Guzman was Here

Small town gossip, whether in BFE (which I’ve just learned stands for “Bum Fuck Egypt) or Hell’s Kitchen, is always juicy, embellishing some tiny grain of truth, a complexion changing with each telling.

But instead of talking about others’ sex lives and financial straits, the gossip has turned to narcos, narcoterrorism, and the never-ending cops and robbers scenarios. Last week’s robbery at OXXO and break-in at Banamex, right through the roof, they said, is last month’s news. Stale. Other topics endure, lasting maybe as long as a full six months.

You remember those deaths on the horse ranch between here and Patzcuaro, right? Well, I’ve got some more details …

Oh yeah, and that arms stash in …

And the little matter of the SWAT team …

Well, wait until I tell you what I heard happened at this beauty salon …

There are the Zeta wannabees, and there are those impersonating law enforcement …

So, what was really up with the guy who ended up dead at 3:30 a.m. (somehow everything that happens happens at 3:30 a.m.) right in front of that pizza place?

You’re not going to believe this, but …

You know that little abarrote that pretends to sell groceries but sells something else?

Narco pervades even more than idle, trashy gossip. It’s a style all its own. Whole schools of architecture have been tabbed narco. Narco has replaced naco has replaced nouveau riche. Drive a Hummer, and you’ll be tabbed a narco. Any business which doesn’t seem to be doing enough business, does too much business, or somehow just doesn’t fit in with the rest of the crowd just has to be laundering money. Is your neighbor a narco? Are you one? (Or are you a narco-facilitator, just because you smoked pot back in your college days?)

There was a time when the most damning accusation which could be leveled against a Mexican politician was to infer, intimate, suggest, and right out openly call him a homosexual. That’s just so 2000. Sexual preference just isn’t a big deal these days. Salem had its witch hunts. Today’s red-baiting is narco-baiting.


Eyes on the Bench

images So, Sonia Sotomayor got herself nominated to become one of the Supremes. I’m all right with that. But really, isn’t it a bit much to go off calling her the first Hispanic justice? What was Benjamin Cardozo – chopped liver? Oh, I forgot. He was Jewish. Maybe that trumps everything else. Does that mean that Sammy Davis, Jr. would be referred to as a Jewish justice were he in the same position? Or just the first one-eyed one?

I’m tired already of hearing about how Sotomayor was so damn special at Princeton and Yale. Or what her stance is on the Fourth Amendment. I’d rather learn about her answers to the Proust Questionnaire, the last five books she’s read, what kind of car she drives, and where she buys her clothes. Those answers provide more telling clues to how she’s going to vote than her record on antitrust and civil rights issues.

And while I’m at it, would someone please tell Sonia that she could use some decent eye makeup? A little mascara, eye shadow and eyeliner could do wonders for her.


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American Beauty


7,402 of 7,467 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars Dual Function Design, November 10, 2008
By B. Govern "Bee-Dot-Govern" (New Jersey, USA) – See all my reviews

This item has wolves on it which makes it intrinsically sweet and worth 5 stars by itself, but once I tried it on, that’s when the magic happened. After checking to ensure that the shirt would properly cover my girth, I walked from my trailer to Wal-mart with the shirt on and was immediately approached by women. The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to ‘howl at the moon’ from time to time (if you catch my drift!). The women that approached me wanted to know if I would be their boyfriend and/or give them money for something they called mehth. I told them no, because they didn’t have enough teeth, and frankly a man with a wolf-shirt shouldn’t settle for the first thing that comes to him. 

I arrived at Wal-mart, mounted my courtesy-scooter (walking is such a drag!) sitting side saddle so that my wolves would show. While I was browsing tube socks, I could hear aroused asthmatic breathing behind me. I turned around to see a slightly sweaty dream in sweatpants and flip-flops standing there. She told me she liked the wolves on my shirt, I told her I wanted to howl at her moon. She offered me a swig from her mountain dew, and I drove my scooter, with her shuffling along side out the door and into the rest of our lives. Thank you wolf shirt. 

Pros: Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women 
Cons: Only 3 wolves (could probably use a few more on the ‘guns’), cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.

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Can the Virgin of Guadalupe and fighting cocks compete with wolves? Read on.

