by Pampy Bern

Did you know that if Mexico was really the United States and the United States was really Mexico, you would be in Mexico and I would be in the United States? Freaky, isn't it?

Mexico (or as they call it here, Meheeco) is so weird. Everybody speaks Spanish, a language quite different from English. It's a lot hotter here, and the food is strange, too. Like here, they have lots of corn, or as I like to call it, maize.

Instead of apple pie, apple flautas. Instead of ice cream, flan. Instead of cake, apple flautas. You get the picture.

There is just so much social injustice that I have to put up with on a day-to-day basis, it drives me flippy. Do you know what goes on here? Sure, sit in your plush couches bopping to your precious U93. You people make me sick.

I mean, good God people, listen to me! We don't have soaps. We have telenovelas! We don't have Fox. We have Televista! And I am so sick of these damn apple flautas! If I have to eat one more of these flautas, I'm gonna get flauta on your ass, I'll tell you what. Why can't you believe me when I tell you how different Mexico is from America? Did I do something to offend you in a past life? We have lots of really poor people and a few really rich people. I mean, come on, here! Why oh why did I ever consent to this torture? Maybe I should have accepted that position at the Downers Grove Circuit City. If you had to put up with this, you couldn't last five seconds, you inferior gringos. We eat "burritos". We play "soccer". Can you stand it? The next time you're sitting around drinking your Big Gulp and eating your Twinkie, think of me and pay homage to my cultured, intelligent brain. Perhaps you could say a prayer that one day you will be like me. But until then, I will keep telling you how Mexico is different and you will keep turning your backs. I hate you.