Glossary:
Navajo-Nevada
Ringo-Reno
Shoshone Desert-Mojave Desert
Baton Du Sang-Baton Rouge
Flores-Florida
Hello, I am Fernando Martinez. You might know me as the sexy host of Emotion 98.3 in Vice City and Broken Lovers Union Local FM in San Fierro, bringing sorrow and sadness to people's already-miserable lives with sad power ballads and even sadder yacht rock. I am a firm believer that true love can be achieved through being one with a woman, a man, or in special cases, a dog. But that is the conservative way of looking at it.
Based on my travels, Fernando has come to discover that true love can be attained through a wild goose chase of drugs, money, mobsters and a long stretch of Shoshone desert. That's why for today, I would wish to share the wonderful and passionate tale that is my trip to Venturas County with my closest friend (with benefits) , Christy McIntyre, in 1996.
A bit of backstory regarding Ms. McIntyre. To start it straight, Fernando first met this beautiful creature at a funeral home in 1987, Baton Du Sang, Flores, for a then-recently deceased preacher and televangelist by the name of R.C. Face, fresh out of college and a devout Christian. There I knew she was the right one for me, in spite of her beliefs. After getting fired from Emotion for lewd activities and since then, I have chased her through the states of the United States, through prairies and lakes and through the beautiful flow of time that crushes everyhing in its way.
Cornering her in a studio in San Fierro in 1992 and with part of my fincancing she then proceeded to start a radio show called "Lonely Hearts" on West Coast Talk Radio, a wonderful show about lover advice and how to hold back tears in the event of catching your spouse red-handed in a leather suit in some gimp club.
It was then I realised that Christy has never actually been in love before, and as heartbreaking as it sounds, with the advice she gave Fernando, it lead to the destruction of her vehicle and her show getting cancelled by the executives after two weeks for on-air kissing.
Some people can't see passion if it hit them in the face and bust their eyeball out.
And four years later, we are bound together, literally, in the middle of the Shoshone Desert as our tour guide, Franco Messina, pointed a gun at our faces, demanding for us to get in the car complete with death threats against our friends and families.
Yes, death threats. A romantic gesture if it involved consent.
"You fuckin' fucks fucked up good!" Said this greasy Italian man. "You know how much shit we're in because you lost the package?!"
"Please don't hurt us, mister!" Cried Christy, tears rolling down her pink cheeks.
"Hurt you?! Shit, afta what I've been through, you wished your dads pulled out, you fucks!"
Christy turned to face me, her locks of light brown hair swinging like donkey penis, as teardrops flicked against the window. She looked angry, like she was going to make out with me and have lots and lots of hate sex.
"This is all your fault, Fernando, you... prick... You fucking prick!" Screamed the woman.
Like the flames of attraction heating up in my tender loins after kneeling for so long, Fernando realises that if he does not get both of us out of the situation the flames would take whole and swallow us entirely.
This was my shit heap, and as a dedicated janitor of pleasures, I had to clean it up.
But that will come later, amigos. First we have to turn back time and retrace our steps back to the very beginning during our time in Ringo...