Indiana, or somewhere thereabouts.