Alicia en el País de las Mara Salvatruchas

Contrary to prevailing stereotypal theory, the more menacing the race,

the tinier their instrument.

The more Shetland the people,

the more monstrous the musical pickle they tickle.

However, instrumental choice and body size, sometimes, become mismatched.

The results unsettle the ear, but especially, the eyes.

Agh! It’s white.

In the below photo, TJ looks like an angry sort-of woman. By angry sort-of woman, I mean her eyebrows knock boots, making ticked off loved, and her femininity is, at best, sort of. TJ expresses her rage about being born a sort-of woman in a world that prefers its women well-sorted by choosing to play a large instrument trapped in a diminutive one’s body, the banjolele.

In the photo above, TJ strums her ukelele teacher’s ukelele, as ukelele teachers are plentiful in Long Beach.

We have plenty of Samoans.

In the below photo, TJ’s music teacher embraces the banjolele. To pacify TJ, she plays her her favorite lullaby, Get Low.

“From the windows, to the walls…”

Til sweat drenches Betty’s padded bra.

Emboldened, TJ challenges her teacher to musically duel.

The apex of their duel sounds like the prelude to the rape of something real small.

Single-celled sodomy.

Watching TJ and her teacher partially fulfills my fantasy of assembling a miniachi conjunto. In my fantasy, this conjunto is a gaggle of tall Mexican men, swarthy bastards the size of average American women, and they wear charro costumes so tight that when you ask them if they’d like to have a seat, they answer that they enjoy standing.

Too loose. I want it to be, as my Mexican mother would say, “a tight feet.”

My fantasy conjunto assembles underneath the balcony that a man, crazy in love with a woman, has sent them to. He wants them to woo the shit out of someone he finds precious. Standing, with feet shoulder-width apart, the men whip out their instruments. They serenade his love interest with Cielito Lindo.

It is the cutest version ever because as miniachis, they play the kazoo, ukele, tuning fork, spoons, recorder, and child-size accordion which you can buy in Tijuana, right where the Mexican border inappropriately brushes up against Walmart.

The lead singer has sucked all the helium from the deflated balloon dangling from his hands and summoned by his high-pitched

Ese lunar que tienes,
Cielito lindo, junto a la boca,
No se lo des a nadie,
Cielito lindo, que a mí me toca.

a tiny woman steps onto a huge balcony.

It is Lucia Varate, the tiniest woman in history.

Lucia was, surprise, surprise, Mexican.

Surprise, surprise, so is the ukelele teacher. All her instruments be so, so tiny. Tan, tan chiquita banana. After losing the duel, she becomes tinier as she skates off into the smoggy sunset.

(Tiny FYI, the petitest Mexican in existence is the man pictured below, so pint-sized he fits on my mom’s ketchup)


One comment

  1. Tight Feet! Exquisite Post! The Teejster’s lookin mighty fly! Caliente! Ch(gutteral)awt! Hotter than J. Cash’s Ring of Cholula.
    Can’t wait to see you two so I can tickle you both to unconsciousness!

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