Hostel Takeover


Dear Gabachos:

Bienvenidos to the world’s foremost authority on America’s favorite beaners! The Mexican can answer any and every question on his race, from why Mexicans stick the Virgin of Guadalupe everywhere to our obsession with dwarves and transvestites. Awright, cabrones: laugh and comprende!

Dear Mexican:

The last two movies I attended were rated R. Sitting around me were Mexican families with very young children. Why do Mexicans bring their 8-year-old kids to see a movie like Hostel? Do Mexican parents just not give a shit, or can they not afford a babysitter? Plus, the Mexicans let their kids kick my seat.
Confused Movie Goer

Dear CMG:

The only sin I see here is anyone forking over cash to watch Hostel, the 2005 horror turkey whose main claim to fame was casting handsome wab Jay Hernandez as a character with the retre-gabacho name Paxton. As for your question, the Mexican refers you to the late New Yorker film critic Pauline Kael, who famously quipped, “The words ‘Kiss Kiss Bang Bang,’ which I saw on an Italian movie poster, are perhaps the briefest statement imaginable of the basic appeal of movies.” Nowhere is that nugget more applicable than with Mexicans. Mix gore, boobs, popcorn and the occasional midget or gay guy, and you can occupy a Mexican for two hours. See, violence and Mexican cinema go together like refried and beans — it’s been one prolonged shoot-out that started with the 1919 silent classic El Automóvil Gris (The Grey Automobile, which dramatized the real-life exploits of Mexico City’s murderous Grey Automobile Gang and included actual footage of their execution), continued through the urban dramas of the 1950s and various 1960s sci-fi/Aztec mummy/lucha libre superhero follies, and reached its zenith with narcopelículas (drug dramas) that Spanish-language television channels have broadcast without pause for the past three decades. The Mexican love for filmic blood isn’t a pathological cultural trait, though. As any Hollywood executive will tell you, violence is a universal tongue that needs no subtitles. That’s why Mexican parents take their kiddies to see such films — as the children become Americans and the parents remain stuck in remedial English classes, sometimes the only way to communicate is to speak the language of Charles Bronson. And the kid behind you? Just practicing his Death Wish moves so he can kick your ass.

Dear Mexican:

Why do you people stink?
Zestfully White

Dear ZW:

Same reason you don’t: hard work.

Dear Mexican:

Which comes first: the low-paying, so-called “jobs that Americans won’t do” or the Mexicans who are willing to sleep three and four to a 10-by-12 room so that they can afford to work those jobs?
Vivo Contontos

Dear VC:

You’re presenting us with a Rorschach test — our answers reveal our position regarding the Mexican Question and say more about us than the actual effects of Mexicans on the economy. Whether Mexican immigrants drive down wages, improve the economy, have no effect (or are part of a triple alliance with Islamofascists and the Chinese to take over the United States) is a topic so complicated that you can easily find an “expert” and “stats” to support any “position.” The July 9 New York Times Magazine, for instance, featured battling economic professors who fought round after round until coming to no decision. This Mexican’s opinion: Mexicans will continue to take the jobs that Americans won’t do until Big Business pays a living wage across the board or Americans are willing to pick strawberries for the minimum wage. Don’t bet on the former; if Americans do the latter, they’re either stupid or desperate. Or Mexican.

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