In Brownsville, A Swearing-In Of The Old County Judge...Even As His Opponent Blows It Off...

By BOB VERACRUZ
Special to The Tribune

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - Flinty John Wood never did concede defeat, but Cameron County Judge Carlos Cascos is expected to enjoy his swearing-in ceremony here late Monday afternoon, Jan. 3rd. The Republican Cascos will take the oath of office recalling a certain congratulatory telephone call he received from Democrat Wood shortly after the Nov. 2nd election, a telephone call Wood soon labeled premature and later took back.

It seemingly will be the end of a contentious race that began early in the year, went through the long, hot summer of campaigning and then waited on the goofiest vote count in local history. That's when the race turned into a would-be Manos Arriba! political heist, with both men claiming victory and with discombobulated County Elections Administrator Roger Ortiz (shown in photo below) first handing the post to incumbent Cascos, then to Wood, and finally back to Cascos. In there roiled hours during which both political camps charged someone was messing with the vote count, Cascos parked his vehicle in front of the Ortiz home for who knows what reasons, and Wood (shown in photo above right) began making calls to people he thought might fit-in nicely in his administration.

It'll be Cascos loyalists at the courthouse tomorrow, all signing-on once more for another term.

Wood never did say why he would not concede, even after he vaguely said he wouldn't be challenging the final count in court. His critics charged, perhaps facetiously, that Wood's last hope was the immediate, untimely death of Cascos - a hope that also died with each passing day.

Cascos arrives with much to do. Cameron County lags behind its neighbor to the west in jobs, growth and promise. Faith, say many here, has brought them this far; now they need Cascos, or someone in his capacity, to do something, anything. A drive around the county, spanning this town, the county seat, and Harlingen up the highway, yields photographs more suited to Mexico than the U.S.

"There are abandoned buildings and cars everywhere up and down the highway," said one resident. "People over in Hidalgo County to the west think we live like hicks. Cascos may be in, but he won't do squat. Come back in two-three years and ask me again. Cameron County is just North Matamoros, man - a friggin' cesspool. All these unemployed people. Sheeeeeee-it, you kidding me about feeling good, or what?"

Wood, meanwhile, leaves his county commission seat on the same day, perhaps believing he is the Valley's Al Gore and insisting that something happened and he lost an election that would have made him county judge - the eternal aspiration of every commissioner.

Will he surface at some point down the road?

Most around here say they hope not. Cameron County, like Hollywood, does not easily overcome a bad taste in the mouth. In this town and county, sequels work only in adultery, goes the line in the streets...

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A Valley Life: Young And In Love...Gay Teens Battle Border Culture...But They're Out There...

By RICARDO KLEMENT
Staff Writer

HARLINGEN, Texas - More and more, news reports around here blast away at the blackout boozing and marijuana problems afflicting area teenagers. They're drinking, and they're tokin'. School suspensions related to both can be readily found in the archives of a high school's attendance rolls. But there's another trend that is not only manifesting itself on schoolgrounds, but also in local homes.

Gay teens, young people wrestling with sexual orientation in a harsh land where El Macho is king, where a young boy claiming homosexuality stands a good chance of being shamed and whipped. Julio cannot be Gay, says the mother. Julio is pinche dogmeat, says the father.

It is a story so well-hidden that the press has yet to give it a looksee. Gang warfare is covered, as is the equally-pressing problem of school dropouts and Brown-on-Brown crime. Gay teens remain in the Rio Grande Valley's darkest closet, there with incest and wife-beating. Only occasionally does one hear of Gay teens speaking comfortably or openly. Isolated incidents of gay bashing among teens gets news coverage, but only as isolated incidents. The bigger story remains under a pile of rough, wool military blankets nobody wants to peel back.

Brokeback Mountain, the Hollywood movie about two lonely homosexual cowboys in Wyoming, plays here as Brokeback Chorizo - a hardly-disguised attitude that something is wrong with being gay, so we're gonna stomp on'em and we're gonna beat it out of them. In the dominant Hispanic culture, homosexuality is said to be gaining a place on the couch for discussion, but not at the dinner table. The Catholic Church, long the favorite of Hispanics, remains staunchly against the Gay lifestyle. Teens find no refuge against open hate in the church, or from priests.

But they're out there, in and out of the closet. Speak to any openly Gay teen and be told their number is rising by the day. They are fast becoming a sub-culture, said one, a group onto itself, oblivious by choice of whatever else is going in at school and in their respective communities.

Gay in the Valley is not Gay in Dallas or New York.

There is no Gay Pride parade in Brownsville. There is no Gay bar in Harlingen, and the ones in McAllen, we're told, open and close before they gain valleywide acceptance. Politically, gay teens have no champion. To date, no city official has come out and said he or she is Gay. Rumors abound about other bureaucrats, such as cops and firefighters, but it is still risky for them to declare their sexual preferences.

"You can be Gay in this town," said one resident. "Just don't tell me about it. I don't wanna hear it."

Ignorance plays into the fear. Some genuinely wonder how two homosexuals can ever enjoy sex and express shock when told that coupling is still the connection of choice. Is oral sex different when performed by a male mouth? They say no. They say males choke less than women. They say young women employ phallic sex toys. They say it matter-of-factly, without apology.

It is a life being lived and, looked that way, well, who's to quarrel with a young person's idea of love...

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Mystery Of The Night: A Chance Encounter In a Fine Bar...Long Goodbye At Closing Time...

