El Guapo in DC

I am El Guapo. The most Guapo man in all of DC. Mucho Amor

Wednesday, January 31, 2007


“Here. Gracias.”

What is this?

“A check. For the money you lent me.”

You’re giving me a check?

“Si. For the money you lent me.”

A check. You’re giving me a check. For the money I lent you. Miguel, I lent you $15. Can’t you give me cash?

“El Guapo! Stop being such a drama queen! It’s the same damn thing coño!”

I am going to have to walk to the bank and get charged for seeing a teller because you couldn’t give me cash.

“Just deposit the damn thing at the ATM so you don’t have to pay a fee. Stop being simple.”

I don’t like doing that. They only credit your account the next day. Sometimes in two days. It’s annoying. I don’t like that.

“El Guapo, do not get annoyed with me because of your anal retentive nature! You lent me money and I’m paying you back. I do not wish to owe mi amigo money. Money ruins relationships.”

Ok... Fine! Gracias! Gracias for paying me back. Gracias for paying me back with a check. I’ll deposit it tomorrow.

“De nada. Wait, what?”

I said, gracias! I’m not even being sarcastic. En serio, gracias for paying me back. I had forgotten all about it.

“You’re going to deposit it tomorrow?”


“No, don’t deposit it tomorrow. Don’t deposit it before Friday. Actually, only on Friday afternoon just to be safe. Gracias hermano. I will see you later.”

Miguel pats me on the shoulder and walks out eating a banana yogurt. My last one...

Friday… For fifteen dollars. Why not?

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

PS: Thank you to my friend who helped me determine the difference between lent and leant. I was right. You were wrong. Guatemala in the house!

Monday, January 29, 2007

New Underpants

I was almost beaten up by a bunch of 13 year old kids today.

No soy the pugilist I once was, but I’m pretty certain that if one 13 year old tried to fight me, that I could hold him down by his shoes with wheels. However, when there are 6 shoes with wheels, that can be a bit of a problem.

“What the fuck are you looking at nigga’?”

Ay Dios… I looked up from my paper to see who was unfortunate enough to have these words thrown at them. Then I realized that the angry eyes which belonged to the young, angry voice was being directed at me.

“That’s right nigga’. I’m talkin’ to you!”

Ay Dios… I bit my lower lip to take in the situation. There I was, a gorgeous Guatemalan, who up until that point was having a pretty good day. Then, I find myself getting surrounded by half a dozen kids in oversized winter coats.

A couple of scenarios flashed through my mind and one of them involved me breaking into a Latino Jackie Chan segment with Chris Tucker in the back of the bus yelling nonsense. Another involved me waking up in the hospital with my face beaten to a pulp and mi madre praying her rosary beads. My face… Mi beautiful Guatemalan face…

Should I rely on my wit in situations like this? Maybe I could make these caballeros laugh at my Latino observations.

“Answer me motha’ fucka’!”

Perhaps I could find a better time to make someone smile. These kids were just in the mood to fight.

“He don’t understand what you sayin’ Arnie.”

Arnie… This kid’s name is Arnold. No wonder he’s angry.

“What’s the matter bitch? All you understand is tacos and burritos?”

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

I realized the words coming out of my mouth and wanted them to go right back in. Get back in!!! What the hell was that? Yo quiero Taco Bell? That was the best that I could do when I’m about to get jumped by a couple of teenagers in black marshmallow jackets. Why Diós? Why now? Why must I do my impression of the Mexican Chihuahua, why?

Then, it happened. I saw it start in the back and filter through the group. I even heard an old woman (who should have had my back in the first place) try to contain a chuckle. Then the kid with the angry mouth cocked his head, pressed his lips together and winced his eyes in a playful fashion.

Playful fashion. This is a good thing, yes?

“Yeah money. I want some Taco Bell too. We’re getting off here!”

And so, it was. They left.

Pobre Arnold. Going through life angry that his parents named him Arnold. Don’t be angry Arnold. Don’t be angry.

Now I just need new underpants.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Thursday, January 25, 2007


I was in Seattle this week. What was a drop dead gorgeous Guatemalan like me doing in Seattle?

