I hate Dora the Explorer.

But more so than I hate Dora the Explorer, I hate that a cartoon show is trying to trick children into appreciating both Hispanic culture and the Spanish language.  Filling children’s mushy little brains with the idea that Hispanic culture is full of pastel colors and monkeys that can talk is not just misleading, it is an outright lie.  If our society truly wants our young ones to appreciate Hispanic culture there is just one thing we must introduce them to: Tequila.

Bottoms up, Bitches.

That’s right: Tequila.  We all know that when you visit a Spanish speaking nation there are only two things that can happen to you: you get screwed or you get screwed. Ideally, that screwing comes in the form of a wild threesome with a Tijuana hooker and a donkey-zebra.  But typically, the screwing occurs when you get robbed at switch blade point by two mexi-stache gang bangers.

Identical to the experience of visiting a Spanish speaking nation, is the experience of drinking Tequila.  We all know that when you drink Tequila there are only two things that can happen to you: you get screwed or you get screwed.  Ideally, that screwing comes in the form of getting impossibly drunk and then hooking up with your friend’s ungodly attractive girlfriend.  But typically, the screwing occurs when said friend catches you trying to cop a feel on said girlfriend, which leads said friend to beat you to near death and then defecate on all of your personal belongings.  I digress.

If the outcome of drinking Tequila is identical to the outcome of visiting a Spanish speaking nation it seems so much more honest to expose our children to Tequila at an early age, instead of filling their heads with the lie that Dora the Explorer and her talking monkey are indicative of Hispanic culture.  It seems unfair and immoral to perpetuate the lie that Hispanic culture is full of bright colors and monkeys named Boots, when we all know that Hispanic culture is built upon sex and bad decisions. And that is why I hate Dora the Explorer.

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I’m calling you out, Tommy Oliver.

Yes, Tommy.  I’m talking to you.  The Green Ranger.

Or was it the White Ranger?  Red Zeo Ranger?  Black Dino Ranger?  I’m sorry; you’ve changed your outfit so many times that I’ve forgotten which color you are.  But I do know one color that you have always been, and will always be.

Yella’.

From day one, you were such a bitch.  The Rangers were doing just fine before you came along.  And then you arrived, flute in hand, with your flowing locks and huge, unbeatable Dragonzord.  I knew, as sure as the other Rangers did, that you were going to Bogart the entire operation.

You did so, and swimmingly at that.

The Power Rangers

You were the hot new face at Angel Grove High.  The rebel.  And you made the collective student body, along with the viewers at home, yearn for your Dragon Dagger in a heartbeat.

I no longer saw any Red Ranger costumes that Halloween, nor did I see any Black Rangers.  I didn’t see any Blue Rangers either, but let’s face it.  Who wanted to be the Blue Ranger?

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