By RUDOLF VON BULOW
Special to The Tribune

McALLEN, Texas - I got there late. When I spotted her, she was with this other dude, a rough-looking, older man who looked sickly, although it could have been the night's hard booze. This party town at 2 Ayem is a sight for gerontology nurses, that army of aging hipsters parading younger chicks is as visible as are the bouncer's bulging muscles. Romance, Valley-Style. I'm learning the ropes, man. It's all I can say now.

She looked black from where I stood at the bar. Pretty black, legs like the actress Juliet Prowse, lovely and healthy, energetic, like they could go all night. What she was doing in the City of Palms was the mystery for me. Was she from Houston, or Dallas? I should've walked my ass over to her side and asked. Something, however, told me the frown-faced bozos at her side were there to keep flies like me off her. I swear she looked like those black women in Paris, all ready for a night of lights, an hour-long dance on the dusty, wooden floor.

Men go through this all the time is what I hear, even here in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas. Beauty pops in at the wrong time, like when you're at Taco Palenque on N. 10th Street here, or at The Vermillion bar in Brownsville. And, invariably, these pretty birds, are with the wrong man, forever, scruffy, leather-bound clowns whose bodies and faces belong elsewhere, like in Mexican drug trade movies or the pages of a Central America nature magazine.

How does a guy make his move in the Rio Grande Valley? It's not like it is elsewhere, is what the locals like to say. In Dallas, a wink is as good as a nod; in the Valley a wink at some woman can draw gunfire. In the Big Apple, where beauty is beauty, the hook-ups at midnight yield a better crop simply because the crop is all-good, as they say. In the RGV, a good-looking woman is as rare as a good avocado at HEB. It's a crapshoot, yes sir.

So I drank on into the noisy night. A band onstage wailed away at a Rod Stewart song I hadn't heard in years. Rod Stewart in the Valley? Okay, why not? I expected George Strait even at the tortilleria. Him, or Selena. Can't dance to Selena just yet. We'll see next year about this time. I should be dancing like the frontman of Little Joe Y La Familia. Put me in jail, baby, ha ha ha ha.

Yeah, well, I'm headed to that same Entertainment District bar to see is she's there tonight. What are the chances? None, I tell myself. Just another Valley mirage, a beautiful moon-lit scene in a clear driveway puddle.

She's back in Chicago, for sure...

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Death Of A Boxer: Border Light-Heavyweight Maceton Cabrera Dies...He Logged 159 Wild Fights...Never A World Champ...

By BAD BLAKE
Special to The Tribune

MATAMOROS, Mexico - Legend has it he once went 65 brutal rounds on a horribly hot, muggy night against a thin Filipino who just wouldn't stay down. Maceton Cabrera never got the limelight away from this dusty, war-torn bordertown, but he was a warrior from another boxing era.

Cabrera, a brawling light-heavyweight born with a club foot, died this past weekend in an uncharted ejido south of this town. He was 73.

The son of a perpetually-unemployed mechanic, Cabrera began boxing at the age of 12, when his father put him in the ring against a 35-year-old middleweight in need of a pigeon. It would be the first of his 159 trips to the ring. His overall record is unclear, although some say he likely lost more fights than he won. "But that was because he went in against everybody, even some heavyweights," said local boxing historian Marco Facundo Gonzalez. "Maceton never backed away from any fight, and he never gave up. There are photos of him with his face bloodied to a pulp, but he's standing at the end of the fight. Like a good Mexican, Maceton was there."

Cabrera would stalk his opponents across the ring with extreme prejudice, the pursuit of a knockout being his only drive. Blood-thirsty fans loved to see him box. Cabrera would drag his club foot behind him as he bobbed and weaved and feigned, the strained music of mariachi trumpets energizing him and the crowd. His best punch was the uppercut to the liver, said his manager in an interview carried this morning by a local radio station.

According to the manager, Cabrera never made much money from his fights, but he was a regular on border fight cards. Fans from the Rio Grande Valley who knew the fight game would get their tickets in advance for all Cabrera brawls.

"He was the guy you wanted at your side in a cantina fight," said one fan. "Maceton would just look like a goddamned rock as he cut across the ring with that big foot dragging behind him. It was like an anchor, but he didn't let it keep him from boxing. He was a boxer, ese vato."

Cabrera often fought at the Arena Coliseo here. His fights were covered by local newspaper reporters on both sides of the Rio Grande. His fights were the only fights where the line at the battered box office was always longer than the line at the popular sidewalk taco stand in front of the arena. Women flocked to ringside seats, many of them exhorting Cabrera into the late rounds, perhaps feeding a primal need by seeing the sexual side of boxing upclose.

He was buried under grayish skies in a weed-filled, hillside cemetery full of unmarked graves, friends and family weeping as a murder of crows circled the grassy land for minutes before flying south...

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[Editor's Note: Writer Bad Blake is a part-time country & western musician who also likes to dabble in Journalism. He has written for Dog Fancy and Successful Farmer magazines. Currently, he resides in a mobile home with his girlfriend, Darlene. This is his first report for The Tribune...]

Mama Chapa Journal: In The Rio Grande Valley, Beans A La Charra Rule The Family Dinner Table...Pintos Fuel Valleyites...

"The right time to eat is: for a rich man when he is hungry, for a poor man when he has something to eat..." - Mexican Proverb

By MAMA CHAPA
Tribune Food Writer

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - It is said of Mexican women that when they gather their thoughts to fix a meal, that they get their best recipes from God. Mama Chapa believes it 100 percent.

