As my foggy head rested against my usual porcelain pillow and my eyes started to twitch into an alcohol-coma, I was rudely brought to consciousness by a loud, chesty snort. My head instantly cleared as I turned around, and standing over me was a Latin-skinned Angel. Water dripped from his dirty wings.
“Did you fall into the sink?”
“No, the river.”
I noticed a little white powder smeared on his fingers and wisped through his thin black moustache.
I had no idea what wrong I had committed to have an Angel sent to me.
“I’m here to discuss your cultural intolerance.”
“The one I tolerate the most.”
He found no humor in my statement and fell right into a lecture on the benefits of diversity, the economic resurgence of the Peso, and the strong correlation between import/export and immigration.
“Well, then the sex trade is the best of both worlds.”
Again, he failed to recognize my wit.
“Forced immigration was the best immigration?”
He frowned; I shrugged.
He wasn’t impressed with my broad perspective and forward thinking.
“What did you have to eat yesterday?” Spaghetti.
“The day before?” Bratwurst.
“Before?” General Tso’s Chicken.
His point was begrudgingly taken.
Slowly, he bent forward and softly touched my head with his coarse, hard labor fingers. I turned just in time to spill my new knowledge into the melting pot.
I rolled back around with the bitter taste of realization clinging to my tongue. He smiled.
“What should I call you?”
“Jesus.”
“Lord?”
“Jesus? No. I’m Jesus, the Angel of Salsa.”
When the hangover wore off I reported my Hispanic neighbors to La Migra. It turns out that they were actually Muslims from Iraq. Hey, sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.
I have since passed on the name and description of Jesus, the Angel of Salsa to Dusty, so he can add him to the “possible” Anti-Christ list.
1 comment:
Jesus, the Angel of Salsa is now being watched. So far, google is providing me with no English language leads as to his agenda.
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