Tag Archives: crime

Poor black folks

LEFTISTS LOVE to scream racist at all contrary opinions.

And they love all black people and know them to be oppressed by whites. Problem is that black folks in America have not been oppressed by whites since around the 1940s.

That’s the early part of the previous century. And then only in some neighborhoods.

Here’s a video by an intelligent woman who will ‘splain to you why so many blacks in America are poor.

Nutshell: It ain’t racism. It ain’t lack of equal opportunity.

It’s bad behavior. It’ll get you every time.

Trashing Donald

The remains.

IN THE WAKE of Donald Trump’s triumphant march to the White House, I wanted some memorabilia of the historic event — to remember that I was a player.

I went to eBay and bought a commemorative cup for 17 bucks, and had it shipped to Mexico for an additional 10. I intended to set the cup on my desk to hold pens and pencils. And I’d have Trump’s proud face before me while sitting here.

A combed-over desk companion.

The cup was surrounded with bubble wrap and boxed for its trip south. When I picked it up downtown here at the Estafeta office, it made an unsettling clinking sound.

When I opened the box and unwrapped the cup from its protective insulation, it was well-smashed.

There is no explanation aside from this: When the box was opened at the border at Mexican Customs, which is the custom, the agent broke it, probably with a hammer.

Then he rewrapped it and put it back into the box.

Don’t that beat all? Tsk, tsk, tsk.

Crooks, cash, cars

NEVER A DULL moment here. I offer examples:

Three armed nitwits decided to rob a bus heading north from Mexico City to the burg of Pachuca.  They boarded as passengers but soon revealed their evil intentions.

One of the geniuses fired a bullet upward to scare the passengers. The bullet bounced off the roof and killed one of the other bandidos. In the ensuing confusion, passengers grabbed a surviving genius and beat him to death.

Passengers held the third genius for police.

I love this sort of yarn. You can read details right here.

But, really, I can’t stop laughing.

* * * *

Moving away from crime, let’s look at banking.

Up until last year a bit over half of Mexican adults had no bank account. But in the last year that percentage has risen a nice 12 percent. Credit card use is up too, a mixed blessing.

I find this encouraging — that we are less inclined to keep our cash under the mattress.

You can read details right here.

I have accounts at two Mexican banks, and both include credit cards. I no longer have a U.S. bank account nor U.S. credit cards. Obama’s boys screwed that up for me.

* * * *

One of Mexico’s most popular cars will go out of existence around 2019. The Nissan Tsuru.

Mexico is finally getting serious about safety standards. Also feeling the axe will be the Chevrolet Aveo and Matiz, the Nissan Tiida and the Volkswagen Gol.

But it’s the Tsuru that will be most missed. It is everywhere, especially in taxi fleets. Before we bought my wife’s Nissan March two years ago, we considered a Tsuru but decided against it specifically for the safety factors.

You can read more about the changes right here.

The never-changing Tsuru bears a remarkable resemblance to the Toyota Corolla I owned in Houston. Why is that?

A declining day

streetTHIS IS WHAT late Monday in my hardscrabble neighborhood looked like. It’s the first corner down from the Hacienda.

It’s not Beverly Hills.

Recently, when I got irritated by WordPress, I started looking for some blog alternatives only to discover there’s a reason that WP is the big cheese. The competition isn’t even in the running, at least the free options.

First, I considered returning to Blogger where I opined for years, but on checking that option out, I thought: Yuck! It hasn’t improved a lick.

I really don’t understand why people use it when it’s easy to jump to WordPress. Well, that’s not quite true. I do understand. It’s inertia.

So I will be staying here at WordPress. But during my investigation, I discovered that Tumblr, where I  opened an account years ago and saw nothing of interest, has developed some interesting options.

I have updated my account there, opened a blog with the name of Satellite Moon, and will be posting things there now and then, even though this will remain my main website, Moon No. 1.

At present, I have dropped a few of my favorites from the Pearls of Zapata there, and I’ve added a video and photo, which is what I likely will do more than anything, videos and photos, and Lord knows what else.

The internet is fun. It keeps me off the street and clear of a life of crime. I’m thinking of buying an iPad, for Pete’s sake.

Chickens never change

FOR MOST OF the first six years of my life I lived with chickens, thousands of chickens.

There were two enormous chicken houses, one on either side of Granny’s home, there in southwest Georgia where my parents hauled me shortly after birth, down from Atlanta. I recall those chicken houses as about the size of a football field, each of them, but I doubt they were that big. But they were huge. Believe me.

chickenNow you don’t want thousands of chickens — they were Rhode Island Reds for those of you who know chickens — living too close to where you eat and sleep. Chickens are noisy, vicious and their personal hygiene is nonexistent.

So they were off far enough, out there on one side in the grove of pecan trees and out on the other side in a pasture where cows grazed. The cows were Herefords for those of you who know cows.

Those two huge chicken houses could not have been cheap, and we were not rich, to put it mildly. The chicken farmer was my father, and I’m guessing he got a loan after the war ended, something like the G.I. Bill, which was for education. But he already had a degree before the war.

Perhaps there was another bill to construct chicken houses.

cowThe endeavor did not last more than four or five years. One night burglars ran off with a big chunk of those chickens. The number 500 sticks in my mind, but I could be wrong. I remember the sheriff in the kitchen the morning after, asking questions.

