Juan Ramón

This is basically a story from my grandpa. I was coming back from Gilbert's home (Gilbert is fucking alive, people), after partying a little bit, and turned out that my grandparents traveled to my town for my father's birthday, so they were there, drinking mate and eating miga sandwiches, and well, I had to stay and be a person. I honestly was so fucked up, but that's how I remember it. He fucking fought aliens! He seemed to be a brawny basterd. He punched every living thing doing the wrong move. He wasn't a cop, he was a Malevo Ferreyra. Look how he incrusted his hand into the skull of that shit. He was incredibly tough. Well, anyways. You choose to believe or not. I want to believe.