Legally, I am unable to get into very much detail. I will tell you, however, that it involved a bag of peanuts, a braided leather belt and a horrible miscommunication with the staff of a major airliner. This and that happened, and I am able to fly for free within the continental United States on a carrier I am unable to mention in any way shape or form.

I never really took full advantage of this “settlement” because of my fear of leaving the confines of my beloved Washington DC. But I realize that sometimes I should give different cities the benefit of the doubt and grace them with my Guatemalan presence.

Let me tell you my friends, Seattle needs more Guatemalans.

I had a very hard time differentiating between the homeless and the Seattle natives. They all dress exactly the same. It is as if the Seattle residents suffered through a giant flannel grenade that was tossed in the middle of the city. Sad really… Muy triste.

No one ever told me that Seattle was colonized by the lost tribe of the Ugly People. I know, I know. I am being mean. Maybe the people that go out during the day and night on Tuesdays and Wednesdays aren’t Seattle’s finest. Maybe all the good looking people in the entire city of several million were sick. Maybe I was there on their off days. But hombre… I read somewhere that Seattle is a great place for single people. The reason for that is because no one wants to commit to another ugly person. They await their magical Guatemalan to better their ugly genes so their offspring needn’t suffer to a lifetime of averagidity (new word invented just for Seattle).

On a random note, I will say that all the good looking people in Seattle seem to be working in the restaurant business. Good people, good food, good times.

Ok, Seattle, bueno. I went to their famed Seattle Art Museum, but it was closed. Ok, fine, so I walked to the Seattle Aquarium and saw some otters, seals and sharks swim around. It was fun. Like watching milk congeal.

So then I went to the World Famous Pike Place Fish Market. You know the one where they toss fish around? The people that worked there were very nice, but I didn’t see them toss around any fish. When do they toss the fish? I was in Seattle wanting to see fish getting tossed. Nothing. No tossing.

Did I mention the homeless and the non-homeless dressing exactly alike? I did? Ok, well let me mention that the homeless of Seattle are the most aggressive that I have ever seen in mi vida. If you make eye contact, like I am known to do, they will ask you for money. If you do not give them money, they will follow you. I was followed for two blocks by what seemed to be a flannelled up, 35 year old, taller and brunette version of Kurt Cobain. I was debated taking off my shoes to beat him, but then I decided against it. He disagreed with my decision to not give him money and I accepted this.

I was getting harassed by the homeless quite often. How did they know I was a tourist? Oh yes. I remember know. I am muy guapo.

Seattle is, by far, one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Maybe being surrounded by so much natural beauty makes the residents of Seattle give up on looking halfway decent. I do not know. I do know, that it Dios was happy to have me in Seattle because it did not rain, not once, while I was there.

I kept being told by residents to not tell anyone on the East coast about the great weather they're having. They didn't want any more of "us" moving there. Don't worry.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


“El Guapo, I am convinced that you have developed a vagina.”

Miguel is angry because I haven’t been in the mood to be his wing man.

“El Guapo, I am seriously concerned about you and have brought all of your friends here today to tell you that you have a problem.”

Miguel has staged an intervention for me because my “game” has retired.

“We stand here, today, in front of you, to tell you that you need to snap out of whatever it is that is making you have a vagina and come back to being the old El Guapo.”

Miguel equates my not being in the mood to pick up women with having a vagina. He has gathered most of my friends under false pretenses. Many of them like that I am no longer the scavenger Miguel has become.

“Miguel, leave the man alone. He is retired. He no longer wishes to prey on the nieves around town. El Guapo has become mature and responsible.”

“Vincente! I did not invite you to this intervention. You too have a vagina and must deal with your demons in another way. There are too many vaginas in this room right now and you must leave at once!”

I like Vincente. He has been with the same woman for over 5 years. They have the type of relationship that everyone wishes they have one day. He completes his her sentences. She can order his dessert when he is in the restroom. They still hold hands and steal kisses from one another. I like being around them. Everyone likes being around them. They are in love without being annoying.

