Q. Why do people think Mexicans have small dicks? My novio sure doesn’t! —Bobbi Bobblehead
A. Dear Gabacha: And neither do I, chula! Lies aside, correlating penis length to ethnicity is a science as imprecise as building a border fence to keep out Mexicans. That said, out of hundreds of schlong-size surveys that the Mexican consulted, almost all concluded that the average Mexican verga ranked below gabachos and negritos on the pipi scale, but ahead of chinitos. Who cares? It’s not the tamao of the ship, but the motion of the océano that matters. Besides, Mexican men don’t obsess about how much chorizo they pack like gabachos do—we’re usually more concerned with beating them in the fertility game. And in that concern, Mexicans are a veritable John Holmes to the gabachos‘ Howard Stern.
Q. Dear Mexican: After working with Mexicans for years, I have noticed that Mexican men have a double standard when it comes to homosexuality. Why is it that the “giver” is not regarded as being just as equally gay as the “receiver”?— El Vaquero
A. Dear Cowboy Gabacho: I think all heterosexual societies condemn the catcher more than the pitcher, qué no? If it seems Mexicans exaggerate this idiotic double standard more than others, then blame their pendejo ancestors. The Aztecs reserved a harsher death sentence for a cuiloni (their term for the reamed in a homosexual tryst), while the Spaniards just killed anyone who practiced the amor that dare not speak its name. Some revisionist historians argue that the Spaniards distorted Aztec homophobia to reflect their own views, but what’s indisputable is that the confluence of two macho societies created a hyper-masculinized raza csmica that frowns upon gay men unless they’re flamin’. Times are changing, though: Last year, Mexico City approved civil unions for gays and lesbians—a small step on the road to eradicating Mexico’s rampant joto-hating, and more proof of initiative than virtually every American municipality not governed by the mariposa agenda can show.
Q. I live in a master-planned community, and our park isn’t public—or not that I know of. I passed by there the other day and saw a Mexican couple dry-humping by the BBQ pits. I almost always see a Mexican couple showing way too much PDA in a park. Why is it that Mexicans are always making out in the park? Do trees make them horny? —Your Friendly Neighborhood Park Watcher
A. Dear Gabacho: Por favor, be more sympathetic to the plight of such Mexicans—many of them still live at home with parents, or in a room with a dozen other people, meaning privacy is impossible. No-tell motels cost too much, and their paramour probably lives in a similar situation. The only places for such folks to steal some kisses are in the backseats of cars and in parks. Let Mexicans make out, pervert! As long as they’re not putting the moves on you, you shouldn’t worry. And if letting wabs get their rocks off doesn’t sit well with you, then refry this: Mexicans are art lovers, and we love to recreate Manet’s The Luncheon on the Grass whenever possible.
Q. I always wondered why my Mexican lady from Los Angeles tasted so much better than all the seoritas from Texas. Was it the surf ‘n’ turf, or some other muff mystery?
A. Dear Gabacho: Probably all that Velveeta those tejanitas eat.