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DEAR ESPERANZA

April 19, 2010

 

Dear Esperanza:

Ever hear that commercial…What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?

 They lie… Lie, Lie, Lie!!!

 So I go to Vegas for the weekend, hook up with these twin brothers half my age—twins are the way to go, for real. We do our thing, every hour on the hour for the entire weekend—count it up…you’ll need a calculator. 

I say goodbye, get in my car and drive back to L.A.  But while driving in the middle of the desert, I look in the rear-view and see the twins riding in their beat-up Pinto behind me.

YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO STAY IN VEGAS, FOOLS!

At this moment, Frick & Frack are parked in front of my house, waiting for me to come out.

I’ve got a pre-nup for God’s sake!  If my husband finds out, I’ll go broke! It costs a fortune for me to look this good. 

All because Vegas didn’t keep its promise. False advertising. I’m going to sue.

How am I gonna get those fools back to Vegas?

Help me, puh-leeze!

Zoraida la zorra

**

Dear zorrita Zoraida (who I hate with every fiber of my being and every cellulite lump on my nalgas):

This is a horrible, terrible tragedy.

My sixth wedding was in Vegas. It was beautiful. My Elvis impersonator minister sang to us, I wore the most beautiful red spandex mini-dress. Sigh.

Elvis helped stand up my groom—he drank a little too much, he was so excited for the big moment. He kept saying he had to get back to work. Silly, boy. He had a whole hour lunchbreak from the hotel—I checked before we left.

After our night of wedded bliss, the man woke up, looked at me and screamed. Screamed again. And screamed some more. I tried to calm him down, told him this was the natural me without makeup, showed him our wedding license. He ran out of the room naked.

How could I have known he was already married? Or that he didn’t remember me? Or our romantic wedding?

I thought the oxicontin I slipped in his drink would help with the headache.  He kept complaining about it, said he had to leave. Lucky for him, he followed my advice and stayed long enough to finish his drink.

And as far as a pre-nup, I have first hand knowledge of this legal dilemma. My fourth husband tried that stunt—he wouldn’t give me half of his gardening truck. I took care of it—had that stupid truck with all its gardening equipment stolen by the Gardening Cartel—machete-wielding gardeners make ninjas look like Menudo.

Back to Zorrita Zoraida:

What’s the big deal? Twins follow me around all the time. Especially when I don’t wear my glasses.  Why would you want to get rid of them?

But if you insist…

Time to call your repressed, rich girlfriends (and me), throw a lingerie party…invite the twins.

The Vegas refugees will forget you and move on to new caliente chica territory in no time. Especially if I show up.

Make sure you serve plenty of food.

Hmmp. You ain’t all that.

Love is a mucho splendored thing.

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