My sons, especially my shortest, the one not so smart, always would ask for their favorite: Frijoles a la Charra. I would buy a few sacks of pinto beans and a bushel basket of vegetables, bacon when we had the extra pennies, which was rare in my country of Guatemala. But my physically-eccentric son ate well. He scarfed plates of my Charra beans, with a dozen corn tortillas he'd butter-up. Perhaps that is why he is so short and stocky now. Too many tortillas will keep you close to the ground, is what my father, Antonio, Sr., would say between shots of mescal.

The strange and long-hidden history of Charra beans is not well-known. It all dates back to the days of the 1910 Mexican Revolution, when sex-starved women groupies would ride the revolutionary trains with Villa's forces across the Sonoran Desert of Mexico. One thing would lead to another and beans would be delivered to the women by the hungry soldiers. A campfire would rise from the harsh geography and then a dozen clay pots and then someone would bring gallons of water for the bean-cooking. The women would throw whatever greens they could find into the pot for flavoring. In no time, the overland beans would be steaming and the starving soldiers angling in for a plate of the thoroughly-Mexican delicacy.

So, when my chubby son would cry, I would place a bowl of Charra Beans in front of him, and his eyes would go crazy and then he would stop crying. He would eat and eat and eat and then fart for hours, which was Little Tony's first stab at speaking. His equally short & fat father was the same - beans and beans and beans and then clouds of methane gas. But what's a mother to do? Today, they have Bean-O to stem the passing of gas. My boy tried it, but it doesn't work with him. He farts like a heavyweight champ, in church and at political gatherings even.

I thought of a way to help The Tribune's readers get an inkling of what I am talking about. So I worked up my own recipe for Frijoles a la Charra.

Recipe: For 12 servings.

1 1/2 lbs. Pinto Beans, uncooked
1 gallon cold water
3/4 lb. Bacon pieces, chopped into 1 inch squares
1/2 C. plus 1 Tbsp. fresh Garlic, chopped fine
4 Tbsp. Cilantro plus 1/8 C. Cilantro, chopped fine
1 C. White onions, chopped
1 Tbsp. cumin
1 Tbsp. chili powder
1/2 gallon cold water
1 1/2 Tbsp. Salt
2 C. Roma Tomatoes, chopped

Soak beans in 1 gallon cold water for 8 hours. Drain when ready to use. In a 2 gallon heavy pot, cook the bacon pieces until well done. Do not undercook the bacon. Add 1/2 C. chopped garlic, 3 Tbsp. cilantro, and chopped onions to hot bacon. Cook until onions are transparent. When onions are ready add beans, cumin, and chili powder. Stir and add 1/2 gallon cold water. Turn heat to medium low. Add salt and stir. Cook beans slowly until fork tender (approximately 1 hour). Stir constantly to avoid burning the bottom. Add tomatoes, the 1 tablespoon of garlic, and cilantro, and serve.

Hopefully, your boy will not stop growing. I often think my boy blames me for being short, and for being picked-on by everyone in town. But that chaparro gordiflon still eats his beans...

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[Editor's Note:...Any connection read into this story related to names is strictly unintended and coincidental. It should also be noted that Editor Patrick Alcatraz loves his Tex-Mex food...]

The Burden of Robert Leftwich: Harlingen City Commissioner Is Mayoral Heir Apparent...But Tough Sledding Looms Ahead...

By NICK RYAN
Special to The Tribune

HARLINGEN, Texas - How much is tomorrow worth to a politician? The quick answer is: Everything. For Robert Leftwich, tomorrow cannot get here soon enough. He is thinking far ahead, to a time when he grabs the reins of city government and begins floating his plan for the struggling city's future.

In the parlance of the sea, he is underway.

Little by little, in moves at City Hall and some as quiet as the shedding of an annoying blogger formerly his great ally on the local political front, City Commissioner Leftwich has the framework in place, foundation at the ready, time being the only thing to wait on. Harlingen's battle to survive in a region seemingly blooming is the challenge at hand. Is Leftwich the man to tackle the city's return to prominence? Will he even get the chance?

Harlingen's politics are as novel to the Rio Grande Valley of Texas as are Eskimos to West Texas. As one resident put it, "You'd have to know the land."

The land is a piece of mid-valley geography steeped in racism, bigotry and cries from the abandoned and the dispossessed. In words that speak to anger, fight and outright disgust, many of the city's residents blame the so-called Old Guard, namely old, white men who guarded their fiefdom against the ambitions of the town's dominant Hispanic population. Letwich appears to come bearing the views of the latter. His actions to date as commissioner have placed him in the headlights of the Old Guard standard-bearers on the City Hall group, that being Mayor Chris Boswell and City Commissioner Kori Marra. Boswell and Marra have been unrepentant backers of the city's establishment, at times exhibiting childish behavior in support of the past when discussing issues that come before the commission.

Leftwich has kept a low profile in the past few months, his only discernible action being his decision to split from Harlingen Blogger Tony Chapa, a former ally some see as poison for any Leftwich-For-Mayor campaign. Chapa's bellicose rants against civility, it is said, would doom any politician's plans.

"Leftwich used to be Tony Chapa's fountain of city information," said one resident in the know. "These days, you'll never see those two together anywhere in town. And that is the right move for Leftwich. The farther he stands from Blogger Chapa, the better it will be for him."

City business here always comes at you in desperation mode. If it isn't City Manager Carlos Yerena being taken to task for being what some residents say is a "Do-Nothing," to the recent approval of a multi-million dollar outlay to lure fishing and hunting retailer Bass Pro Shops inside the city limits. The chatter in the street is palpable. The talk in the cafes is no longer about the drug war in Mexico or the Dallas Cowboys. Crunch time has come to town and people are looking for solutions to high unemployment, slow business, gang warfare and a feeling that Harlingen is dead in the water, its pulse barely registering, its chances of returning to the winning fold so deep in the resident psyche that some say it would take a giant shovel to dig out of the present mess.

