Malas Palabras En Colombia Novels & Stories

Ace blurts out. "¡Hijueputa! ¡Doble hijueputa! ¡Triple hijueputa! ¡Culicagado! ¡Pirobo! ¡Gueva!" I scream out a slew of Colombian curse words meaning anything from mother f*cker to brat. I was so frustrated that I had seemingly transitioned into my mother tongue to swear my head off. I couldn't believe it. She had done it again. But this time, she had not only gotten past my men but also a top-of-the-line security system.

Put them on so they can see me. In the video call, you could see the frightened faces of the Colombians, they feared for their lives, they were really afraid, apparently they brought the news that Maria De La Cruz should give them back their land, or they should prepare for war. She looked at them with absolute contempt and cut the video call with great fury, but first she left them a message; they should shoot them in the forehead, that was the message that Maria had implemented, when she was no longer interested in the enemy, she should shoot them in the head, and with the same cell phone of the criminals send the picture to the Colombian, this would undoubtedly get in a very bad mood.

Phil's underarms are stained with sweat, staring up at the member of the family he was just speaking disrespectfully about. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Alejandro." Again, with the horrible pronunciation of a Latin word; Al-a-hand-row. "Leslie, we'll speak soon at our next meeting." Before Phil can leave, Alejandro presses a hand into his shoulder and looks down upon him. Phil is scared shitless; he doesn't even have the courage to look at him, but instead looks ahead out the door. "In Colombia, where my family is from," Alejandro says in Phil's ear, "we would call someone like you un malparido. Do you have an idea what that means?"

After all, we were all self-employed. Lala’s the first to break the silence, her voice thick with that unapologetic Miami-Colombian slang that always makes everything sound like a compliment and a threat at once. “Girl,” she says, pointing her drink at me, “you were fire, Mami. En fuego. And the way you were grinding on that Papi like you were about to have sex right there on the dance floor? I was like... Dios mío... someone turn the lights down or turn the camera on.”