The feisty and fun Latino vibe is one of the reasons why I, a pigmentally-challenged man, moved mi familia to Miami. Now that I’ve been in South Florida for a decade, heck, half of my best friends are Latinos (the other half are imaginary animals that scream curse words in a high pitched mandarin accent at me during the night).
I said all of the above, not to bore you to death with my dorky preferences, life and dementia, but rather to slay any notion that I’m some David Duke xenophobe when it comes to Latinos and their plight before I start to hammer them.
Listen, I do not hate Mexicans nor do I hate anyone based upon the color (or lack thereof) of their skin. That’s stupid. I follow Dennis Miller’s mantra and try to get to know all people better so that I can hate them for deeper and more meaningful reasons.
Speaking of hate . . . it seems like anyone, any longer, that has any standards and won’t roll over and wet themselves when their sensibilities and convictions are violated is now deemed a hater. That is, unless of course, the person with the standards is a liberal—and then the person’s not a hater but a defender of truth.
Today, everyone who does not blow off and seem completely breezy with our borders being more open than Puffy’s pores before he began to use ProActiv is seen as a hater . . . a vile, racist that hates struggling, poor people.
I, for one, think that’s pure, uncut nonsense. Everyone nowadays knows that we’d better not be hatin’—but is it really hatin’ when all we, the haters, ask the illegal aliens to do are the following:
1. To approach the USA respectfully; this means a) legally and b) in English. I personally am getting pretty tired of hearing, “for English, press one.”
2. To not expect us to mangle the Star Spangled Banner just to accommodate you. You, señor, are here, in the US, and now you must speaky English. FYI to the illegal alien: America is a melting pot, so . . . melt. Nuevo himno, my white hiney. It is the National Anthem.