|'Nuestro Himno' My Ass
Frank J Rutherford
Suddenly I sat bolt upright, my ears unable to believe what they were hearing. Or to be more precise, I couldn't believe what my ears were hearing. This was a familiar song, not some routine fluffy piece of Baja Cha Cha.
It was my beloved Star Spangled Banner, bastardized by a Spanish beat. 'Aye caramba!' I shouted, running to the street to discover the source of this vile defilement. There they were, Julio, Carlos, and Juan, three young Mexican hoodlums with an over-sized boom box, laughing and smoking and ogling all the pretty young girls in their spring frocks.
"What the hell is that," I demanded, but as you might expect, they replied with Spanish curses and a chaser of (Spanish) laughter, leaving me no choice other than to snatch up their boom box and throw it into the street underneath the wheels of an oncoming Metro bus.
After leaving the emergency room, I began to ponder the meaning of it all. Carefully researching the matter over the internet, I realized that I had been privy to one of the first broadcasts of 'Nuestro Himno', the new Spanish version of the national anthem which translates as 'Our Anthem'.
Your anthem, my ass. That anthem belongs to English speaking Americans, not to a ragtag bunch of illegal bean-eaters who want to reclaim California for the glory of Mexico. My president is on the case, saying today (in far too polite words), "I think the national anthem ought to be sung in English, and I think people who want to be a citizen of this country ought to learn English and they ought to learn to sing the national anthem in English." Right on, right on, right on! Mister Bush, build up that wall!
My God, what do these people want? I've always been supportive of their rights to come into the greatest country on earth to pick our beans and clean our toilets so they can have a few pesos to send back to their s**t-hole of a country, but now they want to march in and act like they own the place with all this 'Nuestro Himno' mumbo jumbo. Well I'm not going to take it anymore, even if it means getting my maid Juanita deported. Enough is enough, and I say that we nationalize all of the nation's busses and send all twelve million of those hijos-de-perras back to Tijuana. I'll be glad to pay extra for my lettuce as long as it's picked by someone who doesn't call it lechuga.
©2006, Mark Hoback