Dear Mexican: A gabacho in the local daily suggested that
some of our prisons be outsourced to Mexico to save us money. What are
your thoughts? Would wabs make for good guards looking after homies and
white-trash inmates? Have a chew on that taco.
Mike the Mick from Missouri
Dear Mick: My thoughts? Ew … a Missouri taco.
I’m planning to do some landscaping at my farm. Is it better to
hire the Mexicans looking for work who wait at Lowes, or the ones who
wait at The Home Depot?
Farmer Baboso
Dear Gabacho: Neither. Try the ones at the local union, so a farmer
can pay a nonexploitative wage to Mexicans for once.
I was recently at a Mexican beach where people kept coming up and
trying to sell me jewelry, key chains, time-share condos and all kinds
of other shit I didn’t want. What I wanted was a joint. Virtually
everyone I asked told me he’d go see his cousin and would be back in an
hour. None of them ever came back. What happened?
Sombrero Jones
Dear Gabacho: They left for los Estados Unidos, figuring all
Americans are as pendejo as you.
How I do I explain a dead Mexican in my bed? Moments before, he
was alive and muy caliente. But when I mentioned matrimonio, he stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. Then, that
was it. El fin, like it says at the end of an old Mexican movie
with Pedro Infante. Is this how Mexican lovers normally react?
Sonriendo gringa en Tucson
Dear Smiling Gabacha: The reaction you describe is endemic to all
guys, not just wabs. No, the standard Mexican hombres coitus
finish is spilled horchata, a satiated chica and a new
soldier for the Reconquista.
What is it with Mexicans and shoes? Or is it Mexicans and shoe
stores? Is it a Mexican national thing only, or are Mexican
Americans enamordos con zapatos y zapaterías,
también? Here’s a story: My sis-in-law had a baby shower for
her first baby, and her cousin-in-law, a Mexican national from Tijuana,
gave SHOES—stiff, shiny, leather (plastic?) SHOES—even
though the little guy was a good 8-10 months away from starting to
walk.
Zapato-liking-but-not-loving gringo
Dear Gabacho: We like shoes! They help us kick gabacho ass,
flee them, climb over them for jobs, stomp on their illusions of a
monolingual America, jump over their walls and teach good
posture for all of the above acciones.
What is it with Mexicans, beer, LOUD music and prepaid phone
cards? Every day, they buy a $5 phone card that they say they are using
to call Mexico, but I know those cards have five-plus hours on them. Is
that what they do all day after getting drunk from cheap beer? I lived
in a once-quiet and peaceful neighborhood, but after 10 Mexicans moved
into one of the houses, I have been up all night.
Raccoon Eyes
Dear Gabacha: Those Mexicans are courting you. And, judging by your
intimate knowledge of your neighbors’ phone use, it’s working!
Don’t you get tired of answering these ignorant questions and
somehow becoming the voice of all Mexican Americans, because Lord knows
you guys are ALL the same (just a hint of sarcasm there)? I understand
that if you didn’t set a few people straight, they’d never know, and
they’d continue to wallow around in their ignorance, but don’t you just
want to slap them? Maybe a little bit? Just to get it out of your
system?
Curioso Caucasian
Dear Gabacho: No on all counts. Ignorance-busting is a muy
bueno career, and written patadas beat physical
cachetadas (use a Spanish-English dictionary, gabachos)
in any era.
Ask the Mexican at themexican@askamexican.net,
myspace.com/ocwab or facebook.com/garellano; find him on
Twitter; or write via snail mail at: Gustavo Arellano, P.O. Box 1433,
Anaheim, CA 92815-1433!
This article appears in Aug 27 – Sep 2, 2009.