Dear Mexican: It's so sad to see your wimpy answers. Your replies scream self-hatred and self-shame for your raza. You're pathetic! You have no plan or desire to fix Mexico's problems. You're a puto with no huevos. My DREAM Act would be that you Mexicans would stop groveling to gringos, and scream about fixing Mexico, like WHITE PEOPLE did against the Iron Curtain thing. ONLY THEN will your Mexican self-shaming and self-hatred of your un-macho, puto, groveling raza change to real pride, which you know you deserve, like gringos have about America.
Groveling Is Puto Stuff
Dear Gabacho: Groveling? Chulo, this is the only column in the country that refers to gabachos as gabachos instead of the candy-ass "gringo" like your gabacho ass uses. No desire to fix Mexico? What's billions of dollars of remittances, then—or the Reconquista, for that matter? Or those marches of millions rallying for amnesty? That's a movement as epic as Solidarity or glasnost (and last I checked, a chingo of Eastern Bloc refugees worked from los Estados Unidos to liberate their homelands).
Pride for America? All I hear from Know Nothings is how horrible the U.S. is, yet they do nothing to improve it other than rant—they sound just like Mexicans used to until we started doing instead of crying. Self-hatred and self-shame? The only thing this Mexican is ashamed of is his panza—and even then, it's a panza more glorious in its contentment and fire than any gabacho panza can ever hope to attain. Huevos that, pendejo.
Cada día me and my perro Manchas go for an afternoon walk in this North Denver parque. We often pass the gringo gentry who are temporarily "improving" the neighborhood as an investment. You know how the gentry are—they move into the barrio but send their precious güeritos to the charter schools so they won't get piojos from our kids or wind up pregnant with half-brown babies. Anyway, I swear, every time Manchas and I pass one of these purebred, hyper-trained gentry dogs, the owners pull their pinches perros away from mine so they can't sniff cola or ... you know. He's a "purebred" Australian cattle dog (simón, a canine mestizo) and came off a reservation. But I bathe him once a year, brush him daily—más o menos—and he doesn't even have piojos. Me, either.
I guess my question is: How can the gentry know that he's Spanish—surnamed, bilingual and mestizo, since they've even never talked to us? And is there anything I can do so Manchas doesn't grow up with a pocho complex and think he's inferior to a gringo's dog?
Yankee Hipsters Go Home!
Dear Wab: Gotta pay our respect to our veteranos—they can ramble as awesomely as any gabacho at a retirement home!
I think what you're complaining about is the gentrification of historically Mexican neighborhoods by hipsters, a phenomenon happening everywhere from Denver to Los Angeles, SanTana to Chicago, and beyond. It's important to fight the encroachment of pendejos with no ties to the area who start demanding changes—get rid of quinceañera shops, of crowing roosters, of cars parked on lawns, of corn grown in the backyard and nopales in the front.
At the mismo time, though, raza really angry with gentrification should practice gente-fication—the process of young locals getting over their pocho complex by opening their own businesses to pump enough money back into the area so that city bureaucrats don't have any excuse to use the ruse of redevelopment on raza. Think of that strategy as our economic Mexican-American War—and if there are hipsters who are respectful of the old guard, like the San Patricios who joined our side against the invading Yankees so long ago, then I say embrace their ranks; pound a PBR with them; and teach them the secrets of scaring insufferable hipsters away from the barrio by blasting Banda El Recodo at all hours of the noche.