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Up Your Nose



Are you already sick and tired of the blue or white standard-issue mask? Does the mask, coupled with a Bluetooth earbud, make you look more unattractive than you already are? Maybe it’s time for you to try the nose mask on for size.


Instruction for usage

  • Gentry insert it into the nose to cover the entrance of the nasal passages. (Do not to insert them too deep.)
  • Not recommended for reuse.
  • Keep reach out of children. This product is not intended for child use.
  • Stop using it when you notice unusual reactions and consult to physician.
  • Do not use if you have sensitive nasal conditions.

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Masked Illusions

It might stop the flu, but it probably won’t.

About one in ten, maybe one in twenty, people in Morelia are donning the tapaboca, otherwise known as The Mask. There doesn’t seem to be a distinction between social class and The Mask. I look at the Masked People, wondering if they’re already the sick ones or are going to be the survivors. They seem to be looking at the Unmasked Ones with the disdain reserved for those who regularly have unprotected sex with complete strangers. Silently chortling about how ineffective a mask pulled down past its owner’s chin can be, particularly a disposable mask worn for a week or so at a time, I walk on, still Mask-free, taking my chances. The price of masks has tripled in the past day. If it gets really bad, which it isn’t, I’ll go cowgirl, tying a handkerchief over my mouth and nose. I’m not going to let a piece of paper get between the world and me.

Putting a clean pair of Jockey briefs over one’s head could be just as effective.


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Chicken Little and Swine Flu

  • Most of the Mexicans who thought they had swine flu didn’t.
  • Outside of Mexico, no one’s died from the swine flu.
  • There were more confirmed reports of malaria in New York City during 2007 than confirmed cases of swine flu in all of Mexico City.

Considering the vast distance between the number of people traveling and those who’ve actually come down with the diseases (remember, there are only a very small number of confirmed cases), it’s actually more likely that a traveler would return home with a social disease than swine flu.

So why does all of America have its knickers in a twist? Correct me if I’m wrong, but did Mexico issue a travel advisory warning its citizens about the dangers lurking in the E.U.A.?


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When Pigs Fly

when_pigs_fly0 Barack Obama was promised a crisis within the first hundred days of his term. Apparently a crashing economy wasn’t enough. Enter swine flu.

Before Hilary Clinton and Obama visited Mexico, we didn’t have a swine flu problem. We just had to settle for narcoviolence and a lousy economy. Of course, I’m not pointing a finger at anyone, but I’m just saying….connect the dots.

Close the schools. Enact a 10-day ban on public events. Issue an advisory against attending religious ceremonies. Grant special powers authorizing certain people to be isolated, homes to be searched, and travelers inspected. Do these measures sound familiar, harking back to another era?

Mark me suspicious.

Meanwhile, life not far from Mexico City goes on.


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Jesus on a Matzo

There’s just something about Easter weekend that makes a heretic think of Jesus. He is, after all, to Easter what latkes and oil are to Chanukah.

JESUS C What if Jesus had been executed by some means other than crucifixion? You know, like lethal injection, hanging, beheading, drawing and quartering, or electrocution? Would the altars of Christian churches have gurneys, gallows, guillotines, or electric chairs? Would Christian people be wearing hypodermic needles, rope, limbs, a lunette, or a metal yarmulke with a dangling electrode around their necks as jewelry? Instead of crossing themselves, would Catholics start drawing a finger across their throats?

Has Pontius Pilate gotten a bum rap?

A couple of hundred years from now, or maybe even a millennium, will there be a cult built around Julius and Ethel Rosenberg? Or John Lennon? Or even Homer Simpson?


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A Letter From a Granddad

Guess you heard that 68% of the youth vote went to Obama. My 20 yr old granddaughter called this morning to tell me she was one of them. I replied with this e-mail:

My Dear Susan,

The election of Obama comes down to this. Your grandmother and I, your mother, and other productive, wage-earning tax payers will have their taxes increased and that means less income left over. Less income means we will have to cut back on basic purchases, gifts and handouts. That includes firing the Hispanic lady who cleans our house twice a month. She just lost her job. We can’t afford her anymore.

What is the economic effect of Obama’s election on you personally? Over the years, your grandmother and I have given you thousands of dollars in food, housing, cash, clothing, gifts, etc. By your vote, you have chosen another family over ours for help.

