Latinos Demand U.S. Pay for Their Sex Changes

Funny story written by harrytrumanmo

Friday, 24 March 2023

image for Latinos Demand U.S. Pay for Their Sex Changes
Eat more iguana, Hombre!

Led by the most feared Latin American gang, MS 12.5, undocumented Mexicans, Central, and South Americans dressed in orange vests carrying leaf blowers and shouting "Yes we can" in Espanol descended on our nation's capital roaring their leaf blowers and demanding that the U.S. government pay for their sex changes.

"We want to be women and have the U.S. pay for it just like other people in this country," shouted the MS 12.5 gang leader Jose Nodocumento who escaped to this country from a small village in Peru where he had been buggered by llamas for the last ten years.

As thousands of illegal immigrants from Guatemala, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Brazil, Panama, Mexico, Paraguay, and every barrio and pavella that ever warmed a tortilla or tapas, chanted in Spanish that reverberated off all the gringo-built buildings surrounding our national mall: "Sex changes for immigrants now. We demand equality in trans status and the right to use women's bathrooms on whatever days we feel like women!"

The American President has called emergency meetings with the leadership of MS 12.5, groups representing the Spanish-speaking taxi drivers in this country (representing about one million unlicensed drivers who can't read road signs in English), non-binary Chicanos, La Raza, La Huelga, Los Huevos Rancheros, trans-gender and transsexual Hondurans of Chicago, Los Machos, Panamanian Drag Queens of Los Angeles, Hugo Chavez's LGBTQ+ Bisexuals Unit of the Venezuelan Secret Service, Brazilians for Portuguese Putas and paella, and the Emiiano Zapata-Che Guevara Gay Lettuce Workers of America (EZCGLWA+).

"We are tired of being macho, now is the time for us to become macha!," declared one of their leaders known as Señorita Tacolita. "I was born an Hombre in Guadalajara, but I used to dress up in my mother's silky underwear whenever mi madre was at the mercado," she continued. "You see, in my country, an Hombre is an Hombre and a Señorita is a Señorita. If you're born with a burrito, you can imagine you have a taco all you want, and no one cares. I was good at our national sport, jai lai, and even excelled at our country's number one event, night swimming across the Rio Grande, but when I tried to jai lai and swim on the senoritas' team the Federales threw me in jail in a tiny jungle cell in San Blas.

"I loved being sexually free for the first time with mi beautiful Hombres in the jungle cell in San Blas. The tropical heat makes all the men so hot and I particularly loved the Colombian and especially the Peruvian muchachos and inmates there because some had sex changes paid for under their excellent National Heath Insurance (Colombians that is, the Peruvians only care about llamas and guinea pigs). I met a hot Honduran guy there. He told me that if I could escape to Bogota, he knew the name of a doctor who was from America who got his medical training in Brazil because no school the gringos ran would accept MCAT scores in the single digits. This merciful American immigrant to Colombia had adopted the name of our legendary leader and calls himself, 'Che Chorizo'.

"With the help of my inmates who I hated to leave but needed a break from being buggered by (the Mexican government does not provide inmates with K-Y like you gringos require in your prisons), I escaped into the jungle during one of the iguana-gathering expeditions that prisoners are made to go on. While the guards were taking a break to roast some iguanas with chiles and papaya, I slipped into the river and floated all the way to Bogata.

"In Bogota, I quietly asked the gay Colombian men I met if they knew how I could find Dr. Chorizo. Sadly they told me he had died from amoebic dysentery just the other day and had been taken to Peru where his body was going to be transported in that country's annual guinea pig parade by mourners in bowler hats into a sacred burial ground in the Andes. The site is known as 'Los Bowler Banos.'

"As you can imagine, I was deeply upset, but I wanted to honor Dr. Chorizo, so I rushed to Peru and found my way to 'Los Bowler Banos.' There were Latino Queens everywhere and drag queen Mariachis played songs by Elton John, Phoebe Snow, Judy Garland, Madonna, Bette Midler, and Donna Summer as a video showing Rock Hudson, Anthony Perkins, Ellen Degeneres, Tom Jones (not gay but I love his chest) and Billie Jean King was projected over the beautiful Andes skyline. Unfortunately, I had missed the eulogy given by my favorite gringo, Nathan Lane, and he was on his flight back to New York for his Broadway show. But I was in luck that the Annual Barbecue of the Guinea Pigs had begun. Have you tasted guinea pig barbecue, Hombre? Next to roasted iguana it's the most loved food in Peru after Taco Bell.