Leftwich waits.

Many here say the city has run out of time...

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And So This Is Christmas: On A Most-Important Day, A Mere Mortal Stops To Have His Say...

By RICARDO KLEMENT

Staff Writer

PORT ISABEL, Texas - A friend of mine had this one question last night: What does a tough guy do during the holidays? I thought about it for a few seconds, shook my head a bit and then set my drink down on the bar before replying, "I can be a hard-ass just like the other guy most of the year, but even tough guys like me stand down at Christmastime."

So we are here, at the moment we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. The year's almost done, and it's been a wild one, as it's been since the planet counted its 1 billionth citizen not that long ago. We are growing in many different ways. Population strains the Earth. Man's ability to house, employ and feed himself gets more and more difficult. These are strange and wicked times. Some fear worse times are coming, others fear personal pain and still others fear fear. It's true: we can all wallow in problems. Everybody has them, neighbors and nations included.

Yet, it is these two days - Christmas Eve and Christmas Day - that offer the opportunity for renewal, for dressing the spirit of life in the best clothing, for daring to believe that it is in us to make our life and everybody else's a bit better.

Time will allow us another chance to blow it, as well. The Year 2011 likely will bring its drama, its bizarreness, its disappointments. Human beings have a nasty habit of ruining a good thing. Again, we will see heroes and villains. Craziness is now part of the journey we make around the sun. And, of course, much of what lingers from 2010 will still be something to wonder at, our need for resolution as strong - and weak - as ever. Some things will rest in your hands and others in the hands of others. No one lives alone anymore. No man is an island continues as the working social phrase of the day. No man makes all the mistakes, and no man has all the answers.

The promise of that day all those years ago, the one we celebrate on December 25th, still lives as the single most-important promise of Man. Man has it in him to do good or do bad. Perhaps this coming year is the year we do more good than bad.

Without that as a plan, why celebrate anything?

I'll take my drink, bid my friends adieu for the night and hope to see the new morn arrive in as beautiful a dawning as ever seen on this God-loved planet. I'll inhale a deep breadth and stare out into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, looking for a celestial glimmer that will tell me, "I am still here, my son..."

- 30 -

Letter From Austin: In Which One Reader Takes Two Infidels To Task...The Tribune Concurs, Yes...

By BLOGGER M.
Special to The Tribune

AUSTIN, Texas - Lately, I find myself under attack by one (or maybe I should say 1/2) blogger by the name of Tony Chapa. Since he doesn't allow free speech on his site (remember that pesky little kid when you were growing up that always stuck his fingers in his ears and chanted, "Na na na boo boo, I can't hear you") and it seems somewhat rude to interrupt other websites or stories trying to get a word in edgewise with him, I am asking that The Tribune print my response to tiny Tony, especially because I know he creeps over here to see what people are saying about him.

His most recent claim is that I have been spamming him with nasty messages that hurt his delicate feelings. He states that he knows it's me because of the server used and the IP address, even though the writer uses a different name. Although I am not surprised at all that people would send him nasty messages and call him names, I cannot take credit for any of them. I post only under my initial "M". That being said, I have no control over what anyone else in my household says to him because, after all, it is a free country, but I'm not sure he could explain or understand that term. I do find it extremely amusing that all the things Tony is whining about are tactics that he and his little toad Jake have used many times over. They go back and forth, playing with each other, with Jake using at least four different aliases, sometimes even posting as one little slime ball, but by the time he pecks out his three sentences (all with one finger) he forgets which character he came on as and signs off under another name. It really doesn't matter how many names he uses. Put all his characters together and you still don't have enough brain cells to fill the skull of a normal toad. To top it off, Jake gets all huffy, accusing Patrick Alcatraz of using different characters like that is a crime for a fiction writer to do.

Then there is this whole obsession that Tony has with Duardo Paz-Martinez and Jakey's little torch that he carries for Patrick Alcatraz. I guess I can understand how Tony might envy Duardo's ability to write professionally, especially when you see Tony's own deep personal issues with the alphabet (Yes, Tony, there really are more than 15 of those pesky little letters, and we won't even get into vowels and consonants here). What I can't understand is why Tony, who can maybe hit the 5'1'' mark as he tiptoes out of the corner convenience store keeps referring to Duardo as the "dwarf". I have met Duardo and he is at least a head taller than I, and I am 5'4". In fact, I feel fairly confident in stating that I could easily spit over the top of Tony's head without hitting anything. Of course, I could probably wouldn't hit anything if he was standing in profile and I leaned down to spit in his ear. It would sail out the other side with no impediments blocking the way.

The problem Jake has with Patrick stems from a little man-crush Jake developed. He really thought that Patrick would be overwhelmed with admiration of the slimy characters he portrays and then sent him a little "Just kidding - no hard feelings" e-mail, and when Patrick wouldn't acknowledge that Jake was anything more than the lowest form of species, Jake got all hurt and vengeful. Jake likes to go on other sites and fantasize about raping other men and even though Tony is aware of this and has even banned him in the past from his own website, Jake (and all his characters) is the only one commenting on a regular basis on Tony's site. The fact that Tony is so desperate for commenters that he will allow this disgusting pervert free rein to pollute his site with his verbal ordure speaks volumes to the hypocrisy of Tony putting in a daily Bible quotation. Jake is indeed, one sick puppy and Tony is helping him spread his filth by giving him a platform.

