Day 8 of The 12 Days of Beachwood Christmas
On the 8th day of Christmas, El Taco Bandito gave to me
a haunting culinary memory
*
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‘Twas the night before Christmas at El Taco Bandito
They serve tacos, enchiladas and brain-size burritos
We drove in Stan’s Chevy, Milwaukee and Sunnyside was not far
So Tim and Kev, Paul and Mark, Bill and I rode along in his car
We arrived at el restaurante from the jukebox-blared La Bamba
Knowing a few hours later our stomachs would be doing the mamba
The tortillas on the table were nestled with care
Awaiting the salsa dip chaser, hot sauce if you dared
Kevin ordered the beef lengua, Tostadas! we all said
For O’Rourke’s cast-iron stomach went where others feared to tread
Then up from the basement the old man appeared
Pancho Villa El Bandito was finally here
He wore a large black sombrero and limped with an old worn-out cane
And his remaining teeth had yellowed from a cigar smoker’s stain
A multi-colored pancho covered his flabby round belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowl of guacamole
He was holding a pet kitten, through his fur he ran his fingers
It looked scared and forlorn, by the grill where it lingered
Pancho yelled, “I’ll steam your tortillas and turn up the heat
One thing’s for sure, amigos, you can’t beat my meat!”
We shoveled down our food, inquiring about this wild new flavor
“I’ve added seasonings, some new spices and a secret ingredient that I favor”
“Hey gringos, how was your meal?” he asked when we were done
We were silent; “What’s the matter, has the cat got your tongue?”
He looked at our empty plates, like a Cheshire cat he was grinning
And at that very moment our bowels began a-spinning
Excusing myself from the table, I ran to the bathroom without fail
Flynn, Guzzetta and O’Rourke followed, the others were looking quite pale
Three stalls and a sink, but a dilemma was close
We could shit or blow chunks, but we couldn’t do both
The vomit that splashed in the porcelain bowls
Warned us of more than we needed to know
Out in the restaurant, we heard a great clatter
We all threw up together, expelling various food matter
Away from the toilets, lifting our heads off the walls
With our mouths full of bile, we stepped out of the stalls
More rapid than diarrhea, the health inspectors they came
Pancho Villa limped to the basement and called out these names
“Undulay Bill, undulay Felix, Morris and Sylvester,
Vamonos Garfield, Vamonos Sox, Lucy and Ethel
Out of your litter boxes, leave your scratchposts behind
Grab the vivisection equipment, all your cat toys and that big ball of twine
Out the basement window, jump over the wall
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all
With our stomach pumps in tow, the inspectors walked where we were sittin’
It seems that instead of ground beef our food was made with ground kitten
El Taco Bandito was torn down later that same year
And while it’s not a cheerful story, it’s one I’ve come to fear
Pancho Villa haunts my Christmas dreams and just might make me mad
But you know, as a culinary experience ground kitty didn’t taste all that bad
So I cough up a fur ball and turn off the light
Meow Christmas to all, and to all a Buenos Noches
*
Previously in The 12 Days of Beachwood Christmas, brought to you by our very own Tom Latourette:
– Day 1: Have a Dysfunctional Family Christmas
– Day 2: Little George Bush
– Day 3: Hillary, Hillary
– Day 4: O Holy Grill
– Day 5: Christmas Lingerie
– Day 6: I’ve Got Erectile Dysfunction This Christmas
– Day 7: 1908
Posted on December 21, 2007