Never found the chickens, of course. They all look alike.

We had started out with 2,000 or so, and 500 left a sizable gap.

I don’t recall my father actually selling chickens. What I remember is selling eggs, lots and lots of eggs. We had little egg scales on which you place an egg to determine if it’s small, medium or large. I haven’t seen one of those scales in decades. It would be a nice conversation piece, or you could just weigh your eggs.

By the time I was 7 and entering the Second Grade, we were in Jacksonville, Florida, my father having given up on chickens and freelance writing to return to the newspaper business. However, those massive chicken houses remained on either side of my grandparents’ home for a long, long time, empty.

One day they vanished.

Years passed, and I never heard a chicken, which was okay by me. They are nasty, stupid critters, almost as dumb as bunnies. Being a former farm boy, I also — like chickens and cows — know rabbits.

Flash forward a good piece of time. I wake every morning now to the sound of chickens in the distance. There are barking dogs too and the occasional bray of burros, but it’s the chickens that stand out.

Chickens never change.

And they’re on their best behavior when fried.

Joke’s on you, Gringos!


IT WAS OBVIOUS that Mexico was making little effort to keep illegals out of the United States, but who knew they were officially encouraging it? Not me.

According to a news story this week, Enrique Peña Nieto, the handsome president of Mexico, and Otto Pérez Molina, the president of Guatemala, held a news conference(!) to announce plans to make it even easier  for Central Americans to pass through Mexico on their trek to your town!

Special assistance and financial aid will be given to minors hunting a sweet life in “El Norte,” which is what we often call Gringolandia — where you rich Gringos live. This is a smart move on Mexico’s part because, compared to Central America, Mexico is a big step up and might be viewed as a final destination. Don’t want that.

So what do we do? We smooth the trail, give them some money and a train-roof ride to the Texas border.

Barry could quickly put a stop with the National Guard to the flood of illegals crossing the border. He has no problem doing other things unilaterally, but he ignores this invasion.

You elected yourself a real piece of work, amigos. Better bone up on your Spanish.

You’re gonna get a lot more multicultural.

* * * *

For more on the news conference, click here.

Heading to a barrio near you!

The superior nation


MEXICO IS A SUPERIOR nation, especially when stacked up against the United States.

To start with, plants grow better, as this photo illustrates. I planted that big mama bougainvillea when it was knee-high to me, or less. It was in a little pot. You may see a floating head behind the maguey.


That bougainvillea is going to give me problems. On the right, it has gripped the wall, falling over to the other side, providing a pretty view to the sex hotel. On the left, however, it is leaning this way and, in time, will collapse in all its prickly glory. There are two steel support chains in there somewhere, but they’re not enough.

Plants grow better in Mexico.

* * * *

Our economy improves daily. There are lots of help-wanted ads in newspapers. And Help Wanted signs on restaurants and storefronts. Setting up a small, street business is pretty easy and can be profitable. There are bountiful post-high-school educational opportunities. And scholarships. Trade schools too.

So why do we sneak into the United States? Cultural issues. We’ve been doing it for so long we don’t know how to stop. We’re imperfect and must work on that.

The economy in the United States is stagnant and promises to worsen due to stunning debt. Its cultural defects are growing, and people are at one another’s throats. I’ve seen more street people in America than in Mexico.

Our economy points upward. The other side? Nah.

* * * *

There is less violent crime in Mexico. Say what? you exclaim. Yes, you are less likely to be a victim of random violence in most of Mexico than you are in the United States. We are a peaceable people. All the nasty stuff you read stems 99 percent from the narcos and government fighting one another, plus the narcos fighting each other. Stay out of it. And you easily can.

Side issue: The “War on Drugs” prompts the narco violence in Mexico. America is the cause.

You are safer below the border.

* * * *

Our healthcare system is effective and affordable. The U.S. healthcare system is a mess. With ObamaCare it will simply be another sort of mess. You will stand in line. And taxes will increase. You may die in line.

For good medical care, head south.

* * * *

The Mexican government pretty much leaves you in peace. The American government grows more intrusive by the day (See ObamaCare. See Socialism). In Mexico, we are left to live our lives as we wish. Mind your own business  is a basic component of the Mexican culture. And smile while doing it. Say cheese, amigos.

* * * *

Taxes, utilities, labor, etcetera, are far cheaper than in the United States. While we generally earn less than in the United States, we also pay less. And there are ways for the ambitious to earn more. And still pay less.

* * * *

Mexico is not multicultural, and does not want to be. This contributes to peace in a society. We are unicultural, a  blend of original natives with the post-Conquest Spaniards. We are brown, and we speak Spanish. Oh, we give lip service now and then to the indigenous, but nobody really cares. And no one gets “offended.”

We understand that a nation is a group of people who are basically the same.

If you don’t speak Spanish in a Mexican school, you will flunk out. Period. Absolutely no one will “celebrate your roots” if your roots sprouted elsewhere. And if you’re caught here with no visa you are deported lickety-split. No tears are shed over your “rights” or how “oppressed” you are.

* * * *

Mexico realizes that men and women are very different. Mexico would never elect a nancy president who rides a bicycle with a crash helmet, smokes in secret, and wears mom jeans. We would die of embarrassment.

* * * *

It is great to live in a superior nation. We grow stupendous bougainvillea.