From the Brain of a Fevered Gringo
Amigos Y Amigas:
As night falls here, Nanny and I sit ensconced on the sixteenth floor (or dies seis piso) of the Islas del Sol (Islands at the bottom of my foot) the panoramically fenestrated palatial view stretches from the towering ramparts of the Sierra Madre Occidental in the northeast all the way to the glittering ocean (or mar) in the east that washes the room in a magical dying light. Yes, the sun is setting in the Sea of Cortez like a radioactive peso in a liquid piggy bank.
Directly below our room a vast stage has been erected, buntings in rojo, verdes Y blanco,
(the national sauces) have been draped across this magnificent proscenium as spot lights are switched on to cross-like light swords. In the velvet night military helicopters patrol the sky above while the gallant Mexican navy patrols in sinister grey battleships for contrabandidos. The compensidados, Mazatlanecos are gathering in the thousands (or mils) at the foot of this modern pyramid as a dirigible passes above. The spotlights converge on the giant effigy of a Norte Americano turista dangling by his feet from the bottom of the blimp. Green confetti in the shape of US dollars falls from his pockets as the natives cheer.
They have gathered here on this most sacred national holiday, Santa De Obscuranto Porcine, to hear the celebrated poet laureate Don Bombastino de Portabello Y Vaca, address the nation.
The crowd grows quiet in expectation. Don Bomba (as he is affectionately known) mounts the hundred steps decorated with human skulls, an Aztec tradition, he is hand and hand with his lovely consort the international film star, Vaginista Della Contraputa. She is dressed traditionally in a costume of pure white marzipan and crinoline in ruff upon frilled ruff. She looks like a layered wedding cake. From between her capacious alabaster bosoms, an iguana stares out languidly at the rapt crowd.
The poet is dressed more soberly in a jet black, skin tight toreador pants and matching black tee shirt with the outline of a tuxedo and bow tie printed on the front. His countenance is leonine with the piercing black eyes of a bird of prey that stare out from under craggy brows. He transfixes the audience throwing back his magnificent head, his mane of silver grey hair shimmering in the moonlight. He begins his oration (and here I translate freely for my monoglot readers back home.)
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Indians, Homos, both sapient and otherwise. We come together as a mighty nation on the cusp of history to inaugurate a new world order. No longer will we allow the pale races of the snowbound north to oppress and exploit us. In their icy hearts they know that their era is over. A thin trickle of diarrhea runs down the spindly thighs of their so-called “Statue of Liberty, corroding it from within.
When Europe was a stinking mud hole, tenanted by a pestiferous people cringing in their wattle huts, we were building magnificent pyramids to the sky on which to cut out with obsidian knives the hearts of our enemies. While in Salem, the Pilgrims were burning at the stake a few defenceless old crones, our priests in mightly lake girt Teotihuacanin auto-de-feys, that made Senor Hitler’s gas chambers seem like a mere rap on the knuckles.
When those infantile tinkerers, the Wright Brothers, were playing with their toys of sticks and paper at Kitty Hawk, our daring aeronauts ascended into the ether on the wings of Quetzalcoatl to circle the sun and enslave the stars!
Proud children of Montezuma and the hidalgos of Andalusian Spain, embrace your destiny!. The jug-eared Obama is not fit to lick your huaraches. I tell you if we all rush the border on our burros, we can be drinking tequila in the White House and using the Washington Monument as a bano by Cinco de Mayo.
Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, the crowd went insane, Compesinos in white pajamas ran about howling, red tongues protruding through cracked tortilla-stained teeth swinging murderous machetes through the soft night air. Unfortunately an errant blow sliced through the telephone wire that had been strung from a nearby lamp post to power the P.A. system and the lights. The muffled sounds of chaos reached Annie and I in our condo but we couldn’t see a thing in the inky darkness.
“I’m getting hungry, my sweet, where shall we have dinner?” says I.
We hopped in the elevator, reached the lobby and made our way through the angry mob to the street. A mean-looking hombre, wearing a belt of skulls and an evil grin, said “Amigos, would you like to go to a time-share presentation> I geeve you $200 US ‘cash’.
No gracias, Senorito, I said as a pulminia glided to a stop and we stepped in.
Via con Dios,
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