It was a difficult job, but after forcing Gabriel to sort through all your mostly creative and occasionally disturbing entries for the Papa Guanabee Motorola Razr 2 Giveaway by denying him any egg nog poppers until he finished, we were able to narrow the entries down to five lucky winners! Some of you sent us original poems, some of you sent us heartfelt letters, one even created a Powerpoint display. Hello? Overachieve much? All of your entries warmed the cockles of our hearts and some of them even warmed the hearts of our cockles. (Obvs. that was Gabriel.) Click onward to read the five winning entries. Winners will be contacted via email with delivery details!

• Winner! From PocaChica:

  I Can Haz Razr (click to download presentation)

• Winner! From: Cacy Ramon Lester D’Guiar-Forgenie:

  Blachinos, a new race of men, Are my creation.
  I was called Papi in italicized Spanish
  Every time I made love; & all
  My R’s danced off my tongue as I
  kissed morenos & tiny Argentinians
  In secret after church.
  I confess, Papa Guanabee, matador to matador,
  This was how I spent my year being a good Latino.
  

• Winner! From Janie Martinez:

  Dear Papa Guanabee,

  All I want for Xmas is a nice phone, porque the last one ‘sploded, te acuerdas? There I was, slumming it in Williamsverga, Brooklyn, dancing the hora with my Uruguayan gay (natch) with my cell phone ‘tween el Chichonal cause I was waiting for a booty call. After dancing at one place and gathering more chickens, we went to another hipster dive, this is where I was shaking it for dear life to Billy Idol’s Dancing With Myself when I felt all burning in my chest. Either I was turning into El Sagrado Corazon de Jesus or I was having a heart attack. Pues no viste que my cellphone was burning up!!! It was about to ‘splode and take out the ironic t-shirt industry with it. I took the cell out and took the battery out. Se hizo chicharron, pero I saved the chip. Mira que los homes del phone company didn’t want to replace it, they said that I had gotten it wet. By wet, meaning that a bead of sweat from my own Sierra Madre must have made its way into the phone and short circuited la chingadera. And that was the last time I spent $250 for a Zoolander phone. Sin phone, sin booty call and a third degree burn that I can pass as stigmata if need be. So, Papa Guanabee, ponte a la hilacha, and make it happen.

• Winner! From Marytza Rubio:

  Hi all! Here is a month by month breakdown of why I was a good Latina this 2007:

  January –
  I lived in Santa Ana at this time. The closest thing to woodland creatures in my city are the wild pigs being barbequed by my neighbor, but somehow, a raccoon had massacred all the goldfish in my dad’s pond. Auspicious way to start the year, right?
  Taking a cue from our crafty neighbors south of the border and wanting to start 2007 “green friendly,” I shattered my mom’s wine bottles and cemented them across the top of the pond. Let’s see the raccunt try getting his paws on my pescaditos now.
  
  February –
  San Valentin shot through my ex boyfriends heart and the heart of a skanky lingerie “model” at the same time. Since she had a bag of silicone preventing the arrow from actually getting into hers, my ex called me drunk and depressed wanting to know if he was as good a lover as I told him he was. “Jes papi,” I said because he giggles when I talk like the older sister in Ugly Betty. “All the other Papis guan a bee jus like jou. Entiendes? I call jou Papa Guanabee from now on. Now vamos a la estore Papi. I guana new dishwasher.”
  
  March –
  I don’t care about St. Patrick’s Day other than it reminds me it’s my best friends Saint Day. So instead of going to that raging party at Mario’s (his Martin Luther King Day pachanga resulted in 14 DUI’s!!!) my dear friend Patricia and I clocked out and went to talk to Jesus and have a celebratory dinner with her priest uncle who was two days overstayed on his visa.
  I didn’t call INS. Unfortunately, I was unable to stop Patty from doing in the middle of our 5th rosary.
  
  April-
  “April showers…” Southern California doesn’t have much of weather other than perfect with the occasional hot, rain, fire, earthquake. Paralleling this to the Aztecs who had a jaguar eat their sun or something, and the last sun is over in about 5 years, I decided to stop worry about the way I looked. Mictlantecuhtli cares not about my girth. I traded in my gym membership for one at Costco. We have an exclusive relationship.
  
  May –
  “…bring May Flowers?” Nope. They’re too expensive. I think May is when I moved to LA. I don’t remember. Not having money makes it difficult to remember shit like birthdays, due dates, library fines, my integrity…But I did splurge on an aloe vera plant (me dijo mi mami that every house needs one) in case I burned myself making fancy dishes like boiled water and microwave popcorn.
  Nothing cures everything like vavas from ‘vera.
  
  June & July -
  Maybe it’s arrogance, or the smell, but I don’t like wearing sunscreen. I’m naturally darker than what an US Weekly writer would refer to as “mocha” or “lightly toasted caramel” but I think I look the best when I am “negra.”
  Watch, ScarJo is going to go apeshit for “Farmworker” fake bake in 2008.
  
  August –
  Drove my dad to Tijuana to get his teeth worked on. Shared a delightful cafesito and postre with my mom at a beautifully decorated restaurant (it had mini-waterfalls!) while a drill went through my dad’s jaw two blocks away.
  On the crossing back, I dutifully brought my Drivers License, California ID, US Passport, birth certificate, signed affidavit by my employer, pictures of me in an incubator with the writing in ingles, and a pay stub. That cut down my border interrogation time to down to a record 15 minutes.
  
  September –
  School started! Yay!! Only 12 more years and all those lies I told on my resume will be true!!!
  
