DEAR MEXICAN: We had a torrid and passionate romance for about a year. I could have done anything for her; I loved her. After the first breakup, for about six months, we had make-ups and breakups. Once, I broke the relationship because I understood she was and is commitment-phobic. After the breakup, I told her to please not call me anymore because she would screw me up for two weeks. (She loved me, but she did not want to be with me.) One day, out of the blue, she calls and tells me that she’s thinking about me and that all she thinks about is sex with me in Acapulco. . . . I will not go into details. I called her the same day, and we had a very nice conversation.
The very next week, I got laid off as part of a merger. I called her to announce the news and to tell her I needed a friend. She kind of blew me off and never called back—even after I wished her happy birthday a couple of days later. What kind of person does not return that call?! The next week—after she did not answer my calls—a friend suggested I send her a message saying, “I had a good time last night.” She responded immediately, calling me an asshole. I guess my question is porque las mujeres te patean mas fuerte cuando haz caído? Why do women hit you harder when you’re down?
Pobrecito de Mi
DEAR POOR LITTLE YOU: Compa, this ain’t an ¡Ask a Mexican! question; it’s an Ask God! pregunta. So give me a moment. . . . Are you there, Diosito en el cielo? It’s me, the Mexican. Why did you have to make women so locas? Wait, what? We men are the locos, and we should just worship mujeres unconditionally? Okay. . . . Are you there, Santo Niño de Atocha? It’s me, the Mexican . . .
DEAR MEXICAN: I’m an Italian-American transplant from the East Coast, so I kind of have an outsider’s view of the West and relations between Mexicans and gabachos. Seems to me that Mexican-Americans here are pretty much the hardest working bunch of people I’ve seen anywhere. They also have much more soul, love of life and personality than the majority of white people I’ve met. Assholes such as Donald Trump are too stupid to realize that without Hispanic influence, our culture would be pretty boring—and, worse, lack the perspective of real, grassroots people. How the hell did we forget, as Americans, that most of us came from the same type of poor, hard-working people? My skin gets pretty dark in the summer, and more than once, I’ve been taken for a Mexican-American. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a compliment.
Un Hermano Italiano
DEAR ITALIAN BROTHER: It’s the same shit the Irish pulled with your Sicilian paesanos, and what ustedes did to Poles and Portagee—story of America. The one difference we Mexicans have with all previous generations of immigrants is that gabachos are hard-wired to hate everything Hispanic, thanks to their Elizabethan ancestors, who told all sorts of abominations about the Spanish back in the Armada days. And if you think the distant past doesn’t explain the present, then refry this: Why do gabachos think a faded 1980s celebrity is worthy of becoming president? Oh, wait: it’s because they thought a faded C-list actor from the 1950s was worthy of becoming president during the 1980s. Oh, fuck. . . .
WATCH BORDERTOWN! Folks, the FOX cartoon on which I serve as an executive producer still has a shot at renewal, so por favor watch THIS SUNDAY at 7 p.m. PST, or stream it any time on Hulu or FOX Now. Gracias, and don’t forget to tweet #renewbordertown!
Ask the Mexican at
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