A Gabacho Unleashed

Dear Gabacho: Of course all the letters sent in are real—who do you think I am, a fabulist a la Sarah Palin? As I always say in my many lectures, I only do three things to the questions: edit them for space constraint, clean them up for grammatical purposes and give people a pseudonym (I would’ve called usted Dumbfounded in Denver, but your choice worked). But you don’t have to worry about Mexicans making gabachos look bad—the state of Alabama does that job just great. And don’t worry about Mexicans hating on good gabachos such as yourself. We keep track of every gabacho in this country—we know who we can count on to marry our daughters, and who’s calling code enforcement whenever our primo Chava parks his Suburban on our lawn—in our own mestizo Domesday Book, making notes so when the time comes to take over, we’ll decide who gets the shot of Corralejo and who gets deported to Alabama.

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