An Interview with Carlos Mencia: Blind Retard

NOTE: All opinions expressed by Mr. Carlos Mencia are his own, and are not the opinions of Infinitely Retarded. If you wish to start up a posse to kill and maim Carlos Mencia, please do so, it has been long overdue.

On July 24th, Infinitely Retarded had the distinct pleasure of sitting down with one Carlos Mencia, for an exclusive interview. It was the first of its kind. The following is said interview.

IR: Hey Carlos, how you doin'?

CM: Heeeeeey.

IR: So Carlos, Infinitely Retarded is dying to know, how did you get your start?

CM: I started in the deep south, at some red neck bar full of inbred white people, you know, the kind that confuse half-Fijian/half-Indians with Beaners. Well anyway the bar was a real shitty place, but I was optimistic about my comedy, so I belted out my first line to all these dumb beer sucking backwoods country trash - and that’s what there really were, Josh - trash, and needless to say the joke wasn't very well received. The joke was something I came up with on my own, like "You know you're a redneck if your state's got a new law that says when a couple gets divorced, they're still legally brothers and sisters." And the joke bombed! I couldn't fucking believe it. I thought they were too dumb to understand or something.

IR: Isn't that a Jeff Foxworthy joke?

This halted Mencia. We sat there for several minutes of awkward silence, as I waited for him to answer, and he waited for me to bail him out with another question regarding a different topic. No bail out came, so he continued.

CM: No I do believe he got it from me. . . But anyway I thought maybe their heads were too full of wanting to sleep with their relatives and watch NASCAR, you know, as all rednecks like to do, so I told another joke, completely original and of my own. "You might be a redneck if your family tree has no forks." And I laughed, but I looked around and I was the only one laughing. It was simply unbelievable to me; I thought maybe these dumb hicks had cotton balls shoved in their ears. But then, a very important thing happened in my career. . . One of the dumb swine stood up with his Bible belt air of importance and said "GO HOME BEANER!" as they belted me with beer bottles and booed me off the stage. . . So I did. . . I went to East L.A.

IR: But your home is in Honduras. . . You're half-German half-Honduran.

More awkward silence. It was like he took the words in, and tried to process them but couldn't, like some synapse in his brain had been destroyed due to his own retardation. He was so blindly retarded he couldn't even register the truth when he heard it.

CM: No that was Ned Mencia, that was the old me, I'm a new man now. But anyway, back to the story, I became a Beaner, in Beanerville U.S.A. I became Carlos Mencia - I was with my people, my brothers, mi familia. I wore a Dodger cap and taught my friends, mis amigos, how to walk and talk like a real man, you know, like "Hey man was sappenning" and I taught em how to walk a certain way that made them look like real Chicanos, and it was so funny man, we were all just laughing at my hilariousness and. . .

IR: Wait, didn't that happen in Born in East L.A.? That movie with Cheech Marin? He got stuck behind the border so he taught some real Mexicans to walk like all the Chicanos in East Los Angeles at the time.

More of those brain sizzle synapses that helped prevent truth from registering, fizzing away in his head as he simply just stared at me.

CM: No I don't think so. . . I do believe it was he who stole it from me.

IR: Bullshit aside, how did this lead to Comedy Central?

CM: Word got around. You know, you never really have to struggle much when you've got talent. . . So yeah, Comedy Central picked me up, and said I reminded them of guys like Bill Cosby and George Lopez, in that we told similar jokes, you know, we had the same sort of comedy sort of thing. I was living the good life, I had it all.

IR: I hear you had quite the bike collection.

His eyes lit up.

CM: Had? Still have my friend. Oh yeah, I've got about eight of em, all custom and all original, just like me. No stolen parts, nothing hot - just smooth rides all of my own. . . And they're all American, just like me - they're all Harleys cause I support America and American made parts. . . You know Harleys got a lot of competition from those damn slanty-eyed rice burners, you know, those Kawasabis, or Kakamanies or whatever. They're all special to me, my Harleys I mean, especially the one bearing the Mexican flag on its tear drop gas tank. . . Its like having my native country between my legs at every turn, at every pop of the clutch.

IR: And these were all bought with Mind of Mencia money?

CM: Yeah, yeah, at one point we even had 1.5 million viewers. Mind of Mencia was one of the top rated shows on Comedy Central. But then all the haters came out, you know, like they always do when they see someone like me come up and become a star, and do so with hard work and blood, sweat and tears. . . I've paid my dues, I'll tell yah.

IR: Don't you think there is something a little off, about the similarities between your work and that of others. . . In all this questionable material?

CM: Well if I understand what you are hinting at, I haven't stolen any material, ever. I haven't stolen a single joke. They have however, all been taken from me. Taken from me because of jealousy.