“Miguel, you just want El Guapo around because you can’t do the same things with Modelo.”

Modelo is a childhood friend who is a fantastic person until he starts drinking. He is that person who I have seen drink an entire case of beer by himself. He is not what Miguel looks for in a wing man.

“Vincente, you are forbidden to ever attend an intervention again. I never even invited you. Like I said, guys with vaginas are not allowed to be here. You must leave. Your vaginitis is starting to spread to the others and we can not afford to have an entire DC Latino male population suffering from what you have. Do you want the gringos to come after our women in retaliation?”

Miguel truly believes that one day the gringo men of the world will unite and take all of the Latina women in retaliation for decades of our ravishing their women. He speaks of this when he eats too many chips.

“El Guapo, por favor. Come back to the world. The nieves have started to forget about the legend of El Guapo.”

At that moment, as I saw the gold chains flay about over mi amigo’s mustard colored shirt, I realized one thing. I needed more gold chains. Oh si, I also realized that I had little desire to be the man some of my friends wanted me to be. This is my journey. I am going to make my own path.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Latino Humor

One of the things that greatly separate the Latino people from the rest of the world is our unique sense of humor. It has always interested me that regardless of the country of origin, the Latino sense of humor is something that carries over across borders and beliefs.

And frankly, I think it is only fair that we all share something in common because I’m tired of everyone being so jealous of the far superior Guatemalan beauty.

What is it about our humor that intertwines all Spanish/Portuguese speakers south of Texas? We tease.

Si, we tease. This is something that sometimes causes problems with our gringo friends because they do not understand that we mean no harm through our teasing. We tease because we love.

I have a Brazilian friend who refers to everyone south of Texas as ‘Mexican’. If we happen to be watching something on television about Guatemala, he will say something along the lines of, “El Guapo, I’m not sure what you Mexicans are thinking, but you are all crazy.”

If a gringo heard this comment, he may think that my Brazilian friend is being a bit racist, but no. He is far from being racist. He is actually making fun of the American ignorance of believing that everyone South of Texas is actually ‘Mexican.’ It is funny. Laugh.

Our way of building camaraderie is done through a little tease here and there. A playful nudge. We mean no harm. It is only a tease.

We love nicknames. We love them. Love them more than anything in the world. Our nicknames make life more fun for everyone around us. If you have a large group of Latino friends, chances are you have a nickname. The way we develop our nicknames is actually an art form. We usually do one of two things: Take a feature/flaw and call you by that feature or flaw OR we Take a feature/flaw and call you the complete opposite of that.

Example? Miguel has a friend who has a large forehead. It is not something that makes people turn around when he walks down the street, but I’m pretty sure that I could project a movie off of his forehead if I wanted. Nickname: Testudo. From the Spanish word Testa = Forehead/Head. Simple and beautiful.

Another is a friend who has very suddenly gained weight. Nickname: Botón/Buttons Porque? Because Miguel told me that he has, on many occasions, heard the buttons on his shirt cry out loud from the pressure of his stomach.

“I have heard the buttons cry to me. They are in constant fear of flying across the room!”

There is very little that is off limits in the Latino humor except sisters and mothers. In some very specific cases, a sister joke can be made, but you must be almost best friends with the person. Mother jokes are off limits. Period. In the Latino culture, the mother is a saint and held above all else.

Now, if you read this blog on a somewhat regular basis, you know that I litter my posts comments on the Argentines. Do I do this because I love them deep down? No. Not at all. I do that because Argentina fancy themselves THE MAN and enjoy to keep the rest of Latin America down. I am simply the voice of reason in the form of a Mayan deity who just happens to have a mustache so lustrous that it melts snow.

Don’t cry Argentina. Don’t cry.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Snow, the Bus and Circling Words

Well look at that. It’s snowing. I wonder what Alberto Gore has to say about that.

I sat there looking at the streetlight watching the rain turn to sleet/snow as my bus failed to arrive on time. I like the winter. What I don’t like is having to hear the “Well, I guess winter is finally here,” comments that I’ve found to be far worse that the heat/humidity comment.

