An Open Letter to J-Lo*

May 1999


Dear Ms. Lopez,
I recently read that you, star of such hit films as Selena and Out of Sight, are a little picky about your men. Well, this is certainly justified; after all, you are rich, stunningly beautiful, and gifted with a rear end that would make any man's knees buckle. A posterior that is Robert Crumb's wettest dream. A shelf that is proof of a benevolent deity. In short, an ass to end all asses. But I digress. In the Brit magazine FHM you are quoted as saying about men: ''If they don't have a nice smile and nice lips and nice teeth, then that really digusts me. I hate unhygienic mouths.'' This sounds perfectly reasonable, and may I add that I floss and gargle regularly. Then Miss J-Lo — May I call you J-Lo? — you say, ''Men have too many disgusting habits, as well — like scratching themselves all the time.'' This is not always true, not if you use the right cream. But then — and this is what disturbs me — you say, ''And it's weird how guys think that passing gas is the funniest thing in the world.'' Well, my dear J-Lo, that's because it is! Then you add, ''They love to do that thing in front of girls and laugh about it. It's disgusting, and I don't need it in my life.''

Ay que preciosa! I don't know what kind of men you're looking for but when it comes to us Hispanics, let's face it, we're gassy people. When you eat as many beans and as much dairy products as we do, hey, there's going to be some explosive backdoor action. What's the big deal? It's natural. It feels good. We all do it. In fact, I'm doing it right now. Fwa! And I feel better, though I'll have to end this letter sooner than I thought. So what's up with you, Lo? You're Puerto Rican. I know you know what I'm talking about.

That makes me wonder about your gas. After all, as gorgeous as you are, you're only human. With that wonderfully solid rear end of yours, I bet your farts sound like a bassoon, a tuba even! Perhaps this is the real reason behind your antiflatulatory stance. You're scared of your own power. You should not be — and certainly not with me. I for one would be happy to experience the full bloom of your tooting. Give it to me, baby, right on the kisser.

Or, querida, perhaps as a child some family member told you you smelled like poop; my god, that's worse than killing your favorite pet. Or maybe it's something more obvious. Yes! — you have that old intimacy-versus-isolation issue, don't you? You don't want to let go in front of a lover. J, don't you realize that no relationship is sound without the passing of wind? It's togetherness, mija, freedom, freely being yourself with the one you love. Perhaps that is what you are most afraid of? Being yourself. Sure, if you want, be coy at first, but do yourself a favor and lay off the juevos rancheros for a while.

You know, this gassy thing adds a new element to my extended seduction fantasy with you, the details of which are too marvelous for words. Let's just fast forward to the deep sleep we achieve in the afterglow of our passion. As the morning sun glows through the window of our chalet, I gingerly release some intestinal fog under the blankets. Then I quickly hop out of bed, effectively ziplocking my product under the sheets. Then I will announce that I am going to turn on the lights to look for something. You, still exhausted from the ardor of our lovemaking, moan, ''Ay no, mi amor!,'' and quickly stick your head under the blankets, inhaling the full plumage of my gas — what enthusiasts call the Dutch oven effect. Ojala!

Ah, but perhaps some lover did this very same naughty trick to you, and that is why you shun the flatulatory man. Maybe you think it's just a Latino male thing. Ah, mi J-Lo. I don't think Puff Daddy is called Puff for no reason. There's something smoking around that dude, and despite appearances, it ain't ganja. Well, not just ganja.

Well, I hope you understand a little better how flatulence is a part of life. Men may be more open about it but women can blast away with the best of them. Don't deny part of your humanity, my dear, and don't deny it of anyone else. If you like, we can discuss this all in more detail over a steaming plate of franks and beans.

Sinceramente,

Raul Chuletas

*Sharp readers will notice the similarity between parts of this piece and Houghton Piker's ''Cheesecutters Like These.'' Indeed Piker ripped off this letter when he thought Chuletas had been killed while cleaning.