"After much tequila, barbecued guinea pig, and Taco Belle take-out provided free by the society to Liberate Latino Hombres So They Become Senoritas (LLHSTCBS), I found a cheap place that only charged 5 pesos for a room and a tostada. It was hard to sleep with the disappointment I felt at missing Dr. Chorizo, not to mention that the barrio was next to a Dos Equis bottling center where the trucks kept going in and out all night.

"The next morning I said 'adios' to the barrio inn keeper, grabbed a tostada, and then slipped passed the Dos Equis factory loading dock where I ogled a hot Salvadorian while stealing a six pack of cerveza to drown my sorrows. I jumped a train heading north whose tracks ran on the back of the plant and climbed to the roof of a car so the policia wouldn't find me. I knew I could pay them off, but I needed the money for my sex change. MS-12.5 would have been glad to cover it, but they all would have made me perform fellatio on them to pay for it. The thought of being arrested did tempt me with all mi gay hombres who I knew I would be locked up in a dirt cell with a hole in the ground for a toilet and no rights to call an abogado, but I couldn't afford K-Y and mi 'corn hole' (as you gringos call it felt like a hot chili pepper with cactus in the Sonora Dessert in July). Besides I had been remembering a porn movie I saw shot in Candado Beach where a hot Puerto Rican guy was hung like a horse, and knew I was unlikely to any San Juan nookie outside of a housing project in Lower Manhattan.

"It was beautiful, lying on the top of the train heading north to Mexico. Another Hombre appeared on top the train, and Mama Mia (as those Italianos say), he turned out to be gay. We made love, drank cerveza, pissed off the train (like Trump getting a golden shower from some hot Russian babes in a Moscow hotel) into the lush tropical foliage roaring past, and then he told me about another doctor--this one in Ensenada, Mexico--who could turn an hombre into a señorita. He had a medical license and had gone to medical school in Guadalajara which a bunch of American doctors started long ago for all the young gringos who couldn't get into U.S. medical schools. His name was Dr. Nonbinarito (non-binary to you Anglos).

"Dr.Jose Nonbinarito took only Yankee dollars, so I went with my new Brazil-waxed Ecuadorian lover to Cancun to earn some money. The gringos were so cheap that the tips we got from working in the resorts they stayed in didn't amount to much. Still, the money was Yankee dollars, and I was saving to see Dr. Nonbinarito. I was becoming impatient though and I knew the doctor was going to be expensive, so I quit my job at the resort, and started 'hooking' (as you Americans call it). I met lots of gringos from your country (places like Hackensack, Newark, Jersey City, Plainfield, South Bound Brook, and Bayonne) whose hot tamales couldn't get enough of my little pandulce. Soon, I had close to a thousand dollars, and saying goodbye to my friend, I hopped another train--this time to Mexico, land of remittances received from its illegal people in the north who send dollars south of the border from bodegas all over gringo land.

"Dr. Nonbinarito's office was over a jai lai arena next to a night club with real hot water, clean banos where you didn't even have to pee into a whole in the floor, disco dancing, Santana and Feliciano blaring from its speakers, and Carte Blanca on tap. I was relieved that the Donkey Act that drew such big crowds there didn't come on until after the doctor's office hours because it made so much noise. All that braying (and that was just the senoras) and tossing sombreros while the crowds screamed 'viva la orgasm." I'll never forget the club's name 'El Donkey de Grande Dongito' (the Big Donged Donkey to you Anglos but much more poetic in Espanol). How that donkey would toss back his head with pride and the senoritaswould rush him afterwards to stroke his massive platana and coconuts. Anyway, I digresso.

"Nonbinaritos office was okay. I was a little concerned about the cukarachas running over the examining table and the blood on his laboratory coat when he came in smoking a cigarette looking for his peyote, but he did have that comforting Guadalajara Medical School Diploma on his wall, class of 1973.

"So, you want to become a Señorita. Let's start by having you sit up on the examining table and cross one leg over the other. He tapped my knee letting me know that this was the most recent advancement by doctors in the U.S. My wallet immediately flew out of my back pocket bulging with dollars as my foot kicked him in the Cohones. 'Mama Mia!" Nonbinaritos cried (too many Spaghetti Westerns, I guess).

"Anyway, since my most critical vital sign was o.k. (at least to gringo PCPs and surgeons) he said I was safe for the procedure. 'Now you know you will no longer have between your legs what you were born with?

"Have you heard about the march on Washington that MS 12.5 is organizing for March 23 where all Mexicanos, Central, and South American gay Hombres (about 100,000 and counting) are going to gather in the National Mall in orange vests with leaf blowers raging to demand that those ungrateful gringos pay for our Latino brothers to have their burritos turned in to tacos?

