JEREMY JOJOLA

If Cartel Barbie had a home, it would look exactly like the outer façade of Casa Bonita, with its tacky pink tower and cupcake décor.

It was inside this Mexican fiesta universe, sometime in the year 1993, I experienced a moment of great terror and embarrassment that has long lived in my consciousness since age 12 or so.

I choose to write about this incident now because I recently came across an image on Casa Bonita’s website that triggered this unfortunate memory and I believe putting this story out there will serve as a warning—a lesson.

What’s contained in this photo is – shall I put this bluntly – the image of the son of the bitch who ruined my first experience at Casa Bonita.

There it is on the left. I’m not sure if it’s a rat, a monkey or whatever, but it’s clearly some sort of mammalian creature wearing a sombrero and a vest.

To be fair, the person wearing the furry suit is very likely not the person who was wearing this outfit that horrible day back in 93.

And full disclosure – it’s possible this may not be the actual furry, however, seeing the image on Casa Bonita’s website is enough to trigger.

I must point out the furry has a tail, which is a crucial part of this story.

I give it a 95% chance this is the bastard.

Now to the story, which may bore you and may not be quite significant and worthy for such a long post, however you’re still reading at this point so let’s go down this dumb path.

Actually, let’s go up to the entrance of Black Bart’s Hideout where I had the terrible encounter with monkey-rat.

Some context: I was hopped up on sopapilla honey and soda.  I just finished a cliff diving show. I was free to roam anywhere within the Casa Bonita dimension, fueled with sugar and thrills. 

As I made my way up to the mouth of the cave, there in front of me was a big tail.  

Conditioned to believe such people who wear furry costumes are willing to subject themselves to the torture of children, I grabbed that tail and yanked….hard.

The monkey-rat pivoted quickly. As its big face came into view, I put my fists in a boxer’s pose and began to lightly Muhammad Ali the furry face while laughing.   

Immediately, the furry took of his head, and to my astonishment, revealed the very small head of a very sweaty and very angry man.

With matted hair, a red face and veins bulging like tree roots on his forehead, the irate mouse/monkey/human hybrid unleashed a verbal assault just a few inches from face.

I felt spit and maybe a shower of sweat.

I broke this man.

And he broke me.

I can’t remember what was said, but I remember the words “I’M JUST TRYING TO DO MY JOB!!!” being screamed at me, over and over and over.

I ran from monkey-rat-man with absolute terror. A strangulation was imminent. 

Thankfully, I found my table next to the cliff side, but didn’t reveal the incident to my parents. I sulked.   

The cliff divers were no longer fun and I wanted out of this demented place.

And that is my story with monkey-rat.

If there is any lesson here, it’s don’t trust anybody wearing a furry suit….and DON’T touch their tail.

(In the end, I adore everything about this place and always love going back….but I hope I don’t see the monkey-rat furry again.)