I want to believe that I am a Mexican trapped in the body of a British Asian.

Up until quite recently life has been extremely hard for me. I always knew who I really was, even as a young child; I suspect I may have been Mexican at birth - my parents say that I adopted the maracas at an incredibly early stage in my life. At such a young age, it's hard to have a full grasp of what is really going on, no matter how hard I grasp my maracas. But it was late elementary school when I was finally sure of myself.

After a few years I worried that it had become obvious what I was suppressing. My classmates began to bully me relentlessly, and school became tough. I couldn't go down the corridor without some dickwad knocking my Sombrero off of my head, or stepping on the back of my poncho as I walked past or some shit. It was a nightmare. They just wouldn't accept me. The main antagonist was this fucking jerk kid called Kevin. This 250 pound lump of unground burrito-meat just wouldn't leave me alone. I'd be sitting alone lunch, peacefully enjoying my quesadilla, and he'd walk past with his dickhead friends and throw some shitty pun at me that made no fucking sense, like "I see that tables full, is there room for juan more?" (Fucking original, amigo) before sliding down beside me and triggering me with some racist shit about illegal immigrants, and how I wasn't a "true Mexican". Once he even held me down and drew a mustachio on my face, but to be fair that one played into my hands.

The older I got the more trouble he seemed to cause. He'd jump in on me when practicing my rendition solamente una ves on marimba and start singing some shitty mariachi tune, you know the one, there's only two mariachi songs typical uncultured swines like him know; "du du du duuun dun, du du du duuun dun, dun dadadadada dun" and of course the classic, "daduda daduda daduda duuuuh, duhdaduh duhdaduh dadada duuuuh". Or something like that. You know them... fuck it, whatever, I digress.

This shit goes on for like a year, and it gets to the point where I'm ready to hang him from a tree and beat his corpse like a piñata. One day he approached me at lunch at my usual spot as I was preparing for the burrito contest. He had a shit eating grin on his face.

It occurred to me I should probably add some context: every year as a part of some ethnicity acceptance and awareness bullshit my school has a day with a theme of a country. This year was the year of my spiritual home country thanks to a rather unprecedented sponsorship from the local Mexican restaurant in which they supplied several boxes of burritos and 55 gallons of raw corn syrup. Thanks to the overstock of burritos they had set up a fundraiser where you essentially stuff your face with tortilla encased goodness and the person who does it most without re-ejecting them wins some trophy in the shape of a taco shell and the rest of the supplies, including the vast quantity of beautiful glistening syrup. They were finally actually doing something I was good at and I wasn't going down without a fight.

"What's up, amigo?" The obnoxious fucker said as he leaned down next to me. "I see you've got a nice looking burrito there". He made a grab for it but I pulled it away. That's when I'm struck by the most brilliant plan I've ever had in my life. It was genius. It was criminal, el chapo. I knew what I had to do.

"If you want a burrito then you can have as many as you want if you go up against me in the burrito contest the day after tomorrow"

"Was that a challenge, Sanchez?"

"You bet it was"

"Alright, scrub, I accept your challenge. See you on Thursday"

Now, don't assume that because of my intense connection with all things mexcellent I could easily beat this guy. This guy was a tank. I once saw him eat eight portions of macaroni without even breaking sweat. I'd dug myself in deep this time, but I knew what to do.

Early the next day I went and purchased the necessary pills for my plan, then hired one of my amigos to successfully pop the pills and stir them into his generic American soft drink, as I was rather bloated from my training and had lost some of the dexterity I had developed from my Mexican folk dance classes that would help aid such stealthy endeavours. Once everything had been set up, all I needed to do was starve myself so I had an empty void in my stomach.

The burrito contest day was upon me. I wore my favourite sombrero, skipped breakfast and ran straight to school, then put up with the social equality and history of Mexico shit, I knew it all already. There was only one thing on my mind: beating that cactus fucker for good.

The contest was held on the school stage with a seat, a table and multiple bins in the event of projectile burrito ejection from the stomach. Ten burritos were laid out on the table and shitty mariachi was playing in the background. Dickwad sat next to me, glancing over hungrily like I was cheap labour.

During the contest I became a machine. My vision blurred as time was nonexistent. I had done my job far faster and more efficient than my American counterpart. Before long all ten burritos were gone. I felt like I was about to explode by I had to stay strong. It was time to wreak my revenge.

I watched tantalisingly as dickwad desperately tried to stuff down his eighth burrito. He was far past his capacity. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was 10% burrito at this point. But he couldn't give up, or I'd win. His eyes were watering under my dominance. Salsa and guacamole were dribbling down his chin.

I walked up to him and grabbed one of his uneaten burritos, and took a bite out of it

"You monster" he said, standing up to face me "how do you do this"

"I guess it's nacho lucky day"

And with that, I leaned down, pulled down his shorts, and jabbed him in the guts with all my might.

Chunks of burrito flew out of him at terrifying speed. Streaks of green, white and red poured out of his mouth, spraying a grotesque Mexican flag over the stage. No bin could contain this quantity of fluid

That's when the laxatives I'd put in his drink kicked in

Runny shit began pattering down like rain from a thunderstorm, before increasing to a torrent. He began to turn away from the stage, but the pivot added to his rotational motion, and unable to stop he began to spin. Dickwad was now a Catherine wheel of shit and vomit as he span ever faster. The constant spray painted grotesque shillouettes on the walls of whoever was unfortunate enough to get caught In the crossfire

Dickwad had now accelerated to a speed to where he was now merely a tornado of both undigested and fully digested burrito fillings, and began sucking objects towards him in the intense winds.

Then, the upward thrust exceeded his weight, and he rose up like a helicopter over the stage, broke through the roof and disappeared into the sunset.