“To all the girls I’ve loved before, who’ve traveled in and out my door.”
Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson
Fasten your seatbelts, readers. I’m about to get tasteless.
Wakes and funerals are supposed to be a time for reflection and prayer. They are meant for us to look back and honor the life of a loved one. Apparently, those who attended the wake of the late Hector ‘Macho’ Camacho never got that memo.
At Camacho’s wake last week, a catfight broke out, and by catfight, I believe you know what I’m talking about. Girls fighting, former girlfriends and loved ones of Hector Camacho scratching, clawing, pulling each other’s hair, calling each other names and throwing passed appetizers, all the while Camacho lay there resting in peace. Now that sounds like a party. I’m surprised Don King wasn’t charging admission at the door.
First of all, let me get this out of the way. What happened to Camacho was a shame. I don’t wish his fate upon anyone. He got mixed up in things he shouldn’t have, his life spiraled sharply downhill and he ended up paying the ultimate price. But apparently, even in passing, the women in his life still haunt him. So much for eternal resting place.
Camacho’s wake was held in his native Puerto Rico when a brawl broke out after an ex-girlfriend leaned over his casket to pay her respects. Apparently Camacho’s sister didn’t take too kindly to the ex-girlfriend’s presence. I call her Camacho’s ex-girlfriend because they would likely have still been hitting it were he not dead. Another fight allegedly broke out afterwards between a former bantamweight champion and a different member of Camacho’s family, making for a nice undercard.
Camacho, man, you are my new hero. Way to go out in style. Chicks duking it out at your funeral with your corpse just lying there, as calm and serene as you’ve ever been, silky white suit, hair slicked back, banging down the doors of the pearly gates and still, you have women fighting over you. I guess even in the afterlife, we are not free from women starting shit.
The Fray by the Bay, the Clash over the Ash and the Great Camacho Funeral Brawl of 2012 got me thinking. Okay, mom, here’s where you should stop reading if you haven’t already. At my wake (puh puh puh), which one of my ex’s would start the biggest ruckus? Which among them would take down the others or start randomly throwing the crab rangoon? If I were to put them all in one room together, which ones would initiate the throwing of the ‘bows? Of course, this is assuming any of them actually showed up in the first place. Memo to self: hire fancy catering to maximize attendance.
Believe it or not, I’ve actually seen a few of my exes in action. While mostly a loving lot, several could definitely hold their own in a pinch. I imagine so if they had to put up with the likes of me.
Of course, upon presenting such a gathering, I’d have to seed them all appropriately, like a pre-season college football ranking, basing them on height, weight, age and their overall ability to throw down. Who amongst the former Chumpettes would be the favorite to take the tiara and who would be the most likely to upset a top seed? Must give this more thought.
I’ll leave it at that, not mentioning any names to protect myself from the angry e-mails and surprise knocks on my door in the middle of the night, but imagine the possibilities. Has you guys excited, doesn’t it?
The good news for my lovely collection of ex-girlfriends is that they can stow away their boxing gloves for now. I plan on leading a healthy and prosperous life. Now if there was only a way I could see them all kick the shit out of each other without me kicking the bucket.