At any rate, this is my response to Tony Chapa and his impotent little sidekick and I want to thank The Tribune for allowing me to vent...

- 30 -

[Editor's Note: Blogger M has been a regular reader of The Tribune for most of the year. And because she has been on the receiving end of much silliness from the people she mentions in her post above, well, we felt obliged to give her the floor, as they say. In any case, we agree with everything she writes...]

THE SKINNY: How One Valley Resident Shadows The Doings At City Hall...Detective Joe Rubio Uncovers The Story Behind The Story...

By JOE RUBIO
Special to The Tribune

HARLINGEN, Texas - Paul Menzies, the previous Harlingen Planning and Zoning director, would often say that the population of Harlingen stood at more than 79,000 residents. The true numbers revealed in the 2010 Federal Census put Harlingen's population at 65,289, an increase of almost 7,000 during the last 10 years, but well-short of the Menzies estimate.

Because the federal government dispenses funding based on population, this low number will hurt us for the next decade, or until a new census count is taken.

Mayor Chris Boswell has often used the Menzies number - 79,000 - in official presentations, and that number was well over a 14,000 population difference. I knew the true numbers and so did he, but he kept on deceiving the public.

Other facts revealed by the government survey include these: 73.1 percent of the Harlingen population has a high school diploma, 18.9 percent has earned a college bachelor’s degree, and, in the ethnic breakdown, the city counts on 46,897 Hispanics, which represents 74 percent of the city's population.

The biggest news is that Harlingen has been dethroned as the number three largest city in the Rio Grande Valley. It is no longer Number 3; it is now Number 6.

Brownsville downriver maintained its lead as the community in the Valley with the most inhabitants, adding some 37,000 since the year 2000 to increase its population to 176,859. McAllen, the City of Palms, is number two at 132,225. Edinburg is number three at 72,424, tourist mecca Mission is at number four at 68,990, and the booming City of Pharr barely edges Harlingen with a population of 68,231.

In Harlingen, Mayor Boswell was unable to annex the two big colonias located on the west side of town, which would have given the city about a 3,000-plus advantage. His words following the city's failure to annex them were something to the effect that we needed to help these people by annexing them. The plan failed.

It's always a numbers game with the feds, and, now, it seems we've lost a considerable amount of future government grants. Still, the census data shows that Harlingen gained 7,725 new residents...

- 30 -

[Editor's Note: Writer Joe Rubio is a private detective residing in Harlingen. The Tribune has followed his work for the community this year and recently named him as one of the People Who Mattered in 2010. This article first appeared on MyLeaderNews.com...]

Lump Stuns Chapa: Local Toy Blogger Diagnosed With Killer Breast Cancer. Doctors Say Toni's Prognosis Is Not Good...Tell Her: "Here Today, Gone Tomorrow"...

By BOB VERACRUZ
Special to The Tribune

HARLINGEN, Texas - Blogger Toni Chapa got some bad news Tuesday afternoon, when doctors at the federal detention facility where she is being held confirmed she has breast cancer. Chapa, a free-lance writer, is being detained after being arrested by immigration officials who charged her with entering the country illegally.

"She has one breast bigger than the other, so that fooled us a bit," said one doctor. "But we stayed with it and ultimately found a quarter-sized lump on her left tit."

Chapa declined to tell reporters gathered at the facility whether she will okay excision of the lump or whether she will lump the lump and die gracefully.

"Her height, or lack of it, makes it an interesting decision," the doctor went on. "It's not like she needs sexy jugs, cause, well, my feeling is romance is something she's never known."

Chapa has written one story for The Tribune. Ironically, it concerned the popularity of hamburger meat in the Rio Grande Valley. One of the photos considered by Tribune editors to accompany her story was one of the dwarfish Chapa fondling a pound of fresh, room-temperature meat.

Doctors say they also may consider a mastectomy, with Toni Chapa then being fitted with a prosthesis (fake breast). The operation would not cost prisoner Chapa a penny because it would be performed by government doctors at a government facility, such as a VA hospital.

"Chapa has a week or so to make her decision," added the doctor. "But she may not have that much time. Cancer, like a lack of height, is unforgiving, so Chapa has to make a stand for life. We just hope she has the fight in her, cause, to us, she comes across like the Pillsbury Doughboy."

The same doctors said they made no promises as to whether Chapa would survive the surgery, a point lauded by a small crowd of anti-Chapa Patriots who applauded at hearing the comment via a loudspeaker set on a wall outside the detention center.

"Chapa is an illegal!" they crowed for long minutes. "Back to Mexico for Chapa!!! Send Chapa back!"

Chapa, however, is from Guatemala...

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Kickin' It: How Valley Women Never Learned The Art of Sex...The Sack Is Too Damned Lonely Party...

"Any man less than 6 inches long should be forced to undergo castration. His tool is useless..." - Local Woman

By RUDOLF VON BULOW
Special to The Tribune

HARLINGEN, Texas - My ancestors used to tell me I was wasting my time with women other than Italian lovelies. Well, they were right. Italian women not only know how to please a man, but they also know how to please themselves, and that, sometimes, is the so-called sparkler in the sack. You get a woman who knows her bed and you have a real woman. The women I have met in the Valley seem to think that they are mere masa to be rolled, spread and baked. They simply do not know how much more pleasure they could be having. Worse yet, they seem to not care.

