Que? Bad Bunny is NOT the King of Puerto Rico!?!

Everyone needs a Puerto Rico story.

Photo: commons.wikimedia.org by Steven Isaacson, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

Puerto Rico flag painted on the side of a structure

This is mine:

Of a late afternoon on the beach fronting the San Juan Ritz Carlton this author sat reading the description of an execrably worthless mother given by Long Day's Journey Into Night, thinking, "Yes, I'd say that's rather accurate…”, then sullenly gazing out to sea…when he noticed a complimentary guidebook sitting upon a table near his friend Gutierre.

Thumbing across for something interesting Yours Truly found…the Arecibo Radio Telescope!

"Come on, we're going.,” says I.

"You aren't serious? It closes in two hours…and it's an hour away…island time,” says he.

"Fair enough. Only we either get in a car for an hour or you hear me kvetch all evening.”

*Shoosh* comes the air from his lips which means we're on our way.

The Way

Five minutes later, impatiently at entry to the inn, none of the taxi drivers seem particularly impressed, so I decided to introduce them to my other friend…Benjamin. Two questions, I inquire —

"Who's interested in $100?” (This being both pre-Iraq War as well as pre-Bidenomics, when a C-Note was quite a lot of cash, instead of being a carton of eggs with side of milk as today.)

Thus motivated, Your Correspondent was suddenly the center of attention and, after a small conclave of cabbies deciding who got us, strode one dubious fellow a bit disheveled but eager, when says I —

"Do you know how to get to the Arecibo Radio Telescope? It's alright if you don't, we'll find someone else. Only don't tell me you know if you don't?”

Naturally our driver (whose moniker I no longer recall…not important as you will soon discover…) assured us he knew PRECISELY the location. So away we went…right to his vehicle where he promptly rummaged under his seat and took out a folding map. (This was post-Cellular but pre-Smart Phone.)

"Maybe you should have asked the second question first?” dead-pans Gutierre.

"Arecibo Telescope…it's where…ahhh! In Arecibo!” decompose-pans the driver.

Map away and so was my lunch as we tore from The Ritz like it was on fire; Arecibo being at least one hour, the Telescope closing in an hour and a half, and none of us knowing the exact coordinates.

Mission Control

For most of the way the race was straight down a main highway on the northern side of the isle — soon the antiquated jalopy, vrooming at 90 miles an hour, began to do that jostling they get when they're topping out at speed…our windows all down given the lack of air-conditioning…me fervently calculating minutes to arrival…

Then? Disaster! The chariot was about halfway to Arecibo when our side of the multi-lane highway was caught up by the usual — dually clueless drivers side-by-side impeding our rush. Slowly the possibility of making it before closing was…closing.

At which, our man who was by no means going to lose his $100 began to edge nearer the obstacles. Unflappable Gutierre began to grip the polyester of the seatcovers tightly, skewing askance,

"He isn't really going to do it?” White knuckles. Bloodless face.

"Oh, he's going to do it.” Tightened stomach. Wide eyes.

And then…he did it. Our nameless driver, at 90 miles an hour, on a highway whose limit was 65 max…threads the needle — by which I mean, he actually drove between two cars, one either side.

Now, I have seen that done a few times in films but I have never even HEARD of some maniac attempting it in real life. An impression? It's almost as if it isn't happening…you can hardly believe.

My firm assertion is that names are not all that important in this life, but nicknames are essential. It is how our driver became our friend and was thenceforth known the rest of the stay as El Bandito.

Landing Zone

Needless to say, after pulling off the main drag a while later, creeping up a poorly marked mountain, asking a few indifferent security guards as well as (quite oddly) some elderly woman with a goat, we made the telescope, and — as many times in this world — the journey was better than the destination.

The receiver was mostly deserted and rusting in parts; not nearly as impressive as in its Bond film.

"The rocket ride was better than the space telescope,” drolly chides Gutierre.

Even so, must say it was worth the visit since disappointing or not I can remember that place vividly despite barely recollecting much else about the hotel or the beach or the casinos.