IR: As Joe Rogan said: "Yes, you are a good performer (Carlos). . . of other people's shit.

The comment had struck a chord, mere mention of Joe Rogan orchestrated memories of past battles with him in his head. He was slowly becoming enraged, he could belt out hate but couldn't take it. He was soft, a typical coward so morose and pathetic he doesn't even have enough courage to actually create anything, to actually express himself on his own.

IR: Now that we're on the subject. . . The Comedy Store Carlos, the place where you got your start, lets talk about that.

CM: Ok. . .

He was furious.

IR: From personal research I have found The Comedy Store to be the womb of mediocrity from which comedians like Larry The Cable Guy, Tim Allen, Paul Shore, and YOU, Carlos, are shat out onto this Earth to spread the sadness that comes from failed joke after failed joke. Each comedian succeeding in being more and more unfunny. . . It is this place that I'm thinking I should maybe just bomb; just blow the shit out of, to do us all a favor and rid the world of you and your Comedy Store brethren.. . .

Carlos was beginning to turn red in the face - the German in him was finally coming out. He was finally beginning to hear, and he was gearing up for an explosion. It would be an outburst of vanity and mortified shock that only people who claim the title of celebrity seem to be able to get away with. Simply put Carlos was becoming a spoiled little brat.

IR: I mean you of all people should be all for it, seeing as how you have such a bad reputation there.

Luke-Warm.

IR: You know, how everyone there called you Menstealia.

Warm.

IR: How it got so bad comedians couldn't even perform when you were in the room.

Boiling, Mencia was about to blow his casket.

IR: How they'd be talking and you'd show up and they just walk away, without saying single thing to you.

Explosion - lift off.

CM: NEIN! NEIN! EST SCHIZEL!

The German was coming through again, the real Carlos, that 3rd Reich German stuck in the body of a fat ugly Honduran, but with a mind so racially retarded Honduran just didn't register, so it went with Mexican instead, and lived on trapped in silent misery. The stern German which existed beneath the surface of a jolly joke stealing Mexican, was now coming out right before my very eyes.

IR: And didn't George Lopez choke you and slam you against the wall after he counted 15 minutes of his material on your HBO special? A moment which, by the way, has done much for my respect of George Lopez personally, but does not in anyway forgive the massive turd that was Balls of Fury.

Carlos began his meltdown. He erupted with what I can only assume was 30 years of pent up Nazi rage, rage he was born with but was never allowed to let come out, until now. Hateful slurs in a savage tongue rolled out of his mouth in waterfalls of prejudice as Pandora's box finally pried itself open and spewed out all of her festering innards all about the room. He stomped the floor like Gestapo men in a great long hate march, he leered at us and made famous gestures - quite frankly we all feared for our lives. In the end however, the only victims were a wooden table and the frontal lobe of Carlos' brain - the table destroyed when we had to forcefully restrain him, and the lobe destroyed from the sudden explosion of pent up brain synapses that were finally fired off, only to sear the brain in tiny explosions of retardation.

He didn't even remember a thing.

CM: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sometimes with all the haters it gets tough. It gets real tough, and then you try and go home, but even your own wife hates you. She just gives you that blank stare and rolls over to go back to sleep. And I just don't get it. Even my kids, my kids despise me and don't want to be seen with me. They don't want me to take them to school. I just don't get it. They won't even let me tuck them in at night. . . I just don't get it. Why all the haters!

IR: Isn't it strange that people who talk a lot about "haters" and are concered with "haters" are people who are easy to hate?

CM: Yeah. . . That is strange.

IR: You really are that ignorant. . .

CM: What?!

IR:You're so blindly retarded you are hated by everyone, and you don't even know why. You just don't see why its wrong to steal other peoples intellectual properties and take from their creative enterprises and call them your own. You're the type of retarded comedian that connects with other retards out in the world, on some strange frequency the rest of us normal people can't hear or comprehended. They all flock to you like flys to the warm glow of a bug zapper, and so you make millions, you make millions with other people's shit. You're as obnoxious as one of your custom bikes, as fake as the watered down "Horchata" in your fridge. . . You're not even a Mexican. You're a fake and a sham, and your whole life has been one of disillusionment, of lies, and you're the most conned of em all. No one believes your shit, and oh "I wrote that joke YEARS before" line more than you do. You can't even be hated for your own retardation, you're a copy-cat retard who just so happens to suffer from blind retardation as well. The only good things to come out of your career are A) Getting choked out by George Lopez and B) Getting killed by Kanye West.

Thank you, and good-night.

CM: Wait, good-night?

IR: Yes good-night.

He was bagged, taken out to the Los Angeles River, and was shot. He was left to bleed out into the river - his sort of way of rejoining his people.

Even in his own death, he was an asshole.

Co-Written by Patrick Barnes.