Dear Mexican: I wasn’t born in this country, but I got here as quickly as I could at the age of 10. I was born in Mexico and live in Houston, a city that is bursting at the seams with Mexicans and Latinos from every country south of the border.
I think I have the solution to this immigration debate. The light bulb went on recently when I was attending a breakfast put on by big-time real estate developers at a five-star hotel. They were pitching new communities being built in resort cities starting at a mere half-million dollars.
So why not just annex Mexico? We’d make it easier for rich gabachos to go south with their money and create lots of jobs.
Dear Coconut: Isn’t that what NAFTA did?
All my Mexican friends are second- or third-generation Americans, and relate to Mexico in a generic way, but are shaky on the details of history. Which grupo should they hang with? The bloodthirsty “We’re here to kill you and steal all your stuff” conquistadores, or the “cut out your beating heart and worship anything that moves” indios?
White Who Likes Brown Power
Dear Gabacho: Gabachas, of course: the blonder, the better!
Why is it that you guys pack yourselves eight deep in a pickup truck cab that wouldn’t hold me, my huntin’ dog and my girlfriend, ’n’ then drive down the freeway slower than Canadian snowbirds lookin’ for Sun City? Almost makes me want to reach back ’n’ grab my deer rifle outta the rack!
Road-Raged Red Neck
Dear Gabacho: You do that, boy, and all those Mexicans will pour of the camioneta and give you some good ol’ fashioned chingazos like we always do—and there’s your answer.
I’m going to graduate school for Mexican history, and I had a professor of Chicano studies call me a Mexicanist. Have you heard of this term before? What does it mean?
Dear Woman From Sonora: Yes, I’ve heard of the term—it means your professor is an insecure pendejo.
I love your articles and would invite you to El Tepeyac in Boyle Heights for a burrito, but I don’t have enough bus fare for the 47 family members you will probably bring along. But I need some love advice.
I think I really fancy a Mexican lady who regularly recycles cans and bottles around my neighborhood. She’s like a seven out of 10, wears jeans and boots, and looks like she can really please the right kind of guy. I’m a middle-aged güero gabacho who isn’t unpleasing to look at. What should I say to make her bed me?
Huevos Oaxaca Rellenos Nuevo Yucatan
Dear Oaxacan Eggs New Yucatan Rellenos: Whisper “Soy un pendejito gabacho con verga de pulga, y huevos de chavala”—and you’ll get what a fine gabacho like yourself deserves!
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