Why I hate the fifth of May and think you should ram it up your poop chute

I hate the fifth of May. Hate is a strong word – or so They say – but it’s true; I hate this goddamn abortion of a holiday and I’d be perfectly fine if everyone went back to ignoring it. You’re probably saying to yourself, “Oh, god, here we go again…” but allow me to count the ways in which I loathe this shitshow excuse for failed history lessons and culturally appropriating heretics crucified on the corner of Cerveza St. and Sombrero Ave.

I used to celebrate the fifth of May. The earliest memory I have of celebrating it was in high school. Unlike some of you, I didn’t grow up celebrating this holiday since birth. It just kinda happened one day and took off as a “thing” to do every year and it grew in popularity to ridiculous heights for a while, in Denver, Colorado, when it was still a city filled with Chicanos and not transplant hipster potheads.

I remember cruising down Federal Boulevard to Speer Boulevard in North Denver and shutting down the streets because there were so many of us reveling in the joy of…well, we didn’t know really.

What we did know was that it was a day to celebrate being Mexican and that was rare occasion for us, so we jumped all over it. But there we were, thousands of us, waving giant Mexican flags, blaring Kid Frost from lowriders with the booming systems, flipping off the cops and eating Chubby’s on 38th St., back when North Denver wasn’t known as “the highlands.” We were simply happy to have a day to celebrate and be proud of our Mexican heritage…which was really all just a prelude to finding the best house parties and hooking up with girls, but boy did we thump our chests back then.

Fast forward to now, where the majority of people who I see celebrate this “holiday” are white. See, back in the day white folks didn’t care about the fifth. They didn’t want to be bothered with it and they didn’t really care too much if you celebrated it, just so long as you left them alone about it. It was a non-issue mostly and everyone but us ignored it. The media didn’t write about it, local news casters didn’t don sombreros and or fake mustaches in order to be edgy, and beer companies kept things to a dull roar.

Come to think of it, Mexicans from Mexico didn’t celebrate it back then either…in fact, the only ones out in the streets were us, Chicanos. More on that later.

Something shifted over the years – I’m not sure exactly what – to this weird thing we have now, which can only be described as a cross between the pornographic and the commercial. It’s become this crusade for purity Vs. the right to celebrate the taboo, all sponsored by beverage companies in other parts of the world who are humping your leg to live mas!. Let me rewind a bit.

In high school, we didn’t know what we were celebrating – not really. The MEChA kids did but they were usually dorks and no one was looking for a history lesson – if you weren’t a dork you were looking for the firme hynas and the house parties. That’s all that mattered back then. But once we did learn the true meaning of Christmas the fifth, things changed.

A few years later (see: college), we became “conscious,” which was our version of today’s “woke,” we learned the true meaning of the fifth and then it became our duty to correct anyone foolish enough to dare to have a good time. No, goddamnit! You had to know what you were celebrating and why! This shit mattered!

Or so we thought.

And so we transformed from the party kids into the college activist killjoys hellbent on educating everyone about the injustice of misinterpreting the fifth of May. We still got fucked up, mind you, and we still sought out the firme hynas at the house parties, but only AFTER we had dropped some knowledge on fools…at least for one day a year, then it was back to the gangster boogie of the 90s.

What’s funny to me is that this kinda thing caught on. More and more Chicanos stopped partying on the fifth and started crusading for accuracy, the end result of which was a huge drag because the holiday ceased to be any fun. Instead, it became history lesson and an opportunity to shame your peers. This happened so much, that over the years, we all just stopped celebrating it altogether and instead of correcting our brothers and sisters on the historical significance of the holiday, we started attacking clueless white people who decided they just wanted in on the fun. Sorry, gringos, you’re a few decades too late.

Here’s the thing: you might be able to guilt trip a perfectly happy Chicano into a conscious and historically knowledgeable crusader for accuracy, but that shit falls on deaf ears with others. In other words, if you don’t have any skin in the game (get it?), you’re not gonna convince anyone who’s not Chicano that The Battle of Puebla matters. No one fucking cares. And why should they? Who’s sanctity are you really protecting?

During all of this time the beer companies wised up and said to themselves, “Why are we only marketing to beaners? Why are we not marketing to everyone?!” The rest is history. Once the cat got out of the bag that this holiday was actually fun and that money could be madeit was game over. These days, I’d wager that more white folks celebrate the fifth than any other race and that suits them just fine…or at least it did until the “woke” kids came along. Now they’re shamed at every turn and the ones with healthy amounts of white guilt, don’t know which way is up. You’ll see them struck frozen like a deer in the headlights: Is-is-is this r-r-r-acist?