So in the future, if you need assistance with your rent, money for gas, tires for your car, someone to bring you lunch, etc. … call 202-456-1111.
That’s the telephone number for the Office of the President of the United States . I’m sure Mr. Obama will be happy to send a check from his personal or business accounts, as we have, or leave cash in an envelope taped to his front door for you, as we have.

It’s like this. Those who vote for the President of the United States should consider what the impact of an election will be on the nation as a whole and not just be concerned with what they can get for themselves (welfare, stimulus checks, etc.). What Obama voters don’t seem to realize is that the government’s money comes from taxes collected from tax paying families. Raising taxes on productive people means they will have less money to spend on their families.
Congratulations on your choice. For future reference, you might attempt to add up all you’ve received from us, your mom, Mike’s parents and others and compare it to what you expect to get over the next four years from Mr. Obama.
To congratulate Mr. Obama and to make sure you’re on the list for handouts, write to:

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
Washington , DC 20500

Love you Susan, but call the number listed above when you need help.
Take Care!



You Know, Billy, We Blew It

Let us bend over and kiss our ass goodbye. 

Yesterday’s inaugural hoopla left me shaking my head. And even more so after hearing people whom I once respected talk about how they were weeping with joy, filled with excitement, and practically having orgasms over Obama. Enough already!

We blew it. P.J. O’Rourke said it better than I ever could.


Fans We Love

All right, I don’t know Rumbear, except that he says he’s constantly reminded that he’s not smart enough to be a Democrat, he’s occupied, lives in the United States Minor Outlying Islands, and is “urbane, witty and handsome in a bucolic sort of way.” He’s obviously a man of quality and style.

And we’re in love with him, at least for tonight. Among the good reads he read during 2008, right up there with Rick Perry’s book, Jonah Goldberg’s Liberal Fascism, and H.W. Brands’ Traitor to His Class: The Privileged Life of FDR, he read my bookHow to Capture and Keep Clients. How cool is that?

Not Getting a Flying F*ck

Kit Naylor’s piece, 15 Years Without Knocking Boots, at has drawn a record number of comments within a short period of time. But what struck me as odd, unsettling and strangely amusing was the chastising tone of those comments, telling her that a single Craig’s List ad could get her laid at least three times, that she could lower her sights, that she could turn cougar, or that there was just something wrong with the life that she’s content to lead.

She wrote the article I’d been meaning to write, giving respectability and a voice to more people than you’d ever imagine. I even had a title for that piece—Not Giving a Fuck. And that would lead to a book titled I’ll Never Get Laid Ever Again. I thought it would do well on the chick lit aisle.

Now, even in the blogosphere and Twitter, there are some things about my life which are just none of your business. So I’ll write about others’ lives, even if they’re not strangers. Within my circle of friends (And since they don’t read this blog, they won’t even know that I’m writing about them.), the topic of not getting any and no longer giving a damn has surfaced more frequently than you’d believe. My friends, well at least the circle that I’m writing about, are professionals, happy, attractive, successful, healthy, active and personable people, the kind who would garner commendable scores on a raft of psychological tests, the kind of people who’re respected by others, even though they lead feline-free lives. So, it’s surprising to many when they confess that they’ve gone without for longer periods of time than some serious felons have done prison time. “What, I didn’t think anyone could beat my record,” one exclaimed when the word got out. They aren’t being celibate for Jesus or global warming or world peace; they’re not even cantankerous Republicans like me. These people are not oddballs, religious, depressed, sexually confused, handicapped, or even weird. They are just leading lives with enough on their plates that getting some just isn’t really a priority.

Polite society’s gotten over the “love that dare not speak its name,” and concepts like sodomy and bestiality are everyday topics of conversation. But whisper “actively celibate,” and you’re apt to get some weird reactions.


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Thinking, for a Change, about Latin America

The average Estadounidense doesn’t think about what lies south of its border very often, and when he does, he thinks of the border wars, Mexican immigrants, and some nasty business in Colombia, with a taco thrown in for good measure. Even the above-average, well=-educated Estadounidenses, the kind who’re respected by their peers and often even put into positions of great authority, don’t pay much attention to Latin America, tossing off gems like “Mexico doesn’t have a real middle class.” These folks desperately need to rethink Latin America, starting right here at the Brookings Institution’s report on Rethinking U.S.-Latin American Relations. Even if the report is plagued with platitudes, partnerships and dialogues.