Lo que sea, whatever. It is cold when it is supposed to be cold and I am a happy, gorgeous Guatemalan.

I sat on the bus rumbling around staring into nothing while I listened in on the conversation going on in Spanish next to me. Nothing exciting, but their talk made me hungry.

Then a man, a white man, with a 15-day old beard entered the bus and sat next to me. He was in his forties, had on a leather Redskins jacket and army fatigue pants. He was homeless. Like many of the homeless of Washington DC, he was likely a veteran. Odd that he is homeless in the capitol city. I guess this is our way of saying thank you for actually fighting for the freedom we take for granted. I still bet he puts his hand on over his heart when the national anthem plays. Interesting country this is…

Then I see him take out the Express (daily DC paper). No big deal, but he pulls out a pen and begins to circle and underline random words throughout the articles. Interesante. I looked at his face and was surprised to see that he wasn’t as sun-weathered as many of the homeless of DC. He had very blue eyes and a nose that had met many a fist. It was still a good nose. A prominent nose. A hawkish nose that screamed “don’t fuck with me.” But it was his eyes. His eyes contributed to his alert facial expression as he mechanically circled and underlined words.

Was he intercepting messages for his past colleagues before his journey took him to the streets? Was he still on his journey? CIA, NSA, something maybe so cool that I don’t even know about? Maybe.

I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but I didn’t. What business is it of mine if the Express serves as a communication vehicle for spies?

So, I said a quiet prayer thanking him and all the others who will sleep exposed to the elements while I take my lumpy bed for granted.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Tuesday, January 16, 2007


I’m lucky to have close friends. I’ve known most of my best friends ever since I was old enough to throw rocks at cars and blame the Honduran kid down the road. With my amigos, bueno, there are no limits to our conversations. We cover topics far and wide without ever having to worry about what people think.

“I think you’re wrong El Guapo. I think Jesus Christ was really fast. Don’t you think that he had some kind of a super power other than the whole bringing people back to life and the whole wine thing? Vamos. He’s the son of God. I bet he was really fast. I don't buy the whole 'built like a carpenter' business.”

Miguel and I often discuss the potential superpowers of biblical characters. I personally don’t think that Jesus was very fast. I’m sure he was pretty quick, maybe even above average in speed, but I can’t see him being track star fast. Not with those sandals. Lo siento. I don’t see it. Miguel also believes that Noah's beard was used as a prop during his on board magic shows...

“It’s not cheating if she doesn’t know about it. I don’t care what you say. And no, if a tree falls when no one is around I don’t think it makes a sound. So there. If she has no clue about it, then it never happened.”

Miguel also believes in being able to date as many women as he likes until he has the very specific conversation saying that he won’t see other women.

“The conversation must be VERY specific. I must say that I will not make love with any more women. Because making love to a woman and “seeing other women” are two very different things.”

I’m not sure if many of you know this, but Latino men, especially those from Central America, enjoy wearing the tank top undershirt. We usually have this underneath all articles of clothing and enjoy lounging around while wearing this, jeans and our Timberland boots. Si, this is how we roll.

One day, a Uruguayan came over wearing Birkenstocks. He is no longer our friend. No self-respecting Latino allows himself to wear Birkenstocks. If you are Argentinean, si, then I am told this is allowed, but no. Not around me.

“He was your amigo El Guapo. No friend of mine would wear them. I don’t even know what he was doing. If I hadn’t been busy throwing him out of your door, I would have taken away his Latino card.”

Si, I don’t like them either, but did you have to burn them and mail them back to him?

“Claro! It must serve as a warning to all every Latino in this area. The wearing of Birkenstocks will not be tolerated.”

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Seat Change

A woman walks onto a plane after a layover that lasted 3 hours longer than they had originally promised. They had finally “located” a crew and frankly, all she wanted to do was to go home.

The flight, as usual, was packed. This particular airline seemed to pinched pennies to the limit because the air conditioning wasn’t even on. Whatever. She was on her way home.

She looks at the open seat in front of her and double checks her ticket. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she breathily murmurs as she slams the yellow attendant button.

