Enclave Was

I want you to get creative with me today.

Together we will create a vividly offensive, yet morbidly fascinating creature.

My aim is to assault your senses the way mine have been and continue to be by this creature. This creature is real, I see it at work.

Without your stomach turning today's tale will be bland.

Let's start with the outline. Five foot, maybe four-foot-nine without the hair.

Give it a faux-hawk, top of the crest maybe four inches above the forehead. So because of the hair, five-foot-three. Bleach this shark's fin to about mustard, cover that with dark brown, cover that with dark cherry.

And now...the mug.

Combine this: female housefly-not the small males that dot food up and fly away easily, but the big, fat, shiny, slow, low-flying, noisy female heavy as fuck with hundreds (thousands...millions) of maggot eggs incubating in her belly; with this: old toad, or bullfrog; and this: monkey. That's the creatures face. Now paint it shit-brown. Literally feces-fudge colored.

Cover the limbs with wannabe trendy knock-offs of styles spotted in expensive boutique display windows. Everything of course has been altered to fit the creature's long torso and short bowlegs. The pants are pulled up high, high on the waist of that long torso. As in wedgie-high.

The creature smells like something that eats too much fish, fish sauce, soy sauce, and MSG and enhances it with a vaguely floral, absolutely tasteless stench.

Are you excited yet?

To put movement into the sketch, to animate the creature, have it walk down an perpetual catwalk. Give it the movement of Miss Universe confident in her endless legs standing six foot in her in her five inch heels. Don't forget to figure that movement into a five-foot body with short bowlegs.

It's not a pretty sight. There is absolutely nothing inoffensive about this creature.

Did I forget to mention this creature is a male homo sapien? But not the aristocratic lady it believes itself to be. We call it La Mosca (The Fly) or La Mos-cuca (The Fly-Roach).

But oh, wait, the sound. Loud. Projecting. Falsetto. Banshee wail meets donkey heehaw meets pig squeal. Capable of piercing your noise-cancelling in ear headphones.

Now, I normally shut out as much of this creature as I can. This sort of shit causes blindness and deafness. It's got to. I'm willing to bet it causes post traumatic stress disorder, at the very least.

However...however.

Three weeks ago my ears inadvertently pricked up when I heard what must have been the tail end of the creature's shrieking, wailing, broadcast, "......Salcedo Marke-e-e-e-e-t-t-t-t!"

My jaw dropped and I slowed my pace as, in absolute nauseating horror, I listened to the Cockroach thing educating its maid-like groupies about Salcedo Market.

Salcedo Market, located in a nicer part of town. Where purveyors gather every Saturday morning to cater to clientele with distinct tastes. Expats and locals who have managed to cultivate their tastes come spend too much money in an environment that doesn't smell, look, or taste third world. A total enclave, virtually undiscovered, as of two months ago, by the gentuza, the riffraff.

I came back to Salcedo Market last Saturday after not having been by there for several weeks. It was like the goddamn Food Court at some mall, it was so full. Of shit.

I can't even begin to tell you the name of anyone I saw there (not that I wanna know). The Cockroach-Fly-Monster must have laid its eggs right, insidious creature that it is, because there was a sea of call-centerish maggotry squirming and squealing and shrieking their d2 na me drivel all over the dining area.

I had a vision of tour buses going around to call-centers postshift to pick up people for the weekly Salcedo Market Cultural Outing Field Trip.

It was a blessing we found two seats around a corner of a small table, the only one without a tablecloth. Talk about a place having been comandeered.

I know, this is, after all, a democracy. There are no rules banning anybody from these places. Multi-demographic consumption is a suggestive of disposable income, which I guess is a sign of economic improvement. The vendors must be happy, because there are more purchases.

So whoopee-doo, are you all happy now? I hope you aren't too thrilled. Just like when concerned locals are saddened by their beautiful beaches being spoiled by tourists, I'm lamenting the inevitable rot brought about by the invasion of these creatures.

I need to take some Baygon to the office to stop that creature from laying more eggs. Fucking piece of shit. Needs to get shot.