p for payback

Ho ho ho, gentle readers! 'Tis I, The Haiku Master, and I'm in quite the merry mood... for sweet vengeance has been delivered unto those hooligans at the Helping Hands Halfway House!!

After giving it some thought, I decided it was time to fight fire with fire. So I've been giving them the business for three days straight: asking them for spare change, peering into their windows late at night, rifling through their trash, pooping in their lawn -- the works! Furthermore, I've directed Castle Haiku's pack of vicious attack dobermans to conduct their business in the H.H.H.H.'s backyard as well, for maximum shit tonnage.

The Haiku Master (Right) Devises A Foolproof Plan For Exacting Revenge Against The Helping Hands Halfway House

Unfortunately, the goofball-sucking twits next door still haven't abandoned their boorish behavior, resulting in what non-Mexicans might call a Mexican Stand-Off. Nevertheless, it's comforting to know they now face an equal risk of squishing unexpected meadow muffins 'twixt their toes.

That's all for now. Time for me to hit the mean streets of Charm City for my nightly patrol.

Best,

easy like sunday morning

Shh! Be very quiet, friends. It's me, The Haiku Master, and I'm hunting panhandlers!

As reported earlier, the "Helping Hands Halfway House" opened next door to Castle Haiku a couple days ago, and the neighborhood's looked like a low-rent George Romero movie ever since. Throngs of shiftless hobos wander the streets at all hours -- begging spare change, giving unsolicited windshield washings, stinking to high heaven, etc. -- and frankly, I've had enough.

Unfortunately, the timid legalities of this thin, cruel world bar the Sultan of Syllables from any direct action unless first being acted upon. That said, my thirst for vengeance has been somewhat sated by the brazen handful who have foolishly trespassed onto my stately estate -- including this joker, who I caught sifting through my garbage not twenty minutes earlier!

This Guy Thought The Haiku Master's Trash Was His Treasure; He Was Wrong

The scoundrel was oozing false apologies when I found him in the care of my newly acquired pack of vicious attack dobermans, but he'll learn the true meaning of remorse after an hour or so in Castle Haiku's interrogation chamber. Or my name's not The Haiku Master!

Best,

vengeance is mine

Well, well, well, well! If it's true that he who laughs last laughs best, than I -- The Haiku Master -- am he! Why, you ask? Because I just got the latest issue of NME,* and my former band, Masters of Mariachi, was voted worst new mariachi group of 2005 by that fine publication's savvy readers!!

Masters of Mariachi, Post-Haiku Master (From Left): Rudy, Paulo, Sanchez, Jesus, and Felipé

Talk about some sweet revenge! Just two-and-a-half months ago, that motley crew of cutthroats kicked the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 and his golden throat to the curb, in favor of my once-trusted agent Paulo's gravelly whine. Then they had the audacity to add a trumpet player, Felipé, knowing full well I can't stand the sound of brass in my mariachi!

But the big wheel of karma has spun firmly around now -- giving yours truly a dollar and the chance for a bonus spin! Take that, you Judases! Or is it Judi? Either way, I win!

Best,


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* New Mariachi Express. And yes, they do hold their annual readers poll very early in the year.

journey into mexico, pt. VI

***
CHAPTER VI

Santo and I gave chase to the treacherous Haikunestro and his robot chicken, El Diablo -- and in no time at all, we were on them!

"Well well well, Haikunestro," I said. "Looks like the table's firmly on the other foot now, hmm? Hmmmmm? Hmmmmmmmm?"

"¡Sí!," said Santo, punching his own chest and pointing furiously at our enemy. "¡Vamos a perforar su boleto, Haikunestro!"

Without missing a beat, Haikunestro hoisted El Diablo like a bowling ball and hurled it at Santo's head!

"Suck my robot cock*, you freak!" he shrieked. El Diablo tore into Santo's face with an equally piercing squawk, rending silver mask and flesh alike with his weird metal claws.

El Diablo Attacks!

"Sweet Jesus!" I cried, rushing toward my friend. "Santo!"

Haikunestro took full advantage of my momentary distraction, shoving past me as he hoofed it down the hallway.

"Never mind me, Haiku Master!" Santo shouted, wrapping his thick mitts around El Diablo's scrawny throat. "I can fend for myself! You must stop Haikunestro!"

He was right -- but how? My arch foe already had a good lead on me, and to be quite honest, I was winded; three weeks of living it up on the championship cockfighting circuit really takes it out of a guy.

As it turned out, no further action was necessary on my part. I heard twin gunshots, and Haikunestro collapsed on the dirty linoleum floor. Beside me, sparks flew from El Diablo's convulsing body as Santo's sturdy hands tore its neck in twain.

But who fired the shots? Paulo? Blue Demon? Who?!?

I peered down the hallway, and could just make out a large form draped in fine blue silk. This person wore an equally blue sombrero, and held a large, blue, smoking revolver in each hand.

"That," he said in a smooth Mexican accent, "is for sleeping with my wife. Adios, híbrido!"

Just as quickly as he appeared, the mysterious gunfighter in blue was gone.

"My god," I said. "Was that..."

"Sí," Santo said gravely. "The Blue Sombrero."

"The Mexico City Madman! I always thought he was a myth!"

The Mysterious Blue Sombrero, A.K.A. The Mexico City Madman

"Yes, well I would love to discuss his existence with you at length, but I'm afraid I must be off to the hospital."

"That's right, your face! Yeah, um, sorry about that..."

I nearly lost my lunch as I looked at Santo's wounds for the first time. El Diablo had left dozens of deep gashes on my friend's face -- it was a wonder his mask was still attached!

"Eh, it's no big deal," he shrugged. "My face was already horribly scarred -- which is exactly why I never remove my mask, as you well know. This will just be a new batch to add to the collection."

Just then, we were rejoined by Paulo and Blue Demon, who were inexplicably accompanied by four youngish-to-middle-aged, garishly attractive women!

"Hey Santo, Haiku Master!" Blue Demon said. "Look what me and Paulo found! Fun for all and all for fun, eh?"

"Blue Demon, you shouldn't have!" said Santo. "I need immediate medical attention, but you bring me senóritas instead. And when have I ever been known to refuse a lovely senórita? Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"

Oh, how Santo laughed! And when Santo laughs, everyone laughs.

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* Sí, is cock, no chicken.--Paulo

***
EPILOGUE

So that, faithful readers, was that. As it turned out, Haikunestro wasn't dead, just badly wounded, and he and his incapacitated henchmen were soon collected by the local police.

As for that night, let's just say what happens in Mexico City stays in Mexico City. And that Santo is extremely ungenerous when it comes to sharing senóritas.

The next morning, I said my farewells to Santo and Blue Demon, but felt no sorrow -- I had no doubt our paths would cross again at some point. Then, Paulo and I were off to the bus station; he to return to his village, and me to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

"Well, I guess this is it, Paulo," I said as my bus pulled up to the station. "I really couldn't have asked for a better guide for my time here in Mexico. Put her there, pal."

"Usted es un hombre muy extraño," Paulo said as we shook. "Muy, muy, hombre muy extraño."

"Thank you, Paulo. I'll be in touch."

I must admit a twinge of remorse as I boarded the old grey dog for home. I would miss this country and its wonderful people, tacos, tequila, fajitas, cockfighting, burritos and fireworks. And donkeys.

After A Successful Adventure, The Haiku Master Is Homeward Bound

But whatever sorrow I felt was tempered by the knowledge that Mexico had gained a fervent new fan -- and powerful ally -- in me: The Haiku Master!