“Yes? How may I help you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She says this pointing to the passenger sitting in the middle seat to her left. Her gold bracelet jingle jangles as her French manicure points at him.

“I’m not sitting next to a black. You have to move me.”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry, but this is a completely packed flight. But tell you what, let me see what I can do.”

The flight attendant returns moments later as the woman taps her nails against the baggage compartment. She’s visibly annoyed and glad to see that the flight attendant didn’t take her sweet little time.

“Like I said before, the flight is unfortunately at capacity in coach class. Now, there is one open seat in First Class, but it is rare that we allow a coach passenger to sit there. As I’m sure you’re aware, the price difference is great. However, this airline believes that a passenger shouldn’t have to sit next to someone who was so obviously foul.”

The woman smirked because, frankly, this had taken long enough.

“So sir, if you wouldn’t mind grabbing your carry on luggage and coming with me, I have a first class seat with your name on it.”

The other passengers, who were forced to witness this scene, began clapping. Many stood up.

The man pushed his tortoise colored glasses closer to his face, grabbed his briefcase from under the chair and followed the attendant to his chair. He never turned around to look at the woman who had caused a scene. Never even made a comment. He has class.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

*Translated from an e-mail I received and posted in honor of Martin Luther King Day.

Friday, January 12, 2007


Smell me. En serio. Smell me. Don’t be afraid of the mustache. It will hypnotize you, but won’t bite.

Do you smell that? I call it Guatemalan Musk. Do you like it? Of course you do.

Smell my jacket. Do you smell the musk combined with the Polo Sport cologne? Nice, no? Yes, finally, the people of Washington, DC can smell my musk. Why? Because smoking has been banned in bars and restaurants in mi capitol.

I had not been a fan of the ban when Indiana Jones was talking about it on the news, but I have to say that I am a fan now. Just the fact that Washington DC can enjoy the Guatemalan musk is reason enough to thank the DC council.

“Dios, that was the bartender that was serving us? I thought she was a goddess. Que pasó?”

Bueno, maybe there are downsides to the ban. You can actually see people in the bar instead of sifting through the smoky haze. One of Miguel’s favorite bartenders ended up being a 45 year old woman from Long Island.

“I didn’t even know she had that annoying accent? The smoke must have affected the sound.”

Miguel has theories about how smoke can alter sound. I won’t get into it right now, but I will tell you that he once talked about the sound an orange makes when it hits a leaf covered forest floor. Aren’t you jealous of mi vida?

“El Guapo, I like this a lot. Now, I know who to go after.”

Oh yes. Miguel only goes after smokers when he’s prowling like a cheetah. That’s another theory of his.

“Smokers are more fun in bed El Guapo. Same with Republicans.”

Yeah… Miguel has theories… Now all the smokers congregate outside the bars smoking in what some call anti-social clusters, but Miguel views as his very own watering hole.

“When you stop being a vagina, you will actually jump on a grenade or two for me.”

El Guapo doesn’t jump on grenades. Not now, not ever. Smoke or no smoke. It just doesn’t happen.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Ring My Bell

Miguel wouldn't ring the bell.
Mucho Amor,
El Guapo

Monday, January 08, 2007

Chicago and Chipmunks

“So, you’re going to sit there like that the whole night?”


“You don’t want to go out?”


“I have to sit here and look at your sorry face the whole night?”

No. You can leave.

“No, I can’t leave. I want to see you cry.”

I’m not going to cry.

“If I stay here long enough, you’ll cry.”

Why do you want to see me cry?

“Two reasons, really. Uno, you make a really funny sound when you cry. Kind of like a chipmunk dying. Dos, it will be good for you.”

How do you know what a chipmunk sounds like when it dies? I don’t feel like crying.

“Sure you do. Just let it out. Here, listen to this.”

You’re playing a Chicago CD. Why?

“Just close your eyes and listen to the words. He’s talking about love. See that? You don’t have that anymore. Feel like crying?”

Tell me again why I hang out with you? Turn that off Miguel. That’s seriously really bad music.