My survey of some three dozen women leads me to conclude that making love in the Valley is just another thing to do. Left out of the naked equation is the playfulness you see in Italian women. My question is this: Is it the fault of Valley women, or is it the fault of their men, all, to a man, mount-ride-and-dismount dudes? That is the question of the ages around here. As things stand, it is a miracle that Valley women could ever recognize real love. Do the men want it that way? If they do, they are only limiting their own sexual experiences. I like to spend hours with a naked woman, doing the Around-The-World thing, the toe thing, the Japanese beads thing, the finger thing, the fist thing, the elongated thrusting, the ejaculation stall, the mouthing, the face workout. Most of the aforementioned apparently is news to local women.

Is it the strong connection with the Catholic Church that has them ignoring the essence of what it is to be a woman? Well, let me say this: A woman is to be fucked so that she stays fucked. As soon as Valley women get that, well, that is when they will free themselves of ancient religions bonds. The Holiday Season, cold & fuzzy nights, is the perfect time to experiment with your mate in bed. Ditch the jammies and walk in nude, body hair brushed-out and thrown to the winds, breasts in sexy danglings, lips at the ready. It'll spark fireworks the county fire department cannot prohibit. Hair is sexy, so ruffle it up. And use sexual lingo. It is okay to climb onto the bed and say, no scream, "Fuck me, you high-throated sonofabitch!"

It will liberate you.

I, myself, love to fall off the bed while making love. It makes me laugh and then it makes me hornier. I have been known to ball for long hours, my stroke feeling, first, like a goddamned piston, and then like a soft banana, it's mid-torso recipient speaking to me in neat splishings. I hear a soft moaning and I know the act has been consummated. It is that moan finale that is missing in Valley women. What I get is - yeah! - nothing. Nothing. The woman merely there, ready to get up and go clean-up.

I say go all the fuck out. Get with it as if horse & mare. Beat it, whip it, rip it and stroke it until you can do it no more. And don't worry about a woman's vagina. It'll be as good as new after a washing...

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When In The Valley, It's Hamburger Meat, Baby...Give A Chick A Pound And You Got Yourself A Quick Date...

By TONI CHAPA
Special to The Tribune

BROWNSVILLE, Texas - As expected, a survey shows that hamburger meat again rules the Valley's culinary roost. Beef, sweetheart. Beef pushed through some grinder and, quick as you can say Howdy!...it's ready for the grill or skillet. Valleyites may be down on fajita tacos (down as in 'with it'), but a round of hamburger meat tacos still goes the distance. Tacos de Carne Molida, is how you'll find them on most area restaurant and taqueria menus. It is the staple of all staples.

"It used to be said here that all you had to offer a local woman to get her in the sack was a pound of hamburger meat," said one man busy at scarfing down a plate of tacos. "I tried it and dang if it didn't work. Goofiest part of it is going to the grocery to buy it, cause how many guys want to do that? But women, women here, know the value of hamburger meat."

Indeed, they do.

Facts and figures are not readily available as to how much tonnage of hamburger meat is sold and consumed in the RGVofTexas. Some say look at the empty meat bins at the stores. Others say look at the fattened bellies in town. Perhaps the best barometer comes from taking both images into consideration.

 Nutritionists have it that a woman who knows her hamburger meat can space-out three days of meals with a single pound. "She can make the tacos, yes," said one. "And then she can fix guisado, before maybe making a dozen or so tamales with what's left. Usually, it is a single mother who can do this, or maybe even the wife of a low-level bureaucrat."

The more creative women can work up a family-sized meat loaf with a single pound, especially if they add a half-pound of soybean or some other filler.

Plus, there's always the trusted cheeseburger...

- 30 -

[EDITOR'SNOTE: Writer Toni Chapa is being held by federal authorities on a charge of entering the country illegally. She wrote this story while on break from kitchen duty at the detention facility. The Tribune does not endorse the breaking of any law. Chapa is a native of Guatemala. This is her initial story for The Tribune...]

An Age-Old Problem Baffles Valley: What To Do With Excess Hair...It Troubles The City Water Systems...

By KERMIT PEREZ
Interim Editor of The Tribune

McALLEN, Texas - A disturbing trend is spreading like free sex across the Rio Grande Valley. Troublesome, disgusting clumps of hair have begun to cause growing alarm within the ranks of water treatment plant employees and administrators. To date, no solution has been found, and, now, some communities are pondering the idea of floating neighborhood flyers asking residents to not let their falling hair get into the shower drains.

It is a problem to be found in every household from Rio Grande City to the west to Brownsville on the eastern fringe of the region. Not that it is a novel headache in a part of the country where women still wear the Big Hair look, but the population is growing and there is only so much a drainage system can handle, say authorities who have mysteriously kept a lid on the growing mess.

"Sometimes, I lose about a half-pound of hair when I shampoo my hair," said Elodia Jimenez of Weslaco. "And then my kids go in there and then my husband and, well, it's a lotta hair. Women who dye their hair also lose more than those who don't, so..."

What exactly officials can do about this is anybody's guess.

"We can only hope to educate the masses before it's too late," said an uncouth overseer. "But how do you regulate hair-loss, man? We can't say don't shampoo, or don't bathe. But what is known is that we need to do something about it. We need to create a campaign aimed at telling our people that hair down the drain is not a good thing, that it plugs the pipes and that there is only so much Liquid Plumber in town."

Women are said to be the main cuplrits, as the usual hair style for Valley men is a military-style haircut.

"Reputable hair salons generally sweep the cut hair and deposit it in trash cans, but we've caught a few of the fleamarket-types trying to flush what look like Beatle wigs down the toilet," said another official who requested anonymity for fear of industry reprisals. "That's not good, either. A pound of hair is as bad as a pound of cement. Our pipes cannot handle a pound of hair from every household."

