Purveyors of breasts and eggs

Dear Readers:

The Mexican must take the week off, because his home paper is publishing its annual Best of issue—if the devil ever condemns you to visit Orange County, pick up the OC Weekly! To honor our Best of, here’s a doozy from 2006—if you’ve ever heard me lecture, you know of this infamous edición, which got a man in Oregon suspended from work without pay for racism and sexual harassment because he read it there. Pinche PC pendejo Oregonians, I swear. Anyhoo, enjoy!

Dear Mexican:

My fiancé is trying to learn Spanish so he can speak to my grandmother when we get married next month. Lately, he’s been listening to CNN en Español to get an ear for the language. A couple of days ago, he told me that after several weeks of seeing the channel, he noticed that there are always chickens clucking in the background of the commercials. He wants to know, “What’s up with the chickens?” and “Is worshipping chickens a Mexican thing?”

—Madre Hen

Dear Wabette:

Does your gabacho not speak English, either? Can’t he ask the Mexican a question on his own? Not only that, but your gabacho is either a liar or mistakenly tuned into the Rural Farm Network for his Spanish lessons. I see CNN en Español and have never once heard chicken clucks during a commercial. In fact, the only time I can recall hearing chickens in the background of any program is when gabacho talk-show hosts rant about Mexicans. That sound clip cliché isn’t used exclusively for Mexicans, though: Entertainers have associated chickens with the poor since the days of vaudeville, and even famed reporter Borat Sagdiyev unleashed a chicken on unsuspecting New Yorkers in his recent documentary to hilarious results. As for the chicken-worship question, your gabacho is wrong again: The Mexican reverence toward Gallus domesticus is reserved for the gallo giro, the fighting cock. Rural Mexicans treat their hens as they treat their women: as purveyors of breasts, eggs and little else.

Why do spics and micks get along so well? Is it because both races are drunk, fornicating, degenerate Catholics?

—Don Mulletino

Dear Mick:

Get your racial slurs straight—Mexicans are wabs, not spics. Otherwise, you nailed it on the cabeza, cabrón. And the similarities don’t end there. The Irish were the Mexicans of the United States before the Mexicans. Millions of them migrated to this country destitute, as indentured servants (the precursor to the bracero program) and even as illegal immigrants. They were fleeing a homeland under siege by evil Protestants only to find similar treatment in the states. Gabachos here maligned the Irish for their Catholicism, their funny English, their big families and constant state of inebriation—stereotypes popularized by the mainstream press. The Irish fought back: They formed gangs and voting blocs and—in the case of the Saint Patrick’s Battalion—an entire battalion of hundreds of soldiers defected to the Mexican side during the 1846 Mexican-American War. But the Irish in America, to paraphrase Noel Ignatiev’s famous 1995 book, eventually became white, while Mexicans will forever remain Mexicans in the eyes of gabachos.

Nevertheless, the spic-mick connection continues. I know many children of Irish-Mexican heritage who call themselves “leprecanos,” a miscegenation of the words “leprechaun” and “Chicano.” Many Irish-American civic organizations support amnesty for illegals, since about 50,000 Irish immigrants have no papers. Mexico and Ireland have harsh laws against illegal immigration and must constantly deal with their idiot cousins across the border, Guatemala and Northern Ireland. And gabachos have warped our precious St. Patrick’s Day and Cinco de Mayo holidays into bacchanals of booze and women—on second thought, that’s a compliment. Our races are brothers in depravity, Don Mulletino, so let’s unite and throw the gabachos down the well, ¿qué no?