After spending all of ten minutes at the enormous structure we awarded El Bandito his cash prize and told him to take us back by whatever route suited him…but to show us something interesting.

We got two things.

No Cosa Like Casa

On the quarter-way return we pulled off into a very dusty neighborhood which was more like an alley of cinder homes. El Bandito asks if we can pause a moment, which is fine by us. Apparently his domicile is hiding back of these grey cubes. He does not invite us inside for a charming fiesta-style family-meal, as this is all a true account, but he does bring his children out and I play with them.

(In fact, it just occurs to me that El Bandito was likely taking the money home to his wife, which kind of makes me sad in a way. it was so important he could not even wait until end of day to show her.)

A few minutes later our pal comes out, we say farewell to the kiddies and off we are one other place.

Old Ways, Best Ways

Maybe an additional half-hour we're drifting past an open-air park with giant structures of colonial-era vessels and El Bandito tarries, "You want me stop you here a while?” — DEFINITELY.

It is my firm belief, aside from the nickname thing, whenever you survive a near-death experience such as we had with splitting the highway cars, you better show The Universe some gratitude.

As one of these vessels was an enormous pirate ship I did the only thing sensible under the circumstances; I went to the nice lady manning the place, requested the pirate conquistador outfit, complete with plastic breastplate, rubber sword and tin helmet. (A photo exists. You will not see it.)

Meanwhile, a nonplussed Gutierre and El Bandito leaned back against a vending truck from which they had purchased ice creams on sticks. Gazing at my splendor, transpired a conversation thusly,

"He really doing this?”

"Oh, he's really doing this.”

Turning abruptly to the other urchins aside from myself in the park I cried, "Hurrah! Alright you tiny bastards, who's coming with me to storm the citadel?” Which led to a bit of confusion, likely because:

1. I was speaking in English,
2. There was no castle, but only a pirate ship, and,
3. Probably, some were actual bastards and unsure whether I was insulting them.

In any case, around eight following, we climbing the deck, then ascending the ropes toward the crow's nest, eventually only leaving myself and a few mateys reaching the highest platform.

Summited, I plumbed my pockets and tossed everything high into the air…which was not quite well-considered because all my trusty lieutenants immediately abandoned me to grab the coins.

There I stood watching the crepuscule and eventually El Bandito chauffeured us back to the hostelry where we gave him another payment to match the earlier greenback.

Our morals today:

1. Sometimes you must whine a little to get a lot.
2. Puerto Ricans in my experience are brave, determined and friendly.
3. Always take the opportunity to watch the sunset from the top of a pirate ship.

Oh,…and…

    4.  Bad Bunny is a little bitch.

Bitch Bunny — Pathetic Excuse For a Puerto Rican

As I have mentioned, my opinion of Puerto Ricans is high. My opinion of Bitch Bunny is low.

In case any have forgotten, Bitch Bunny was the cretin who broke down sobbing over a little ribbing at Madison Square Garden prior the recent election; then he made it his mission to be aggrieved.

For one thing, any "man” who learns that some comedian he never heard of…at a show he didn't attend…made a single comment during a ten-minute set…and breaks down in tears over it is a sissy.

To the extent someone is abnormally sensitive given some kind of tired inferiority complex, that's for that person and their therapist to discuss; but mature people don't turn into jelly over a stupid riff.

Now, as an aside to Bitch Bunny, I can say that I understand where your anger is coming from. It isn't really about Puerto Rico, is it conejito? It's because your gal got Biebered before you got there, right?

He was with The Chipmunk way back when she was cute and all you got was The Chunk left-behinds.

No worries. We'll get you some counseling.

(In the meantime, Sportsfans, let's make this thing a meme? Like a guy in the club saying to a weeping Bitch Bunny…”Imma Bieb that broad so hard she needs a dialysis machine in the morning!”)

Selena Gomez — She Done Got Biebed!

Yep, we're going here…because La Gordita brought it here.

During the election Gomez went on about "her people”…only her mama is White…while her papa is Mexican…neither of which is Puerto Rican, by the way…in addition it was he who took a runner when she was five…leaving her White mother to raise her…so if we're getting all technical about who "your people” are one would think those would be "the people” who actually stuck around to feed you.