"How do you feel about that? We are supposed to be Macho south of the U.S. border. You can be called a 'puta' killed entering Tijuana just for being a man wearing shorts, loafers, and eye glasses. Latinas have no respect for their men if they're not wearing cowboy boots, tight jeans, have their shirts unbuttoned to their naval showing all that sexy Latino rug, drinking tequila and cerveza before lunch, and getting some 'on the side' (as the gringos say). Especially the creatively tattooed, human-trafficking, drug cartel MS 12.5 Hondurans, Guatemalans, and all the other wall pole vaulters who land in San Diego. By the way, do you think those capitol police will be any match for them and all the other muchachos carrying leaf blowers, fake social security and medicaid cards. How about their machetes? Latin America has enough Eunuchs because of them to populate all of Ancient Greece and Rome and fill every choir with the best Sopranos with more castrati than the biggest cathedrals in the Middle Ages could hold thanks to MS 12.5 and their machetes.

"Anyway, I digress, though I do wonder what will be the effect of the rally on all the landscaping, taxi transportation, car washing, and roofing jobs--especially in New Jersey with so many of our brothers on the National Mall! Viva Nueva Jersey, home owners associations who don't care about the quality of work their residents get, Guevara, Zapata, Santa Ana, Jose Domingo, Ricky Ricardo, and all the Chavez-named Latinos that a lettuce field can hold, blue states in general, forgers of driver's licenses and social security cards, asylum states everywhere, manufacturers of orange vests and leaf blowers, Ms 12.5, and any U.S. president who reverses Sheriff Arapaio's amnesty.

"Sorry, I got a little excited (Latin Blood and all). So, Amigo, I can't operate on you tomorrow because it's Cinquo de Drinko or the day after that because I'll be hung over or the day after that because the water level in the Rio Grande is expected to be low and I need some cheap supplies for the office from my favorite Wal-Mart in El Paso. How about Friday for turning your frisky little tamale into a taco, Señorita (shall I call you)?"

The next two days in Ensenada passed peacefully. Cinquo de Drinko was a blast. I had to save the money I had for my procedure, so I ate the worms from all the Tequila bottles I drank. I did find one drag-queen show in a club secretly owned by Ms-12.5. You'd be amazed by how many of those machete-carrying, macho hombre, tattoo-sporting, jefes, from MS-12 and gangs like that are really puts who end up working at Taco Bell, as 'landscapers' (I use the word very loosely.) and 'roofers' (I use the word even more loosely.) in New Jersey planned HOAs who always go with the cheapest, most incompetent contractors who hire only undocumented Latinos still drying out from their swim across the Rio Grande--well, you would be amazed how many queens are in MS-12.5.

One of their big tough guys is in the drag show tonight (He was fired from the donkey place down the street.). His name is Jose, but on stage he goes by Joselita and dances to the Mariachis in the most beautiful red dress. I also met one of the most famous drag-queens from Panama who used to be Noriega's mistress and fought with the Sandinistas before escaping to Ensenada when the CIA torched all the marijuana fields and cocaine houses in Uruguay. His name is El Transexualito and he's just dreamy. We had sort of a thing, but I wanted to wait until Dr. Binarito turned me into a señora before we got to serious. My dream is that we will marry in California and then adopt two children before settling in Central New Jersey. I'd like to have children one day in a blue woke state and send them to one of the state universities. Hopefully, by then, every number you dial in the Garden State will say, "Press 'I' to continue in English and everyone will be required to speak Spanish or be extradited to Tallahassee which is a red state filled with more conservative Cubans than there are iguanas in Mazatlan and you're not allowed to blow up any statues--even if you're MS-12.5. Their governor doesn't allow your children to memorize all of Masters and Johnsons' or Kinseys' research in pre-K so who wants to be there?

Anyway, Dr. Nonbinarito did a great job, and I'm even considering applying to Juillard for Master's in voice. I'm a soprano now, and since that famous Spanish opera singer guy (Placido something has gotten into so much trouble for sexual-harassment, I think they're may be an opening for me. I could be the next Joyce DiDonato, Renee Fleming, or even my favorite Marian Anderson! I hope Juillard has a women's swim team I can compete on. I still have lots of testosterone and great biceps and thigh muscles. My estrogen shots have caused me to lose some hair--especially since my cohones are gone--but I don't those olympic champion Juillard swim team girls will mind me in their showers or locker rooms now that I have a cute little taco instead of that miserable burrito. Let's go Juillard!

"Fill in that Rio Grande," Mr. Gorbachev.

The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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