  October –
  I met a proper and fashionable Argentine woman at the coffee shop near my work. A couple Colombian dudes run the place and we all got to talking about our favorite esnacks. We got to talking about alfajores and how she always gets a craving for one during her usual merienda time at 2:30pm. I agreed and told her I loved the way the cajeta tastes and how it was perfect pick me up for a busy day. Maybe it was the way I smiled or the way I said “looove” but the guys behind the counter busted up and the woman turned red.
  “It takes skill to eat cajeta” the guys said and kept laughing and I said “No it doesn’t. I can eat it straight up or on bread and sometimes even with my fingers, asi,” I said sticking my fingers in my mouth as if I had cajeta smeared on them.
  That’s when the woman left and I was clued in that cajeta does not mean dulce de leche that far south. It means panocha.
  I apologized for my seemingly raunchy faux pas by buying the woman a cappuccino the next time I saw her. And then she gave me her phone number.
  Escore!
  
  November –
  Dia de los Muertos. I made an alter to my ancestors, my dead animales, and some people I went to school with that I am pretty sure didn’t make it to their twenties. I gave them the good stuff this year (no GPCs or Carlo Rossi) and resisted the temptation to eat a sugar skull.
  
  December-
  Xmas shopping in Newport Beach’s Fashion Island because that’s the only place they sell some organic free range doggy treat my mom wants for her proxy grandchild. When walking back to my car, some young guy in the parking lot yelled at me to “move outta the way, you fat spic bitch!”
  I was shocked into silence and hated myself for not being quick enough for screaming out something equally offensive (honky? cracker? shiteater?) and frustrated knowing that even times when I had yelled back, my words hadn’t even put a dent in their day.
  So I took down his license – my pager doesn’t have a built in camera like the awesomely sleek Motorola Razr2 - and had my cop cousin run the plates. I found out Whitey’s address, DOB, and took the info to my neighborhood Santero. He too had been called a spic many many times, so free of charge, he prepared a dozen Doom candles, three Mala Suertes and gave me something eggy and foul to throw at Whitey’s front door. Pleased and en route to deliver the punishment, I wondered if the bad vibes I threw at him would ever come back to me. No. Of course it won’t. He’s a dick.
  So now Whitey and the next 5 generations will have failed businesses, love affairs and cursed lives in general. My sister said I should’ve just keyed his car. But I like to think my way helped future slightly overweight mexicanas, and therefore, helped the world.
  

• Winner! From Latin_Princess:

  Hola Papa Guanabee, You know, I called my own papa and asked him what it means to be a “good Latino” and he said, “Well, I guess it means you stay out of jail and every now and then you cross over into Mexico to get your abuelita’s prescriptions.” Then I heard my mama yell, “And they don’t do the drogas!” Judging by my parents’ responses, I guess I’m very good. I have never been in jail. And while I do not “do the drogas” I do go into Mexico occasionally to get meds. And duty-free booze. I wanted some other input so I started asking other Latin people what it means to be a “good Latino.” Then I started to wonder, what do you, Papa Guanabee, find good in a Latino? Is it good grades? A sense of humor? Salaried employment? Perhaps the ability to bear enough Latinitos to start your own village? Since I don’t really know a lot about you, it’s hard to tell. But as I was asking what others find good, I saw the many wonderful things that Latinos do for their families and for each other. And while their responses were all very different, they did seem to fall into certain categories. A good Latino takes pride in helping other Latinos. Let’s be honest, it’s really hard to make time for others when you sometimes don’t have time for your own family. But I have found that it is when you give that you are truly happy. (And I don’t mean that in a wink-wink-nudge way, either.) I volunteer to teach at a community program that gives computers to families in need. Most of the families are Latinos and some of them have never even touched a computer. But by the end of the session, they’re checking Guanabee and asking how to spell Hudgens. The families are always so grateful and they usually come back with some pan dulce for me. Compassion has its rewards and sometimes it comes with coconut. Other times, it’s a cell phone. A good Latino takes pride in hard work. We all know that “Latinos do the jobs that nobody else wants to do.” But we also do a lot of really great jobs that many people would love to do. And we do all of those jobs con ganas. Of course, it does hurt us when someone like Alberto Gonzales messes up at work on a national level. It hurts us when someone like JLo works so hard to be mediocre at best. But many of us, who are out of the spotlight, work really hard and do good things. I’m starting to work towards my second Master’s degree while keeping my awesome full time job. Some say I’m crazy, but I really want to do it and I enjoy the hard work. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if a Latino is sweeping a bathroom, litigating in a courtroom, writing a blog, driving a bus or teaching in a classroom, we bust some ass! A good Latino takes pride in their family. In May of this year, we had 3 deaths in the family. Ouch. The only thing that made us feel better was having a house full of family. Nobody seemed to care that we each wore our “funeral dress” 3 times in 3 weeks. Nobody seemed to notice that my cousin, Ruben, cheated and served H-E-B pre-marinated fajitas. I admit, it was not easy to do the 18-hour round trip to south Texas 3 times that month. But I was proud that I was able to pack up my parents and drive them. I wanted them to be able to sit in the same church with family to tell the same stories and mourn the same loss. And eventually get the same heartburn. So, Papa Guanabee, that’s a little bit about me. I realize we have never met, officially, but I think we would be great friends. The next time you’re in Texas, call me (on my new Razr2 phone) and we’ll go to my Tía Lupe’s house to enjoy some Lone Star Beer while sitting under the grapefruit trees. Much love, Latin_Princess