Dear Mexican: I am the proud uncle of five Mexican-redneck kids who recently moved to Wausau with their mamá wisconsiana after living in la Capirucha all their lives. I’ve talked to them on the phone several times a week since they left for la tierra de los sueños materializados, and I’ve noticed slight changes in the way they talk.

What’s a fact? That some illegal immigrants have children in this country? Duh. But to claim that said people live it up by popping out more niños is a myth as fanciful as Reagan’s welfare queen, unless your idea of Paradise is waiting for the sword of Damocles called la migra.

Dear Mexican: Where I recently started working at, Latinos make up about 95 percent of the work force. We are, however, prohibited from speaking Spanish. Our supervisor tells us that if we can so much as speak one word of English, that we cannot speak in Span ish.

Dear Gabacho: Few things annoy the Mexican more than the Know Nothing Nation’s deliberate ignorance with this most nebulous of Mexican idioms.

Real Mexicans eat real homemade corn tortillas. Pasty white Mexicans eat processed flour tortillas made at the Frontier Restaurant in Albuquerque. Then they get food poisoning. DENVER.

Dear Wab: Not only are Mexicans in the Border Patrol, but la migras own figures show that Latinos make up about 52 percent of its force, comfortably outnumbering gabachos (that pop you just heard was the exploding heads of apoplectic Chicano studies majors).

Dear Gabacho: Your question is spot-on, but it's taken a while for Elvis to achieve icon status amongst Mexicans.