It is a silent pipe killer, to be sure.

"No one wants to talk about it," said a Harlingen barber. "We'd rather talk about drugs and adultery and crime and everything under the sun except our hair problem. I just don't get it..."

- 30 -

In Harlingen, A Final & Long-Awaited Resignation...Unpopular Blogger Acknowledges Bitter Defeat...

By BOB VERACRUZ
Special to The Tribune

HARLINGEN, Texas - The word in the streets is that Blogger Tony Chapa finally saw the writing on the wall. It helped that nearly everyone in this community's 74,000 residents grabbed him by his ear and walked him to the computer screen. Chapa's demise has been coming for months.

The ever-agitating operator of MyHarlingenNews.com has seen his number and reader comments drop alarmingly. Today, he arrived on his rival's blog, MyLeaderNews, and posted several comments - action seen by many as Chapa's decision to forget his pompous claim of being the Best Blog in town. It hasn't been that for months, if it ever was. One thing is certain: fewer and fewer and fewer visitors have sought his website, a clearcut indication of his inglorious defeat.

"Tony has bitten into a humble empanada," said one resident who characterized Chapa's loss admission as being the best thing that has happened to this struggling community all yearlong. "Now, he knows he is Number 2, and it has to be eating him up. But that's what he is, Mr. Doormat, the guy standing with his back to the wall at the dance."

The Tribune placed a call to Chapa (shown in photo above, at right), but was unable to reach the oft-whipped blogger. A strange, incessant crackling  prevented the call from going through and we remembered Chapa forever complains about electrical service to his neighborhood. We also wondered whether his wife may have left his cellphone on an upper bookshelf he was unable to reach.

No one disputes the fact that MyLeader News, edited by former newsman Jerry Deal, now rules the local Blogosphere. "The very fact that Chapa is posting comments on MyLeaderNews says it all," said another resident familiar with both men. "I expect Tony Chapa to soon announce that he is shutting down his silly Blog any moment now."

The defeat is startling, said others. "Tony had a chance to give the city a respectable, reliable Blog, but he chose to feed his own giant-sized ego, which is hilarious because Chapa is a short, short man," the observer went on. "All he had to do was say he'd blown it a few weeks ago, and that he would be doing things at a  higher level. His ego got the best of him..."

- 30 -

BREAKING NEWS: Toni Chapa Deported...Here Today, Gone Today...

By RICARDO KLEMENT
Staff Writer

SAN BENITO, Texas - Federal authorities have arrested Tribune freelancer Toni Chapa and charged her with sneaking into the country under false pretenses. The arrest came at dawn this morning and took place at Chapa's small apartment atop a local tire repair shop. "We got a tip from a blogger," said an arresting officer. "We expect to use this as an example of how we won't tolerate miscreants coming to our country. Toni Chapa is being held in solitary confinement. Yes, we are afraid suicide is a possibility in this case."

Toni Chapa, no relation to Tony Romo, had recently agreed to submit stories to The Tribune. Its editor, Patrick Alcatraz, issued a statement that read, in part: "We were given assurances by Toni that she was a U.S. citizen, and we had no reason to doubt her. In fact, she vigorously claimed to have served in the military. This is a sad day for the Chapa family, this being the Holiday Season and all."

The height-challenged Chapa, shown in photo at right, told authorities she is a native of Guatemala, where she received a high school education and worked part-time as a teacher's aide and school custodian.

"We never did see any of her writing," added Alcatraz, "...so we don't know if she could spell or string coherent sentences together. I suppose we'll never know."

Immigration officials combed the neighborhood where Chapa was residing, hoping to find evidence of her plot to assimilate, to blend in with the citizenry by doing things that would make her appear to be an American. "There is some evidence that Chapa was starting a Blog," said an official. "We have shut down the domain, however. It was to be called MyChapaNews.com, and it would have been the sort of Blog that covers local politics and government. And, yes, it'll never fly."

A woman also detained in the neighborhood was seen bawling as the no-nonsense feds dragged Chapa away. There was no word of a budding romance between the two women, however. A chimp-faced, heavyset transient was also detained after officers found him "lapping up" to Chapa while she was typing a story onto her would-be Blog. His name was not released to the press, although a nosey resident of the area said it was "something like Cake, or Fake, or Rake, or Take, or Wake."

Authorities noted that Chapa wore crotch-less panties when arrested and that the man at her side was wearing a horse bridle and leather mask when officers entered the room. "You could say there were a few sex toys in there," said another officer, laughing. "Someone was having somekind of fun. Ha ha ha ha ha. No, I have no idea which one of the two was the bitch. Heh, heh, heh."

As a story, the arrest of Chapa and likely deportation looms as the story of the month.

The Tribune immediately distanced itself from Chapa.

"We won't be fooled again," said Editor Alcatraz. "Lamentably, this definitely is our Chappaquiddick..."

- 30 -

WIRED: In Matamoros, It's Drugs, Guns and Rock 'n' Roll...A Long, Long Night For Animals...

By NICK RYAN
Special to The Tribune

MATAMOROS, Mexico - The flabby-bellied girl had just finished dancing "Have You seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in The Shadows" by The Rolling Stones when the soldiers stormed in, ordered everyone to the floor and quickly pulled the plug on a long, long night for animals. Partying in this city, once the playground of South Texas politicians and the wandering press, has come to an end. Where strained guitar riffs once sailed out into a booze-fueled crowd, it is now bullets that zing past you even as you scan the room for a semi-attractive doll who just may be up for some free "kill me" sex in some darkened corner.