“Just cry El. Just cry. Trust me hombre. It will make you feel better.”

Eres un grande idiota.

He is right though. It does make you feel better. And for the record, I don’t sound like a chipmunk dying. Not really.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Questions in a Dessert

Today I looked up at God and asked him to make sure he knew what he was doing with me. I didn’t say it in a stern voice, but I did say it in a concerned one.

Accept what comes to you each day.

This little piece of paper fell out of my fortune cookie today and it seems fitting after my conversation with God. They say he works in a mysterious ways and my God decided to send me a message in a Chinese dessert. I always figured he’d send me a message in flan or a pupusa, but no. He chose a fortune cookie.

For the last year, I have shared details of my life with you. You have been there for both happy and sad times and tonight is one of those times that I will share with you.

This week mi Linda and I decided to go our separate ways. It is extremely hard for me to write this because I feel like my chest is imploding with each breath I take. I am still trying to comprehend how two people can love each other so much and realize that this may not be the right course. That it may not be the right thing at the right time.

Tonight will mark the first night that I go to bed without her and I fear the darkness that my room will bring me. I have only the sound of raindrops on my roof to keep me company.

Mi Linda is one of the most amazing women I have ever had the pleasure to meet. She has a radiance that attracts people to her and makes them smile. She is a truly genuine person in a sea of knock offs. I believe that I became a better person every minute that I was able to spend with her.

While I realize that some things must happen, I will still look up at the sky to make sure that God knows what he’s doing.

Because I sure as hell don’t.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Why Must I Cry?

Why must I cry?

Have you seen this? No? Por favor, take a moment to watch it. Do not worry. I will wait for you. The video is about 4 minutos, but I promise that it is worth it. I will be right here. Don't have the time? That's ok. See below.

Watch it? Confused? Do not worry. I am fluent in the art of homemade hippety hop videos. I will translate for you:

00.00-00.04 Black man appears on screen sporting gold capped teeth and long gold chain. He is wearing camouflage because sometimes, you just gotta hide. Unkept facial gives the illusion that this man is a “thinker.” Listen to the beat. Uh uh.

00.05-00.11 Black man, sorry, tone deaf black man appears on screen. Is it the same man? No one knows. Yes, he has the same gold capped teeth and chain, but the camouflage is gone. Furthermore, he is somewhat clean shaven. His dialect screams mentally disabled, or is this just a cry for help? Let us watch.

00.12-00.17 Oh no! Is that an aquarium and fake trees in the background? The sad, tonedeaf, gold capped tooth man (with matching chain) is sitting on a LazyBoy without a shirt. Why, God? Why is he so sad? Why?

00.18-00.28 Sad black man is in the shower! Soap appears below the belt, but he is sad in the shower. So dirty. Dirty! Clean the sadness away shower. Please, clean the sadness. Note that the gold chain has been removed to protect the blang. (Not bling, blang) Note that sad black man touches the sliding shower door to exude emotion that is left out with the image of a sad, tone deaf black man showering.

00.29-00.35 Suds everywhere! This time we see the black man covered in soap suds and he appears to be rubbing his behind. It is dirty and must be cleaned by the cleansing waters of the shower. This will surely take away the sadness. Then he dances. Wait, he shimmies and disappears into the darkness that is the white shower.

00.38-00.52 This is too good. Black man is seen running through the woods with a striped shirt tucked into his jeans. He is also wearing a cap with a roly-poly ball attached to a string. He’s dressed up because the shirt is tucked in and striped. But why? Why is he running through the woods? Is the witch getting him? Is he running from the man? Why tone deaf black man? Why are so sad? He tiptoes around the forest like someone trying to make their way through a dog shit littered back yard. He is not at home in the wilderness. Did I mention that he’s wearing a metal studded belt ala Billy Idol? He is. Back off.

00.53-00.56 Black man is seen throughout video looking sad by the aquarium. This scene will repeat itself throughout and we will not be revisiting this again. It’s too powerful of an image for most of us. The swimming fish is an obvious cry to man being contained by glass ceilings and walls. Wow. What a powerful image.