Credit goes to Two Weeks Notice for alerting us to this report.



One Magazine to Die For

It’s no secret that I’ve never met a magazine I didn’t like. (How’s that for a triple negative?) From Prison Living to Tapestry (a magazine for cross-dressers and transsexuals), I’m fascinated by more than just the content. The paper quality, binding, blow-ins, inserts, advertising lineup, and even the masthead all pique my curiosity.

The perfumed strips and makeup samples, musical cards, tiny booklets, and little gifts (does anyone else remember when Smirnoff included a set of mittens with its ad?) only added to the rich magazine experience. And who could forget the issue of Vanity Fair that weighed as much as your average major metropolitan area telephone book? Online magazines are better than no magazines at all, but there’s a lamentable loss in tactile quality.

There are lots of magazines about getting married, giving birth, raising children, being a modern drunk, caring for gerbils, practicing law, cooking fine meals, loving Texas, living in Mexico, growing and dealing dope, getting 0ld, and being rich. There are trade magazines for every occupation under the sun from raising lab animals to formulating pet food and designing packaging materials, from operating a car wash to developing operating systems.

imgLogo But until now, at least as far as I know, there hasn’t been a magazine about checking out. And it’s about time. It’s something that exactly every person reading this blog – and every other blog under the sun—will do eventually. Obit, whose mission statement reads “What death can mean to the living and what living may have meant to the dead” may be the final word.


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What’s Good for General Motors is Good for America—and for Mexico

Last month, I bought a new car. Even though my beloved Eldorado had served me well, it was time. I flirted with the notion of buying a Hitler car, and I flirted with buying a Honda, but I came to my senses and bought a car made by General Motors. And you know something? I know I made the right decision.

images Brand loyalty has served me well for nearly half a century. If you want a computer, you buy a Dell. If you want a printer, there is no better brand than Hewlett-Packard. If you want good clothes, it’s Neiman Marcus. Well, Saks does run a close second. And if you want solid, reliable vehicle, there’s none better than a General Motors product. All decisions in life should be that easy.

There is no company around which has produced cars longer in Mexico and the U.S. than General Motors. That’s got to tell you something. The Big Three are what made both countries great.

Now I really don’t know enough to even have an opinion about whether a bailout or a bankruptcy is in General Motors’ best interest. But I do know that if every new car buyer in this hemisphere did the right thing and bought a General Motors product we’d all be better off.

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Hunting Season

Wednesday morning, November 12, started out like any other quiet, sunny fall weekday in Patzcuaro, a town some 36 miles from Morelia. By noon, the town would join a growing roster of other Mexican cities and towns whose chiefs of police were felled by assassins. Just blocks from the town’s Plaza Grande, Chief of Police Miguel Antonio González Zamudio and a uniformed deputy gave up their lives in a blast of gunfire. Within an hour, helicopters would fill the skies over the shocked town.

When these things happen in distant venues like Cd. Juárez, Tijuana and Culiacan, we shrug it off, because those cities just aren’t in our neighborhood. Those places can feel as distant as Baghdad. Far, far from home.

Only days before, during the Dia de los Muertos celebration, some five hundred law enforcement converged upon the region to ward off violence. Tourists from within Mexico as well as abroad filled the area’s hotels, but not in the numbers seen during previous years. At the annual crafts market, an event filling the Plaza Grande with artisans hailing from every village in the state, sales were dismal. One grand master who usually sells out of merchandise went several days without a single sale. As the sale ended, artisans reluctantly packed up crates of unsold folk art. Most lost money; the very fortunate may have only made their expenses.

Patzcuaro will go on, just as Morelia did after the 15th of September and New York City after 9/11. Life will be the same – and it won’t.

Staying away from Michoacán—and Mexico—isn’t the answer. You can help by including this area in your vacation plans—as well as in your prayers. And if you can do neither, make a special effort to buy some of its products.


Stuff Mexican People Like – Corridos

Give Mexican People an event, and it’s only a matter of hours before we’ll come up with a corrido to memorialize it. The lamentable demise of Juan Camilo Mouriño, those in the plane with him and those innocents on the ground gave rise to this corrido, which we first learned about at