Dear Abuelita: WiFi bath salts, leave it to Beaver, going down

by Dear Abuelita on August 1, 2012 in Cultura, Dear Abuelita

Hey Old Lady!
Oh they think they are so friggin clever but I know what they are up to listening to me through my wifi and microwave well i have nothing to hide so neener neener Mr. and Ms. Big Brother politically correct death panel.

YOU WAN TO TAKE MY GUNNAWAY WELL HELL NO WE WONT GO. Don’t tase me bro hahah. I fought the law and law Juan. law Juan get it? Rock and roll will always die it will always be yakkity yak don’t talk back take out the papers and the trash or you dont get no steenkin cash. You have advice for me OLD LADY?

Why you smell like mota and not mocha? hahahaha.
Signed, Dada Doodoo

Dear Dodo Bird,
Que idiota! Have the drogas worn off yet? I don’t have time for your paranoid rants and raves. There are perfectly good street corners for you to stand on for spewing this kind of nonsense. Why don’t you go find one and leave me alone. Make sure you get there early before the OG vatos from Victory Outreach beat you to it. Better yet, stand on a corner opposite them and use your Mr. Microphone. I know you have one.

FYI – I smell like mota because someone broke into my casita and stole the mocha-scented bath salts I soak in every night. Was that you? Is that what you’ve been smoking? You’re lucky I wasn’t home otherwise I would have beat your fried huevo head with my OLD LADY chanclas.
No me joden, cabron, Tu Abuelita

Dear Mrs. Grandmother:
I am a white guy who shares an office with a Mexican-American woman who is smart, pretty, emotionally secure and lots of fun, but I’m afraid I’m invisible to her as a potential partner. Colleague? She’s fine with that. Date? She just laughs when I suggest we go to the malt shop after the game. What to do? This whole thing is rustling my jimmies until the cows come home!
Something is wrong with the Beav

Dear Beige Beav,
Do your work clothes blend in with the dull office cubicles? That could be a reason why you’ve become invisible. Seems to me this Latina you have the hots for thinks you’re too much of a dork to be bothered with.

Pobresita, she has no idea how much fun it is to finger paint on a blank canvas.

She may be smart, pretty and emotionally secure but creative she is not. So it’s going to be up to your Dear Abuelita to do one of her paint-by-numbers macho make overs.

Here’s what you need to do:

  1. Lose the Polo shirt and Dockers – replace them with a retro Mad Men-style sharkskin suit
  2. Put a little Tres Flores in that Richie Cunningham hair of yours and slick it into a firme Don Draper do
  3. Pick up a Schlitz Malt Liquor 40 oz
  4. Forget about her and come see me.

Waiting with my artist smock on, Tu Abuelita

Dear Abuelita,
First off, I should give you a Heads Up — this letter contains some graphic references!

Recently, the past several Chicanas I’ve fooled around with get right to the Home Run fairly quickly, but as for all the other bases, it’s like they don’t want to bother even circling the field.

Now I don’t mean to blow the whistle here, but most of them have not only refused to, how shall we say, even give lip service to providing certain kinds of pleasure, they have also refused my offers to, um, take a trip downtown myself. You get where I’m headed with this?

Now, the first part I’m kind of used to by now, even though it’s still really annoying. I’ve always said if you’re going to play around, then let loose and have a good time, don’t blow it, stop using certain acts as bargaining chips, and just have fun.

I mean, I get that maybe there’s some kind of weird connection to swallowing some wine after the communion wafer on the tongue or something, but come on, we’re all recovering Catholics by now, let’s just have a good time and get down.

And don’t give me that old line about the difference between love and lust. If you’re there to please each other and have fun, then please each other and have fun, don’t be trying to trade sex for love and vice versa.

As for the second part, though, this one leaves me really scratching my head. Now I know it is not a matter of my skills–even though I grew up in the suburbs, I love going downtown, I know my way around, and no one has ever been disappointed by my excursions.

Like Petula Clark, I move to the rhythm of a gentle bossanova when called for. I have a gentle hand to guide them along. I linger when I need to. In short, these women could forget all their troubles, forget all their cares, if they’d just let me go….doooowwwntown. But they don’t. They just want to do the main deed and then it’s done.

Is everybody just stuck in the suburbs these days? Have I suddenly entered some kind of bizarro backwards world? It’s at the point where I’m thinking maybe I need to send out a mass memo to all the Chicano dudes with a heads-up calling for a moratorium on trips down south to dine at the Y, since it seems like after decades of their elder hermanas fighting to get some satisfaction from their men, the younger chicas these days have started taking it for granted.

Maybe I am just a one-man band mumbling in the moss and whistling in the dark here, but I don’t think I’m just speaking in tongues. What gives?
Signed, Downtown Wooly Bully Brown

Dear Double Entendre OD,
Perdóname, I fell asleep while reading this manlyfesto of a pinche pregunta. To what do I deserve such rhetoric? Must be karma biting me in the nalgas for something I’ve done. OK, universe – I’ve paid my penance now.

I surmise that your need for winded wordplay means you really suck at foreplay. I’m surprised you get any home runs at all. Just look at the time you wasted wagging your lengue here when you could have gone downtown five times Pretenders style, “Baby strip me, chop me, adopt me, bend me like a rubber dolly, downtown me.” Instead you’ve got your lengue skipping on some wasted old Petula Clark groove.

There was this thing called the sexual revolution in the 60s and 70s that paved the way for what you’re facing today. Girls are getting it on with one another more often than before and sex shops are now female friendly so most chicas are stockpiled with an array of toys which leaves them with little need for boys.

So, in other words – callate cabron.
Tu Abuelita

 

—————-
Do you have a pregunta for your Dear Abuelita, mijos? I want to help!

No question too odd. No answers guaranteed.
Vatos: If your question lasts for more than for hours,
please make sure you send me your home phone.

Que quieres, chicos?

 

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{ 2 comments }

Mrs. Consuela Perez August 1, 2012 at 10:06 PM

I’m sorry this can’t be real. Did you go to any kind of school? Take any course or get a certification in counseling? What kind of advice is this? Spreading this filth is a horrible example for La Raza. Stop it!

Chuey Chones August 6, 2012 at 3:39 PM

Don’t listen to Consmela. Keep it up.

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