By Gustavo Arellano
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Dear Mexican: Is it true that most Mexicans are carriers of the swine flu due to the fact they eat a lot of chicharrones, or is it the fact that your women are so pig-like? I knew that Mexicans have muy shitty diets, but now we have to worry about them infecting us with a pig-borne disease? Maybe we should put Clorox in the Rio Grande to cleanse your people while they swim to our country illegally. Any ideas?
Penis Is Gnat-Small
Dear PIGS: Amazingly, yours was the only cochino comment or query that the Mexican received in the two weeks since the emergence of the most-destructive “Mexican” pathogen desde Carlos Mencia. Only time will tell whether the swine flu will fizzle out or turn us all into zombies (or, in the case of Mexicans, cucuys), so I’ll just limit my comentario to two salient puntos. First, most of the American cases first affected non-Mexicans, and nearly all of the infected arrived legally from Mexico, so no need to blame the illegals this time, Know Nothings. Second, instead of labeling this disease as swine flu, let us all unite in calling it the Lou Dobbs flu, both because of the CNN host’s porcine appearance and because his opinions are little better than pig caca but hella more dangerous.
Dear Mexican: Why don’t Mexicans ever go to the doctor?
El Banco Borracho
Dear Gabacho: No need to. We’re too hard-working to allow something as inconsequential as a cold or ruptured spleen make us take a day off. And when we do get ill, we rely on ourselves. A 2001 Journal of Immigrant Health article noted the popularity among immigrants of self-medicating. Another answer, though, lies in the fact that Mexicans continue to use millennia-old organic medicinal traditions. Mexican women, for instance, keep gardens full of natural medicines such as aloe vera, epazote (good for a sore tummy) and yerba buena (mint). All barrios have at least one botánica, an underground health clinic that sells herbs, amulets and other Catho-indigenous remedies. And when all else fails, many Mexicans along the border drive to Tijuana, where the pharmacies stock powerful antibiotics and other medicines. And as the Journal of Immigrant Health piece pointed out, many Mexicans simply can’t afford to rely on the American medical system—not only are the costs prohibitive, but also most stateside hospitals and doctors are overrun with Mexicans.
Dear Mexican: I’m a mother to a beautiful 5-year-old. Her father and I are of different ethnicities, with his bordering on gringo (he’s Greek). I’m a dark-skinned mexicana and proud of it! My daughter is the opposite of me: Mediterranean olive skin, with crystal-blue eyes and a head of gorgeous chestnut hair. Anyway, the other day, my nena was feeling sick, and I took her to the pediatrician. While waiting there, a woman who clearly had no tact or manners asked me a question I thought was offensive. She asked how long I had been nannying and if I baby-sat on my free time. I looked at her and politely said that I wasn’t this child’s nanny, but rather her mother. She looked unconvinced—and then had the huevos to ask me if I adopted her and from where. The fiery Latina in me was heated, to say the least, and thankfully, the nurse called us in before I had the chance to tell the puta to fuck off. Why is it impossible for gabachos to believe that darker-skinned Mexicans can make gringo-looking babies? For the record, my baby speaks English, Spanish and Greek. How many gringos can say that about their children?
I’ve Got the Scar to Prove It
Dear Wabette: You need to be more sympathetic to the intellectual plight of gabachos. This column exists solely because most of them can’t fathom simple issues pertaining to la raza like the origins of the upside-down exclamation point at the beginning of some sentences and why we like salsa so much; you honestly expect them to comprehend that Mexis come in all colores, especially given that our loudest yaktivists have painted us all “brown” to join white, yellow, black and red on America’s racial rainbow? Sí, gabachos: Mexicans span the color spectrum. Now, excuse me while I scarf down another bowl of pozole and fend off the Lou Dobbs gripa.
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