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Thu09192019

Last updateTue, 18 Sep 2018 1pm

Dear Mexican: Over the years, I’ve had several different American doctors digitally violate me to examine my old prostate. Before they examine me, they always play Cat Stevens music. It explains why old American men uniformly hate Cat Stevens.

I’m moving to Mexico soon, and I assume that my next annual physical will be performed by a Mexican. Do Mexican doctors play Cat Stevens before they examine your prostate? Do old Mexican men hate that guy as much as old men from America?

Culo Chris

Dear Gabacho: Does anyone care about Cat Stevens anymore besides Muslims? Certainly not Mexicans. But I can say that old Mexican men hate prostate exams far more than gabachos, because they’d rather risk dying painfully from a preventable cancer than getting anything shoved into their nalgas.

This ain’t just stereotyping Mexican masculinity, but the unfortunate truth. The awesomely titled “I Will No Longer Be a Man! Manliness and Prostate Cancer Screenings Among Latino Men” by Zully Rivera-Ramos and Lydia Buki, which appeared in the December 2011 issue of Psychology of Men and Masculinity, found that “prostate cancer is the most commonly diagnosed type of cancer among Latino men. Due, in part, to lower rates of screening.”

Why the low rates of digital rectal exams? The same reasons are found in “Expressions of Machismo in Colorectal Cancer Screening Among New Mexico Hispanic Subpopulations” in the April 2012 issue of Qualitative Health Research: It’s the machismo, pendejo. Mexican men, like Kanye West, only want toilet paper to touch their anuses, because anything else would make them gay.

And now you know why Mexico is Mexico.

Dear Mexican: My husband swears up and down that Mexican men do not grant drivers the courtesy of “cutting in” or merging into their lane. I tell him that he’s crazy, but every time he runs into this situation, the driver just happens to be a male who looks to be Mexican.

What’s the deal with that? I’m out to prove him wrong, but so far, everything is working out in his favor.

Let Me In, Damn It!

Dear Gabacha: You really think a culture that celebrates coming into this country without papers is going to care about letting people get ahead of them during traffic? That’s like expecting Donald Trump to suddenly offer aguachile at his restaurants—¡no mames!

Dear Mexican: Is it just my imagination, or do Mexican families tend to fiesta on Sunday evenings more than any other day of the week? If the driveway is packed full of cars, the oompah is blaring, and the kids are running wild, it tends to be a Sunday. Why?

Interested Neighbor

Dear Gabacho: My saintly mami told me that when she and her siblings were picking garlic in California’s Central Valley during the 1960s as preteens, they’d work Monday through Saturday; wash clothes and clean around the house Sunday morning; and then spend the rest of their Domingo afternoon relaxing along with all the other Mexicans they knew.

The same goes with Mexicans of this era, although I would add that Saturday evenings are also reserved for weddings and quinceañeras—but since they involve navigating family and rancho rivalries dating back to the Porfiriato, the Mexican considers them more hard labor than puro pinche pari.

Ask the Mexican at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.; be his fan on Facebook; follow him on Twitter @gustavoarellano; or follow him on Instagram @gustavo_arellano!

Published in Ask a Mexican

Dear Mexican: Please allow me a little latitude. I’m a resident of Northeast Dallas, a wonderfully diverse neighborhood near the heart of downtown. I’ve lived here for many years and wouldn’t even CONSIDER moving north, south, east or west. However, I have one issue I’d like to address: What’s the deal with Mexicans’ propensity to stop their cars in the middle of busy streets?

I witness this almost every week, usually on Ross Avenue during afternoon rush hour. I (and hundreds of other motorists) will be clipping along at 30-35 mph in the northbound lanes, when all of a sudden, cars will swerve; horns will honk; and traffic will suddenly grind to a screeching halt. What could it be? A lost puppy dog crossing the street? A little old lady who’s collapsed from heatstroke while trying to cross the street? A partially open duffel bag containing thousands of dollars, with bills flying all over the road?

NO! Without fail, it’s a Mexican who: 1. Saw a friend walking down the street and stopped to exchange pleasantries. 2. A Mexican who stopped to drop off or pick up a wife, husband or friend. 3. A Mexican who accidentally passed his/her intended location, but instead of “making the block,” decided instead to stop, and in some cases, even BACK UP in order to reach their intended destination.

I LOVE Mexicans. You all are some of the friendliest, easiest-going, most-family-oriented, hardest-working people I’ve ever known. But put some of you behind the wheel of a car, and all bets are off. Help a gringo out here. What’s the deal?

Stuck on Ross

Dear Gabacho: Ever heard of the Chinese Fire Drill—when you stop at a red light, everyone gets out of the car, circles it and gets back in? I didn’t, either, until I got some gabacho friends last year; gabas are weird, ¿qué no?

Anyhoo, call the scenario you described the Mexican Fire Drill. You also forgot that Mexicans will stop in the middle of the street—traffic be damned—if they’re waiting for a friend who’s getting ready at their house, if they have to go inside a place to pick something up, or if there’s a particularly good banda jam on the stereo, and they want the whole barrio to listen. As por el why? After a lifetime of crossing borders, running away from la migra and hustling from job to job, sometimes it’s just great to relax and be still—and if that annoys gabachos, even better!

Dear Mexican: My name is Burjs, and I’m a gay male. I’m obsessed with Mexican men. I love you guys so fucking much. I love your “machismo” attitude—from the ways you guys walk, talk and look, to the way you make love. But I guess the thing I love the most—and it’s not true of all—is your tempers.

I wonder why Mexican men are mean and aggressive toward effeminate males such as myself. I’m not complaining, because I love it from you guys. Am I crazy because I like my Mexican lovers to sexually and physically abuse me? By the way, I’m a black bottom.

Provócame, Papi

Dear Provoke Me, Daddy: Don’t romanticize our machismo. If you get off on getting demeaned, that’s your deal. But far too many hombres who don’t fit the Vicente Fernández archetype of hypersexual hetero male have had to deal with too many calls of maricón and joto by other Mexican men throughout their lives to make it something cute.

Such aggression, though, proves the answer to the age-old question: What’s the difference between a straight Mexican and a gay Mexican? Two Tecates.

Ask the Mexican at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.; be his fan on Facebook; follow him on Twitter @gustavoarellano; or follow him on Instagram @gustavo_arellano!

Published in Ask a Mexican