00.57-01.07 This very well may be the best part of the video. Note the man is now wearing an army jacket and driving in traffic. You can see him wanting to look at the camera, but he MUST keep his eye on traffic. In this scene, traffic, is the MAN. If he doesn’t keep his eye on the MAN he will go down/crash his car. The best is when he stops the car. To the lay person, this may seem like the car in front of him stopped. But no! This is his attempt at showing us that he will pause for the MAN so that he can get on later. Drive on brother. Drive on.

01.08-01.09 This is just a shot of the artist’s X-Box playing lover. I think it’s cute. They make a nice couple.

01.41-01.46 Remember how I said that another scene was the best part of the video? I lied. This is. There is gun on the floor and the black man dives to “quickly” get it ready while someone is about to shoot him. Again, to the lay person, he may seem like a mongoloid, but what he is saying is that THE MAN is too slow for him. Even at the speed of a sloth, he can beat the MAN. Cock that gun. Cock it real good.

The video goes on to repeat itself until a white woman comes into the picture. This is his way of taking down the man. Notice how he wears a do-rag among the crowd of overweight white people. Again, his revenge over the man.

Oh yeah, then he showers some more, has kids with the white woman, tries to climb a tree then puts a gun in his mouth. Genius. Pure, pure genius.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo

Wednesday, January 03, 2007


Ah Christmas. Navidad. Nogochiconoko. Whatever it is that you call it, it has passed. You are most likely a bit heavier and maybe, like Miguel, can’t remember who “Trudy” is that keeps text messaging him from New Year’s.

It is a time of year that you spend with family and friends and all the rest of the sentimental blah blah blah that I’m sure that you have already read. Not here. Mira, I love this season because of mi family, but I’m glad it’s gone. My fingers are hurting badly as I write this, but I figure I’ve been in a testy mood since not sharing the goings on of an incredibly good looking Guatemalan man with a mustache that makes flowers grow.

Here is a catch-up breakdown:

1. Apocalypto - The movie. “Si, this is a Mel Gibson movie. It is coming out around Christmas, so it must be about Jesus Christ our savior.” If you saw any Latin women in the theater it was because they had this thought. Mi familia went to see this Mel Gibson Jesus Christ movie because mi madre somehow thought it was about Jesus and the indigenous Mayans. Bueno, mi madre is no longer a Mel Gibson fan. Mi hermanita still has nail marks from my mother having to witness native Mexicans being killed in an assortment of ways that only Mel Gibson could imagine.

Dying of frog poison? Si. Having your head cut off and thrown down a pyramid? Si. Having several dozen wooden stakes slammed through your body in a boobie trap fashion? Si. Twice. Gracias Mel Gibson.

2. Hermanita and her gringo boyfriend – Mi hermana brought home another gringo this holiday season. He is from Oklahoma. He says ya’ll. His family belongs to a liberal Catholic church which mi madre believes is a cult. He has spiky hair. He does not have a mustache nor am I certain that he has the ability to grow one which could ever compete with mine. However, he makes mi hermanita happy, so, I am happy.

3. Other Hermanita has a Mexican boyfriend – I haven’t told you this before, but I have a younger hermanita with a Mexican boyfriend. Mi hermana calls him a Mexisexual, a play on the “metrosexual” description due to the fact that he is never out without a shirt that was purchased at the Polo outlet store or Abercrombie & Fitch. He, however, calls me sir. I like this. Oh si, he makes mi hermanita happy as well, so I am happy. I will note, mind you, that he has the genes to grow a nice mustache, but I will never let this come to fruition. There can be only one.

4. Sewing machine - I bought mi Linda a sewing machine for Christmas. She doesn’t sew. I’ve just always wanted to walk in the house and say, “Mujer, make me a shirt!” or maybe something like, “Mujer, sew me a button.” I also got her a necklace. The sewing machine has already found a spot on the very top of her closet. It seems that she liked it so much that she wants to keep it in the box, unopened, to ensure that it stays new… She wears the necklace.

Mucho Amor,

El Guapo