The Adventures of Peccho Baludo
Posted by Mark David Manders Tue, 30 May 2006 11:45:00 GMT
My name is Peccho Baludo. I was born in Acuna, Mexico and gained entry into the United States under the North American Free Trade Agreement in 1994 posing as a truck driver. I have no green card and most of my time is spent running from the law.
My most recent employment was at Banita Creek Hall in Nacogdoches, Texas, where I worked sweeping floors and bussing tables. On April 19th, the I.N.S. raided the establishment and I was forced to hide in the equipment trailer of a band that was playing the hall that night. After spending two days locked inside the trailer without food or water I finally made my break when the band unloaded in Plano, Texas.
This is my story.
When the trailer door was unlocked I jumped out, much to the surprise of the band members, and took off running in the direction of a small creek. The creek was located a few hundred yards from the subdivision where the trailer was parked and appeared to offer the shelter I needed to recuperate.
My first night in the wilderness I survived eating berries and drinking the foul creek water. The next day I became emotionally distraught and tried to commit suicide by hanging myself from a cliff. Unfortunately the rope gave way and I tumbled thirty feet to the rocky creek bed below. Apparently a double granny knot will not support the weight of a piñata body. I suffered only minor injuries.
The following day I decided to make a shelter and began gathering tree branches and debris that had washed along the creek banks. As I was returning to my campsite I was accosted by two men with carbine rifles who either owned the land or worked for the owner of the property. Extremely unhappy with me for squatting on their land, the two men blindfolded me and shot me execution style.
The first bullet entered my body just above my chest and exited though my shoulder. The second shot missed me entirely. I fell to the ground and played possum, but that was not the end of the torture. The culprits propped me up against the rock cliff and drove a butter knife deep into my sternum, before leaving me for dead.
Fortunately, we piñatas are very resilient. I was able to remove the butter knife and crawl back to my half-finished shelter where I remained for the next three days, barely conscious.
Within a few weeks I was back on my feet and returned to the task of completing my temporary housing. The night after I finished the roof a torrential thunderstorm hit and threatened to do me in all together. (Piñatas do not fare well in water.) I made it through the night, but it was touch and go there for a while.
I guess it was a little over a month before I finally decided to venture from my creek hideout. The local supply of berries was running low and I had a strong craving for a Big Gulp. So I waited until dark one Friday evening and made my way to the 7-Eleven about one half mile from the creek.
As I entered the 7-Eleven I was greeted (repeatedly) by two ladies behind the counter. For a minute I thought they might blow my cover, and I considered running, but my thirst got the best of me. I poured an extra large Big Gulp, and just as I turned to approach the check out counter, I bumped into Miss Leslie, my former girlfriend of three years.
I hadn’t seen Miss Leslie since our terrible breakup at a truck stop just north of Waco, and I was taken totally off guard. She offered me a ride and I accepted. However, instead of dropping me off at the creek we proceeded to her house in McKinney where I received the biggest surprise of my life so far.
I was not prepared for the events which followed. Miss Leslie introduced me to Pecchito, a cute little piñata of two years old. She went on to say that I was his father and she had been raising him on her own since my disappearance. I was speechless.
I spent the next few days getting acquainted with Pecchito and trying to reconcile with Miss Leslie. Pecchito and I took long walks in the park, rode bikes, and played football in the front yard. I was in heaven but it didn’t last long.
Miss Leslie’s ex-boyfriend, Shawn, soon caught wind of the situation. In retaliation he called I.N.S. and informed them that Miss Leslie was harboring a fugitive.
Immigration raided Miss Leslie’s house the following day. I was in the back yard and managed to jump the fence and evade capture. The I.N.S. agents pursued me for several miles, but I finally lost them by jumping off a thirty foot cliff not far from the temporary shelter I had constructed.
Since my escape I have been forced to keep a low profile, venturing out only late at night and limiting my trips to the 7-Eleven to once a week. The I.N.S. has Miss Leslie’s house staked out and I am forced to communicate by pay phone only. Hopefully the law will grow tired of searching for me soon. Until then I remain a fugitive.
