By Roman Soto
Good Afternoon Rural Latin America,
I hope you find yourself without a goat carcass this fine evening. Since the 1970s, a majority of your farmers and ranchers in Puerto Rico and Mexico have accused me of biting the heads off of your goats and farm animals. Well, I am here to tell you that it has got to stop. I will not succumb to the dogma you have established over the last few decades. This profiling will cease, and I will see to it.
Wherever I go, I am shot at or occasionally even stabbed with pitchforks in a futile attempt to scare me away from your farm animals. Guys! I am a supernatural being…You can’t kill me, so please stop trying to get rid of me. I’ll be here forever. Honestly, all I have ever wanted was a friend to talk to, but El Cucuy always bites their head off before I even have a chance to speak. It’s El Cucuy! Not me! He’s the one who likes eating goat heads. All I do is eat the leftovers and manage to get caught with a goat’s skull. When I turn to look at El Cucuy, he’s gone. Probably on a romantic date with La Llorona.
People, don’t get me wrong, I have to eat something eventually, but it’s usually stuff no one likes, like Big Macs or occasionally medium-rare mice when I feel like I’ve earned it. Although, I’ve never had a human before. I’d be curious to see what that tastes like.
With a newfound hunger and remorse for future terror,
Mr. Chupacabra