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The legend says they came from El Valle de San Joaquin.
Late one night, on a lonely, dusty road, a weary traveler saw lights in the distance. As they got closer, he began to hear music getting louder and louder.
“What the f*ck kind of music is this, cabron?!!??”, he wondered aloud. “Is it Cumbia? Is it Hip-Hop?” “Is it – “Before he could say another word, the lights were upon him. The headlights of the dopest taco truck this puto had ever seen. “A taco truck on 22’s??!!”... “Chingon!!” Just as he said that, the doors from the back of the truck flew open. When the smoke cleared (and there was lots of smoke, cunao), three strange figures had emerged from the mysterious cocina on wheels.
“AQUI ESTAMOS CABRONES...SOMOS LOS MAS CHINGONES!!!”, a voice called out. The traveler was all scared. He wanted to run, but a hand reached down and grabbed him by his chaqueta, throwing him into the back of the truck. He heard a voice booming, as if from out of a huge speaker. “PUT YOUR MOTHAF*CKIN HANDS UP!!!” He was sure these were banditos. But as he stood on his feet to give up the dinero, he saw something that made him think he was going straight loco. The inside of the tiny taco truck was like una discoteca...and there was a giant fiesta going on!! The three figures who called themselves Los Mas
Chingones were all there...with turntables, a keyboard and a microphone, and they were getting it crunk like a stripclub in T.J.!! And chicas...fine ones, cabron...with the fattest culos in all the land!! On top of all that, he could have sworn the bartender was f*cking Machete (you know, como from the pelicula?)...but
the Patron and Modelos were free so he didn’t give a sh*t! This was the illest party he had ever seen north of Oaxaca!! The next thing he remembered, the traveler woke up with the sun beating down on him as he layed stretched out across the lonely, dusty road in the hot summer afternoon. How long had he been there?
Did he pass out? Could it have all been a dream? He stumbled to his feet to look for the taco truck, but there was nothing in sight for many miles. He walked all the way back to his village and told the townspeople of Los Mas Chingones, and how they made la musica to make the party mas caliente. They
all laughed at him, even his old abuelo. “Go home, pendejo. You had too much tequila last night or something.” But the traveler knew. He knew when he least expected it, when the night was quiet with silence, and he was weary with the problemas of the world...Los Mas Chingones would appear again...to set the
f*cking party OFF!!!

Los Mas Chingones United States

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