Oh my goodness! My friends, if you were among those who felt a chill run down your spine yesterday afternoon when you saw that incomplete news alert on your Facebook or X (formerly Twitter, for the nostalgic), let me tell you, you weren’t alone. It was a moment of collective panic, a “what’s up?” that echoed from Iztapalapa to Polanco.
There it was, the headline, blood red, urgent, screaming danger with zeros instead of “o” to outsmart the algorithm. And those three dots, that damned “…see more” that works like the Devil’s hook to ensnare our national morbid curiosity. Our minds, always thinking the worst (because we live in magical Mexico, what did you expect?), began to weave theories worthy of a narco series. Could it be another pair of serial killers like those in Ecatepec? Drug traffickers fighting for control of the territory with bullets?
But your humble servant, El Tundemáquinas Ramírez, risking his neck and his sanity, went right into the heart of the information, clicked on that forbidden link, and went to the scene of the crime to bring you the real deal, uncensored and unfiltered. And what we found, folks, HOLY SHIT! What we found is worse than hitting a mother on her day.
The full story isn’t about high-level drug cartels or political squabbles. It’s about something sacred to Mexicans, something that defines us as a nation: the late-night street food.
The captured couple, those sons of bitches who are now behind bars (and I hope they rot there), weren’t killing people. They were killing the neighborhood dogs and cats to sell them as “lamb barbecue” on weekends!
Yuck! Oh my god! How disgusting!
THE CHRONICLE OF HORROR: HOW “THE DEVIL’S TACO VENDORS” FELL
It all began in the heart of a working-class neighborhood in the north of the city, the infamous “Bondojito Norte,” where the wind twists and turns and the potholes resemble lunar craters. For months, the residents had noticed something strange in the air.
“Look, young man,” Doña Chonita, a brave neighbor who was key in the operation and who is now in intensive care, told us, while crossing herself with a trembling hand and holding a bread roll to calm her nerves. “For months now, the animals on the block have been disappearing. First it was ‘Firulais’ from the corner, a very noble mixed-breed dog; then ‘Pelusa,’ the Siamese cat belonging to the lady at the beauty salon. We thought they were being stolen for dogfights or that they got lost, but we never imagined they’d end up in a broth!”
The couple in question, Don Brayan “N” and Doña Kimberly “N” (names changed to avoid hindering justice, although there’s no shortage of desire to burn them at the stake), seemed like ordinary neighbors. They greeted people, went to the market, and on Friday nights they set up their street food stand: “Tacos El Borrego Feliz” (Happy Lamb Tacos). What a macabre irony!
But the final straw was the smell. It wasn’t the smell of grilled meat, folks. It was a strange stench, a nauseating mix of spoiled meat, rancid blood, and a suspiciously excessive amount of agave leaves and dried chilies to disguise the culinary crime.
THE DANTESQUE DISCOVERY: THE HOUSE OF HORRORS, MEXICAN VERSION
Early yesterday morning, an anonymous 911 call (rumored to be from Doña Chonita herself, fed up with a dog’s desperate barking) alerted the police. The officers arrived, thinking it was a drunken brawl or domestic violence. Poor fools!
As they approached the entrance to the couple’s house, the smell hit them like a mule’s kick. Forcing their way inside, the officers, hardened by countless battles against Mexico City crime, nearly threw up right there.
The scene looked like something out of a low-budget gore horror film. There was no living room furniture. There were cages piled up. There were tools that weren’t exactly for fixing a car. And in the backyard, in some blue plastic tubs… Oh my God! There were furs. Furs of dogs and cats of all colors and sizes, piled up in a corner like dirty rags.
And in the kitchen, the “narco-kitchen” of horror, giant steam pots boiling at full blast, with meat that definitely didn’t go “bee bee”.
“GET DOWN, YOU BASTARDS! YOUR LITTLE BUSINESS IS OVER!” shouted the commander in charge, drawing his weapon while trying not to breathe the putrid air and holding back the urge to cry with rage.
THE CYNICAL CONFESSION: “PEOPLE DON’T NOTICE THE DIFFERENCE WITH ENOUGH DRUNKEN SALSA”
The detainees, now nicknamed “The Dog Killer” and “The Marinade Witch” in the neighborhood, were led away in handcuffs. And get this, because they didn’t show a shred of remorse. They walked with their heads held high, the cynical bastards.
It turns out this heartless couple had been operating for over a year. They were dedicated to “picking up” stray animals and even pets with owners who happened to wander out onto the street for a moment.
And you know what the worst part is? You know what makes my blood boil? That according to the initial unofficial statement that leaked out, this guy Brayan cynically said as they were putting him in the patrol car: “Honestly, boss, people are big eaters and don’t ask questions. With a little lime, some onion, and a really spicy salsa, nobody notices the difference. They were even congratulating us on the ‘wild’ flavor of the barbacoa!”
You sons of a…repulsive mother! What a terrible grandmother!
BRAWL IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD: THEY WANTED A LYNCHING, AND WITH GOOD REASON
When word got around the neighborhood about what was really going on in that house of horrors, all hell broke loose. Hundreds of enraged neighbors, some crying because they recognized their missing dog’s collar among the evidence the forensic experts were collecting, surrounded the patrol car.
“Get them down! We’re going to make tacos out of them!” the mob shouted, wielding sticks, stones, and makeshift torches. The police had to call for reinforcements; riot police arrived to remove the criminals before the people’s justice could be meted out, Fuenteovejuna-style. It was total chaos: tear gas, curses directed at the authorities for not arriving sooner, and a neighborhood united by the pain and rage of knowing their loyal friends had ended up on a disposable plate.
CONCLUSION: MEXICO IS IN MOURNING, FEELING DISGUST AND DISTRUST
That “…see more” that kept us on tenterhooks concealed the greatest betrayal of our trust in innocent beings who only give love. Today, thousands of Mexico City residents who once ate at “El Borrego Feliz” are undergoing a mental and physical stomach cleansing, wondering in terror: “That nana and buche taco I ate a month ago… was it barking or meowing?”
The couple has been arrested, yes, they’re in the North Prison and Santa Martha prison, but the damage is done. Something sacred in the neighborhood has been broken. Now, every time we see a new taco stand with suspiciously cheap prices, we’re going to think twice before ordering “five with everything.”
From this trench of truthful and bloody information, we demand the full force of the law be brought down on these soulless butchers. May they never be released! May they rot in jail!
And you, my people, take good care of your dogs, don’t let them go out alone, and please, for the love of all that is holy, watch where you eat! Because in this concrete jungle, the devil sometimes disguises himself as a friendly taco vendor with a very spicy salsa.
We’ll keep you posted, if our disgust allows us to keep writing. What a fucking nightmare!
