I Love Mexicans

If you think that Mexicans should get the fuck out of your country, then you know what? I think you should get the fuck out of your country. Mexicans are out there harvesting the food you are cramming into your fat gullet while you watch Fox News, get pissed off about Mexicans, and gain weight. I attended the U2 concert at Soldier Field in Chicago last night. Great night, good show. Sure Bono is now playing a caricature of himself these days, but he still has high entertainment value. There were three Mexican people in my row, and they were loving the shit out of life. Put a smile on my face every time I looked at them. One guy made the same “Are you getting me a beer?” joke every time I walked past him to use the toilet or get a drink. In between songs he yelled “Helllllooooo Bono, my frrriend!” at the stage. His other mates danced and screamed broken lyrics at the top of their lungs during the particularly energetic songs. Just so happy to be there. It was the same vibe I got during a long run on the morning of July 3rd along the lake front. Mexican families everywhere just kicking the hell out of it. Setting up blankets and barbecues and lawn chairs and tents in the parks and on the beaches. Tank tops and smiles and Virgin Mary amulets everywhere. They didn’t have much money and they didn’t give a fuck. All they need is pollo on the grill, some corn tortillas, a few cervezas, a soccer ball, a lopsided generic volleyball net with tears in it, and they are fucking good to go for hours. Dudes pushing trundle carts full of frozen shit I’ve never even heard of. Made my miserable fucking sado-masochistic run tolerable to see how much joy these immigrants were carving out of nothing. And I know, “Half them fuckers ain’t even legal!”. Guess what, half your fucking drunk potato digging Irish ancestors weren’t legal either. And Mayflower redneck xenophobic assholes just like you said they’d ruin the country. And look what happened. St. Patrick’s Day kicks so much fucking ass I can’t even tell you how much fucking ass it kicks. I don’t have the words. Mexicans are out there working their tits off doing labor that fat lazy assed Americans don’t want to do (I include myself in this group), while fat lazy Americans bitch about how they are “Takin’ our fuckin’ jobs!” (I do not include myself in this group). Sure, they have some problems with crime and alcoholism and obese welfare recipients, but tell me what ethnic group-Caucasians included-doesn’t have these problems? From the limited interaction I’ve had with Mexican immigrants while working on construction crews, hanging out with friends who manage bars/restaurants, the dudes who work in the locker room at my gym, and the lawn crew at my building complex, I’ve found the following: They are, on average, a pretty fun and hard-working lot that enjoys smiling and loves to laugh. So guess what? If given a choice of hanging out with them in a hovel on the outskirts of town with roosters running around the yard, or at your house with Glenn Beck shouting in the background and you pissing and moaning about the country being stolen from you by the evil, conniving wetbacks, I’m drinking Tecates and throwing bones with the Mexicans any day of the week and thrice on Sunday. So all I’m saying, while rambling incoherently for a really long page space, is instead of bitching about the Mexicans you’ve never introduced yourself to, turn off the fucking Bill O’Reilly (hmmmm O’Reilly, where did your ancestors arrive from???) and download a Rosetta Stone Spanish edition and learn how to say hello to the neighbors who like it or not, are here.

Also, do your fucking homework. We stole half of Mexico in the 1800′s, by hook and by crook. Sent our most rabidly anti-social, greedy fucking citizens down there to squat on their land and then pick a fight so we could rape and pillage the shit out of the northern half of their country. Where do you think “Don’t Mess With Texas” comes from? Now they’re back not with guns and an army, but a lawn mower and dish rag. Fucking deal with it.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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One Response to I Love Mexicans

  1. A.Haupricht says:

    I hear yah brother!! My landscaping never looked so good for a margin of the cost! Here's to Juan's everywhere…


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