...and she, apparently, doesn't approve of my Mexicoon/MexiMart/Mexicunt rants.

I sliced my leg and bled the blood of 1000 overfed baby Mexicunts at work tonight. I am convinced the ghost of Selena, combined with the collective projected plight of the remaining, undoubtedly impoverished Dinos (as in Selena y Los Dinos) had something to do with my accident. This attack came just minutes after we all signed our George Lopezes on board MexiMart's new initiative to minimize employee and customer accidentes.

I immediately filed an accident report with my manager, who, up until I wrote my nombre out on the accident report, faithfully called me LeRoy.

His first pregunta after inspecting the wound: "Can you continue working?"

Not: "Are you okay?" Or "Do you need medical attention?"

He then made my night: "Well, go over to [el] first aid kit and get you [una] free band-aid."

Yes. A free bandaid.

*mirada vacia* (blank stare)

I continued working. Finished out the night. Came home. Sacrificed un pollo loco to atone for my obvious sins. Ate a Little Debbie Cake. Methinks I'll be just fine.
Tomorrow, I'll have inmigración on speed dial in case those spirits want to try raise any more guacamole hell.

(if you look quickly, that gash almost resembles a battered TIGHT 'gina, no?)

-chris.alexander