Señor Tapatío rode into the town
Suit coat golden as the hills
And sombrero mostly brown
His crimson tie waved gayly in the wind
That’s basically everything
There ever was to know about him
“Isn’t it ironic,” he yelled, “that chilies are hot?” He roared with laughter. “Get it? Chilly? Hot?”
Then as quickly as he arrived he spurred his steed and disappeared into the sunset.
Conflict of Interest disclaimer: No pecuniary or sauce-based compensation was provided in consideration of this post. Not even a lousy 5-ounce bottle. -Ed.
Shouts from the Abyss 