Mexico is a place, a place that I had never been to until recently. And by that I mean that I went on a cruise there and I really thought there would be more to tell you about that but there isn't. There IS, however, a little to tell you because I was attacked by rabid birds.
I was just strutting down the market-place in Ensenada, buying such trinkets as seashell earrings and cheap Mexican cocaine, when WOULDN'T YOU KNOW IT, there was a churro stand! And the churro guy was like, "Here, have a free sample of a churro!" and I was like "May I kiss you passionately, old Mexican churro man?"
I love churros. Churros are the only Mexican food that I love. They're like little fried tubes of joy. And cinnamon sugar, which is equivalent. My mom sometimes makes churros and I remember why I love my mom. Not that I wouldn't love my mom if she didn't make me churros, it would just be significantly harder and also I might call her by her first name.
What?
Churro man handed me my free sample of Mexican magic and I, exuding the joy of a woman with a fresh churro and veins full of cocaine, bit into it immediately. Unfortunately, when an object has pulled from a vat of bubbling oil moments before you place it in your mouth, it is still scalding hot. I was like "MOTHER OF SWEAR WORD" and then held the churro out so that the Ensenada wind might cool it slightly.
I continued to walk down the road of the ocean-side market, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air when, all of a sudden, I saw birds! Look at 'em, they're everywhere! They're so cuuuute! And then I continued walking and didn't think about them again.
Until, not two seconds later, I felt something slam into my face with the force of a small missile. I felt seagull feet tangling in my hair and saw, to my horror, a snapping beak lunging at my churro, over and over. And I wish I had been like, "NOT MY CHURRO. YOU'RE GOING DOWN BIRD. PREPARE YOURSELF" and then popped a homie in the face, but instead I was more like, "eeeuuuughghhghgGGGHHHEIEEIEIE!!! MOMMMMM!!!! HELP MEEEEEEE!!!" And the evil bird just kept punching me in the face until it snapped up my churro and flew off.
Those Mexican seagulls aren't afraid of anything. I hope the churro burned it's tongue on the way down and I hope that every stolen bit of food tasted like rubber for weeks and I hope that that bird never gets married and dies alone.