It is the ongoing war between the blood-thirsty drug cartels that has fun leaving town in a hurry. Neoned nightclubs once as noisy as Hell's reception room now sit abandoned, looking like transplants from war-ravaged Fallujah or Baghdad. Streets that once moved thousands of night owls out for a good time now settle into an epoch that has them as lonely as an aging prostitute working Penny Lane at the local bordello. It is, they say, a fight that funseekers lost, and lost badly.

"We are world-class cowards," one man is saying in Spanish as I move down a sidewalk toward the international bridge that will take me back to Texas. I ask the bearded man with the Quasimodo slouch why he isn't home, where presumably it is safer than out in the open, and he says, "I am an old man. What is it that I should fear?" A rain of bullets, I tell him, and he bends his head back like a javeline-thrower and says, "They can kill me anytime, here or at my home, so why worry about it! My biggest problem right now is finding something to eat. Where did all the taco stands go anyway?"

He stops and scans the scenery, up ahead, to his right and left, and behind. Nothing. If there is a taco to be had on this street, well, it must be down in the sewer drains. I nod; he smiles. We are fools passing like shits in the night, bound for our own geographies. (Yes, shits, okay?)

"See you later," I say next.

"Alligator," he fires back, laughing like a hyena.

The street looms as lonely as a pregnant woman unable to have sex. I hear every moan and groan coming from below and above. If there is a God, I tell myself, he better be at the next corner. But I press onward, now thinking God is not interested. At the corner, a tamale-fattened cop stops me and asks for identification. I hand him my Tribune ID Card and he nods.

"You tell your boss I better not catch his ass in my town," he tells me, referring to Tribune Editor Patrick Alcatraz. I ask him why, and he says, "I was a big, fuckin' Ron Mexico fan. And Alcatraz fired him. For drinking on the job! Ha ha ha. We all drink on the job, man!"

I walk away, slowly. It is a cadaver's idea of night - nothing to be seen or heard. Somewhere else, the music is not stopping. People are dancing, guys are angling in on chicks and the booze is flowing as if forever.

Not here. Matamoros has died a horrible death...

- 30 -

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Writer Nick Ryan usually covers ethnic strife in Harlingen, but he'd heard all the bullshit about the drug wars in Mexico. So, he packed a bag lunch, filled his canteen with whiskey and walked across the bridge in Brownsville to check it out. This is his first report for The Tribune...]

In The Rio Grande Valley of Texas, The Road Goes On Forever and The Party Never Ends...

"With women, it's not what you said or did; it's how you made them feel..." - Patrick Alcatraz

By KERMIT PEREZ
Tribune Party Beat Writer

McALLEN, Texas - The phone call came at a particularly bad time. I was shaving my goatee into shape when I noticed my editor's name on the cellphone's caller ID: Patrick Alcatraz calling at dawn was not good news. I set my razor down, next to my expensive bar of face soap, there next to my $100 toothbrush, and inhaled as deeply as I could inhale. Jesus, was I being fired already? This was my first week on the job at The Tribune and I'd been busting my tail researching my first story.

What could Patrick possibly want?

I chickened-out and let my answering doohickey take the call. It was brief: "Write the goddamned story by mid-morning and send it in, Goddammit!" I exhaled. Wheeeeeew. Not fired yet. Great, I thought, stepping off the llama throw rug at my feet and leaving the huge mirror to head back into my cavernous bedroom. I am remodeling this abandoned warehouse and it will soon be my home, the place where I will entertain local ladies, the pretty ones, of course.

Kermit Perez doesn't just bed any woman. No, sir. They have to have brains, for one.

Anyway, I sat heavy on my King-size bed and lifted my leg to begin sliding into my Jordache jeans. They don't make these anymore, so I get them from the European black markets. $700 a pair, yessireeee. My laptop is on the glass dining table, there under the light of my large plasma wall TV and a yooooooge picture window that gives me a panoramic view of Business 83 just west of Main Street here. My job description says I do the party stories.

Well,so far the parties are everywhere. My place is in the shadow of McAllen's already-fabled Entertainment District, so the sounds of the bustling night fall into my abode somewhat nicely, enough anyway that this lovely, Big Hair chick from Edinburg said my place was the wildest joint in the Valley, rivaling, she said, the Shrine in San Juan. Kermit had a great time with that one, even sprung for a cab ride home for the poor child. Hopefully, we won't see her again. Party Boys like me hate re-runs, if you get my drift.

The goal is to check out as many area parties as possible. That's what my editor told me when he hired me for this gig. Said he didn't want to see recycled club notes or newspaper reviews. Said he wanted the skinny on the skinny and the fat on the fat. Of course, the Valley has plenty of skinny and fat chicks, so...

Harlingen is on the itinerary, as is Brownsville. We'll see which one holds my attention. I hear Harlingen chicks like to do the Limbo (not your grandfather's limbo, btw) and Brownsville ladies chase the Funky Chicken. Looking forward to hitting the 14th Street cantinas in Brownsville, although I'd hate to have anyone vandalize my new Beamer. And it's been years since I've partied with rough-hewn women. Still, it's my job. I dive in, as Lloyd Bridges used to say on Seahunt.

Hang on a  sec. There's another call from Alcatraz...

- 30 -

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Writer Kermit Perez was born on a bed of cold cuts in Houston the same year the Dallas Cowboys began playing football. He's a cultured man with an extraordinary ego, and he is a bachelor, although he tells us he's rarely alone after dark. This is his first report for The Tribune...]