Is mommy trying to poison me?

Or us? Is every mother still bitter about the fact that we destroyed their vajajays when we were born? I didn’t plan to become a human being so I could bungee out of the coola melon canal with my umbilical cord, all blind and angry ‘cause the amniotic fluid was all in my eyes. I didn’t mean for her to not be able to walk for 12 weeks.

My mother made some food … as … human beings often do for their children … and then she said “Here m’ijo, eat.” And she slapped some tortillas in the whicker basket type of thing with the white cloth, and she set a little jalapeño on the side.

Little did I know this dish was called Pepian. A cultural Guatemalan cuisine otherwise known as Destroying Your Ass Hole. Or Dyah, for short, which is the Latin root from where we get Dyahrrea, or diarrhea as trasnpodulated into English.

The one good thing about diarrhea though, especially the kind induced by that lava soft thing my fellow frijoleros call food, is that it gives me a lot of time to think. To just sit, with that freezing porcelain seat on my bare ass, giving my goose bumps that last 5 minutes, making my booty hole tense up so it takes longer to get the doodoo out.

But at least I think, and remember how good I have it in this country where I get to used quadruple ply cotton moisturizers with agave mushrooms and aloe vera, instead of corn on the cob like the old school finqueros. What you know about that. That’s a statement not a question. Kind of.