Mexican Hey Dudes Novels & Stories

For a moment, he just stops and stares, transfixed. “My god. You’re beautiful,” he says. To my surprise, Helena blushes. I can't help but roll my eyes. “What’s with the accent?” I ask. Uncle Bruno straightens up, adjusting his sombrero with a flourish. “I spent two glorious weeks in San Miguel de Allende, and I’ve come to realize that my spirit belongs to Mexico. I now identify as a Mexican. They have such wonderful food, vibrant music, and pretty women. But none,” he drops to one knee in front of Helena, “comes close to this lovely being before me. I am honored to be in your presence, my lady. Please accept this humble offering as a tribute to your beauty.” He hands her the champagne with a

"Did you contact the Mexican Customs officers about my shipment?" Confusion crosses his face. English isn't his strength. "¿Contactaste a los de la aduana de México por lo de mi envío?" He stills. Then nods. Yes. "Bien. Ya ves, ya empezamos con el pie derecho. No perdimos ninguna uña." (You see? We're already off to a good start. No nails lost.) I offer him a smile. The kind that doesn't reach anywhere near warmth. "Ahora la siguiente pregunta. ¿Te pagaron para sabotear mi envío?"

U DO SET D BAR PRETTY HIGH COUZ BUT U AIN’T GETTIN TO HELL B4 US. DON’T DIE M & R BRAINY, BAD AND BOUJEE

My mood darkens further when my phone lights up with a text message from an unknown number: Dearest BestBroyBoyBand, Just filling you in to let you know that I'm home safely and waiting for your return. Cue your sigh of relief. You were probably so worried about me. Fortunately, I lost Ramos on the way back from the beach. He could possibly have been abducted seeing as I last saw him being dragged away by some Mexican with a gun, the same Mexican whose truck I used to get back home. Now that I'm sitting here, having Max text you while I carefully blowdry my hair, it's possible I may have traded Ramos for the truck. Don't really know; I don't speak English Mexican well.

Each muscle of my body creaked with the movement, like a very old and little used spring. Without realizing it, I ended up holding it with a little more force against the mattress, and it tore itself in my hand, releasing foam. I laughed, and my cellmate looked over his shoulder. How much urine would that bastard have kept in a single night to take so long? "Be careful, hermano," he said, in his foreign accent. I always suspected that Ramirez was Mexican. First, by last name. Then, for his angular face and with traits that could only be Latin. And the bastard didn't help at all by wearing bandanas on his forehead and keeping his hair up to his shoulders attached to a rubber band. "They will

" An I*******m influencer. An American by the way, I relocated to Mexico city few months back" "Mexico they call it, no one here says Mexico city" the police man giggled. He was a tall muscular figure in the short sleeve police uniform shirt and well fitting trouser. His big droppy mustache has just been trimmed and so had his black bushy hair. "And you?" He asked facing a tall man in a blue expensive suit to back it up. "I'm Stanley Stinnes" he replied

… It was extremely rare to see just one of them in such events, and it was usually where it was more common to witness them together outside the green fields… Ryan would always hang out with other members of the soccer team and some cheerleaders, while Jason preferred spending time with his childhood friends from the same part of the town that he was from. … Sometimes, the Human would call them ‘Jay’s wolf pack’ without imagining, or even assuming, how correct he was since he wasn’t aware his friend was a Werewolf… But again, his friend wasn’t just a friend, yet Ryan would always call Jason like that. HOOONK!

Harlow "Those were some good enchiladas," Red said as everyone left the restaurant. "And tamales...and chiles en Nevada." "Nogada." Cyrus corrected him with a smirk. We'd spent the better part of three hours there while the guys gorged themselves on round after round of Mexican food. We'd finally gotten word that the truck had been loaded and was ready to go.

We moved forward and after a while, the lights were turned on. " Welcome to the Purple Mafia", a middle-aged Mexican man with lots of tattoos said in a very deep resonating voice. I looked at him as a smirk built up on my face, " Are you ready to make a deal with the devil?", I said to him with a sinister look in my eyes. He smirked back and I knew right there that a powerful coalition had been formed.

That's the usual turn of circumstances. Alexis answers quickly. She always does. That's why I can rely on her for anything. Our friendship goes beyond her old money. "Chick-a-dee!" she exclaims. "What can I do for you and your royal sexiness?" I chuckle. Always our running joke that I'm a dude magnet because I'm "one fine, sexy-ass Mexican." I remind her that I'm only half but she tells me not to demean myself. Once a Mexican, always a Mexican.