Dear Mexican: Why is it that people from Chihuahua and Monterrey are such jackasses? They come from pinches ranchitos and talk about their haciendas, and they cross the border and act as if their cagada does not stink. Why do they act as if they are better than us American citizens? They eat at all-you-can-eat $6.99 buffets and still want to take a plate to go for their abuela and primos. They stay at our hotels and treat the maids like rats, as if they were conquistadores. They speak loudly, as if every one wants to hear what they have to say. They think their putos pesos can buy anything. When you ask where they come from, they start by telling you that their abuelos are Spaniards and most of their familia are Spaniards, as if they are ashamed to be called mexicanos. The women wear their pantalones so tight that when they walk, they go up their culos. Please tell these cabrones chihuahuenses and putos monterreyes to cool down, that they are just as Mexican as the rest of us, and that they still smell like frijoles.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Dear Gachupín: Nothing like some intra-Mexican hatred to prove that the idea of a Mexican nation united for Reconquista is as realistic as a Mexican government free of narco money! Your specific insults toward people from the Mexican state of Chihuahua (or, as they're known in El Paso, fronchis) and the city of Monterrey (regiomontanos) marks you as someone from Texas, as that's where the majority of immigrants from northern Mexico have landed. And the reason they act so uppity isn't so much because of where they're from, but because of what they are: ricos who fled the chaos of their home states for the safety of Texas, where pompous, ostentatious pendejos are not only welcomed, but they become governors and presidents.
Dear Mexican: I'm a gabacha...kind of. I was born here, but my padres are mexicanos. So I'm a gabachacana. Anyway, my question is about fixing my authentic mexicano's papeles. He's 23, and I heard that once you're past eighteen, it's harder to do. He's never been in trouble with the law, he pays taxes and is a hard worker. But I heard that even all that would do him no good, and if I go through trying to fix his papers, he would need to spend like ten years in Mexico. I'm a patient person, but qué chingado, man? I'm not going to risk him meeting some paisana hoochie over there and having me wait ten years for him. What steps can I take to prevent such an atrocity?
Dear Wabette: While I'm all for people making up ethnic labels to describe themselves, gabachacana makes you sound like an apricot. The easy answer is to marry the chavo. You'll still face a long process, but it's faster than waiting for the Obama administration to make Dios-knows-how-many deals with labor, the Mexican government and Republicans to offer a "comprehensive immigration reform" that's as comprehensive as a tortilla chip covering a bowl of birria. Better yet, why not just move to Mexico with him? As I've said before, Mexico is the true land of liberty now, a libertarian paradise that becomes more and more appealing as technocrats up here try to game the system for themselves and make los Estados Unidos into just another Mexico — oh, wait...