It’s hilarious to watch history repeat itself. What we have now is this…abomination; this bastard son of ignorance and pride, which has morphed into a purity Vs porno PPV event. On one side, you have the group of valiant purists and crusaders, who are willing to crucify anyone for the sin of heresy against the church of de Mayo, and they are not shy about it. There are different sects – some are more extreme than others (woe be to you if you encounter the truly woke ones) – but they all seek to purge the heretics and bask in the glory of holiness.

In other words, according to these folks, if you’re not Mexican and if you commit any of the many sins of cultural appropriation (which change daily), you should be nailed to a cross for all to see. And then dug up again and killed a second time you goddamn racist, nazi asshole!

On the other side, you have a group of now annoyed but probably just ignorant white folks, who only want to get fucked up and wear “silly hats” and eat tacos, bro!! Because, hey, they love the food and beer, but that’s about it. Fuck your history, bro! It’s taco Tuesday! Whoooooooooo!!!

On top of all of this you have the beer companies who are making money hand over foot by marketing the fifth as thee day to get shitface drunk in the name of…well, no one cares. And they’re good it at. Can you hear that? Shhhh! Listen! It’s the sound of money.

So we have this cultural battlefield now, and the media loves rubbing it in at this point, and discussions online devolve into these meaningless holier than thou shitfests with each side declaring themselves the true bearer of the cross.

If I could go back in time to one of those bomb-ass house parties, I’d tell myself not to worry so much about these things, to just have fun and to maybe leave the “conscious” shit alone. But I can’t do that and so I have learned to absolutely hate this goddamn holiday. What used to be fun is now an exercise in annoyance and patience.

Who am I to tell anyone how to celebrate anyway? Who are you? Who made us the Pope of the fifth of May? Is there a secret jedi fifth of may council somewhere on a mountain in Mexico? What really made me laugh over the years is that Mexicans in Mexico don’t even celebrate the fifth. Ha! That’s pretty funny, to me at least. If it’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, contrary to popular belief online that we’re some monolithic super group, is that Mexicans don’t give a rat’s ass about Chicano holidays or Chicano issues, period.

So what the fuck were the rest of us doing all those years ago..?

Having fun.

And really, that’s my whole point. It baffles me why so many people are so goddamn serious all of the time these days. Everything has to be an inquisition and an exercise in misery now, and I say that being a former killjoy myself. If you knew me in the 90s I would tell you I thought that the Debbie Downer crowd were gay. If you knew me today, I’d tell you same thing because, despite everything, I’m still a politically incorrect asshole and everything comes full circle, but I digress.

Listen, I do not want to go sit in some restaurant any more than you do, filled to the gills with a bunch of drunk assholes wearing sombreros and fake mustaches and screaming “Ole!” I used to punch people like that in their stupid fucking faces back when I was “conscious,” and I see just as many kids today threatening to do the same, but I think they’re misguided. I am no longer a crusader for the purity and sanctity of the meaning of the holiest of holy days known as the fifth. I no longer give a shit because I remember that once upon a time, when things weren’t so goddamn serious 24/7, that it was just an excuse to get together with friends and family and have fun, with a little bit of pride mixed in, because really, those occasions are rare.

I wax nostalgic for those days often here in 2017, because boy did we fuck things up, but what can I tell you? Probably nothing! Everyone knows everything about everything these days! It is what it is. You can either reclaim this day for yourself, have a good time, or you can be like me and ignore it and ignore its zealots and fools.

Today is Friday and if you try and remind me of the significance of the date I will play dumb, because ignorance really is bliss.  So forgive me if I tell you to ram the fifth up your poop chute.

 

 

  • Frank S Lechuga

    You did it again, Santino. You crapped on certain people’s tortilla soup – “That’s pretty funny, to me at least. If it’s one thing I’ve learned over
    the years, contrary to popular belief online that we’re some monolithic
    super group, is that Mexicans don’t give a rat’s as about Chicano
    holidays or Chicano issues, period.” Our ‘woke younglings are all up in arms because of what? They don’t say shit when WAPO publishes an article on how many journalists get murdered in Mexico with impunity.

    • That’s my M.O. – crapping on tortilla soup! I saw that this one got some traction on Fb. Ha! By these kid’s standards today, I’m a heretic – that suits me just fine. I was a heretic back in the 90s too, only it was church ladies back then. That’s what these kids remind me of these days…church ladies.