As if not enough…who did care for you, aside from your White mother? Your also White step-father.

Remember, doll, I didn't make this racial, you did. Also, I wasn't the one who abandoned you.

Be angry at your papa…if you can find him. Whatever shade, "your people” are the family who stick.

Jennifer Lopez — Being a Diddy Diaper

Jenny made her bones telling everyone how "real” she is and how she is in sympathy with the New York Puerto Rican community…except several Puerto Ricans there aren't having it.

Her recent "film” in which she details "running up and down” the neighborhood with her hair flowing free like some demented Black Beauty adaptation offended a ton of Boricua folks. This "wild child”, unkempt, spastic version of being Puerto Rican is a sort of minstrelry to many.

Likewise, much of it is not even authentic. Lopez mentions "orange drink” in the Bronx as if its ubiquitous and then follows with "if you know, you know”…to which lots of Boricuas replied, "Uhhh, we don't know, actually.” Yet Jenny does this whole "uber-ethno-caricature” as if she is a real person.

Finally, she's entitled. You can tell a ton about individuals by the way they deal with minor issues. During one awards ceremony, legend Michael Douglas accidentally stepped on the train of her gown on the red carpet and Lopez turned to shoot him a death stare…until she saw he was ten times, maybe a hundred times, as powerful as her…before she instantly changed to accept his apology.

Also, as Elon Musk mentioned…Jenny was sidepiece of Diddy all during his Baby Oil Period. As of right now there are over 120 men…women…children…who all claim Diddy Did It to them in the backroom. And Miss Lopez would have us believe she knew NOTHING about NONE of it? No seeing? No hearing? No rumors? No empty moisturizer bottles? Nada? Seems more likely something else.

Rita Moreno — Just "Cause I Loathe Her

Why is Rita Moreno listed here? Just because she is the biggest whiner in Hollywood. All she ever speaks about is her "abuse” and the "raaaiiiccciiisssmmm” she suffered a literal HALF-CENTURY ago.

Moreover, let's have a look-see about this "discriminatory” behavior:

First, she won an Oscar…awarded when The Academy was virtually 100% White people…which is an odd way for "raaaiiiiccciiissstttsss” to behave…voting as a body to give you the top award…but okay,…

Second, after winning and with immense power in Tinseltown, did Rita return to Puerto Rico to make films? No? Why not? The island in the 1950s had its own studios, directors and infrastructure…so you would think a top star could really boost "her people”…instead she chose money…and also…

Third, since we're getting "racially” here, whom did Moreno shack up with in L, A.? Dated Elvis. Had Marlon Brando's abortion. Married cardiologist Leonard Gordon. See the theme of this little film? More all-White than a 1930s country club. Now, people can date whoever…but you can't claim to be pure La Raza during the same time you are putting up a Brown Paper Bag Test on your suitors, puta.

Facts. Not my opinions. Rita Moreno was no victim of anything than her own ambition in this world.

Puerto Ricans Don't Need a Savior — Especially Not A Stupid "Singer”

To paraphrase what the comedian Katt Williams has said many times, "There aren't Black, White, Hispanic, Asian people…there are only people.”

When one individual says something and you are shook to your core…time to examine your core.

If you didn't care for the show Tony Hinchcliffe put on…don't go to the show. Tell a friend. The end.

When it came time to vote, that was the attitude of many Puerto Ricans. In exit polls they generally gave replies to the extent they didn't like "the joke” but it was hardly a serious issue for any of them.

Matter of fact, the Hispanic population went higher for Republicans than in fifty years. Despite what race agitators believe, Hispanic people are…people; with a wide variety of issues important to them.

That is how mature people behave — they do not decide their lives based on Outrage Porn.

No one, including Tony Hinchcliffe, believes ill of Puerto Ricans because that is foolish. There are around six million of them in the United States and they are all unique in their own individual way.

Some will be good, some will be bad and some will be weaklings just like Bitch Bunny herself.

Now go cry about it while this commentator Biebs your girl "til she needs…ahhh…jokes!

Guy Somerset writes from somewhere in America