Today we hurl ourselves headlong into the glorious, guacamole-smeared chaos of Cinco de Mayo!  As I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, this isn’t another Hallmark holiday for sipping appletinis and nibbling kale.  No!  Or as they say en español: ¡No!  This is a full-throttle, tequila-fueled riot – a day to celebrate a batshit underdog victory with enough swagger to make El Diablo jealous.  So ditch your inhibitions, grab a bottle of something that burns, and let’s dip our beaks into the history, the lunacy, and the downright profane ways to make this fifth of May a legend for the ages.

First off, Cinco de Mayo is not Mexican Independence Day, you philistines.  That’s September 16, when Mexico told Spain to suck it in 1810.  Cinco de Mayo commemorates the Battle of Puebla, an 1862 ass-kicking where a ragtag Mexican army, let by the gloriously named General Ignacio Zaragoza, curb-stomped Napoleon III’s fancy-pants French army.  We’re talking 4,000 scrappy campesinos with rusty machetes and bad attitudes against 6,000 of Europe’s finest, all decked out in their prissy uniforms.  The French had better guns, better horses, and an emperor who likely bathed in cologne.  The Mexicans had guts, grit, and a serious case of “fuck it.”  It’s the ultimate David-and-Goliath tale, except David’s got a machete and a bottle of mezcal.  Spoiler: Mexico won.  It’s like if a bar fight ended with the drunk guy in flip-flops knocking out a Navy SEAL.  In Mexico, it’s mostly a Puebla thing, like a hometown parade for kicking ass.  In the U.S., it’s a Chicano pride bash, a corporate cash gran, and an excuse to get so catastrophically plastered you wake up with a sombrero glued to your face.  And that, dear reader, is the kind of cultural dumpster fire we can all salute.

The Battle of Puebla was a fluke, a one-off in a war Mexico ultimately lost.  Picture 1862: Mexico’s broke, the U.S. is busy slaughtering itself in the Civil War, and France, led by Napoleon III (a twerp with a mustache that screamed “I collect rare cheeses”), decides to turn Mexico into its personal piñata to fund his Eurotrash empire.  Mexico, barely holding it together, said, “Nah, bro.”  Enter Zaragoza, a Texas-born badass who looked at the French army and thought, “I’ve seen worse odds at a cockfight.”  On May 5, 1862, his men – farmers, vaqueros, and guys who probably smelled like goats – fortified Puebla and turned the French advance into a blood-soaked fiasco.  It wasn’t a war-ender (France took over later), but it was a middle finger to colonialism that still gets us buzzed.  By the ’60s, Chicano activists grabbed Cinco de Mayo as a “screw the man” symbol, celebrating resistance and identity.  Then Budweiser and Taco Bell smelled money, and now it’s a full-blown American bacchanal where even your accountant’s doing body shots off a mariachi.  It’s less about history and more about defiance, excess, and the sheer joy of being alive in a world that keeps trying to screw you over.  And I’m here for it.

Here’s where we get to the meat, the marrow, the tequila-soaked soul of the thing.  Celebrating Cinco de Mayo isn’t about sipping daintily from a Corona; it demands you go full feral, embracing the kind of excess that’d make Caligula blush.  It’s about diving into the abyss and coming up grinning, with cactus spines in your hair and a story that no one will believe.  Here’s how to do it right – or so wrong its right:

1. Drink Like You’re Burning Down an Empire
   Tequila is non-negotiable.  Not that watered-down piss you find in a dive bar.  Get the real shit – 100% agave, the kind that tastes like cactus and poor life choices.  Some argue that Mezcal’s even better; it’s tequila’s feral cousin, smoky and unapologetic.  Shoot it, sip it, or pour it into a hollowed-out pineapple for maximum chaos.  Margaritas?  Fine, but make ’em strong enough to strip paint.  Garnish with a jalapeño, a lit sparkler, or a live scorpion if you’re already unhinged.
2. Eat Like a Revolutionary
   Tacos are the obvious play, but don’t settle for some limp fast-food travesty.  Find a taqueria where the cook’s cussing in two languages and the salsa makes you see God.  Go for barbacoa, suadero, lengua if you’re feeling brave, or tripe if you’ve got the stones.  Enchiladas with enough chili to melt your face, tamales that taste like your abuelita’s love – eat until you’re a human piñata, until you’re weeping from joy or capsaicin.  For the blasphemous, order a burger and slather it in queso and hot sauce, calling it “postmodern Mexican.”  Watch the room riot.  That’s your cue to run, gringo.
3. Dance Like Your Dodging Bullets
   Blast mariachi, cumbia, or straight-up narcocorridos (those ballads about drug lords – pure outlaw poetry).  Dance badly, with abandon…spins, twirls, and at least one ill-advised backflip.  No rhythm?  Thrash like you’re being electrocuted.  For maximum chaos, stage a Battle of Puebla interpretive dance reenactment with squirt guns and leftover burritos.  Apologize to no one.
4. Read Something That Punches Back
   What sort of badass literary presence would we be if we didn’t recommend you continue your celebration by cracking open something with teeth?  Try The Underdogs by Mariano Azuela, a kidney-punch of a novel about the Mexican Revolution.  House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende brings the magical realist heat.  Want poetry?  Dig into Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the 17th-century nun who roasted the patriarchy with quill and kink.  Read it loud, preferably while standing on a table and waving a bottle of mezcal, until the neighbors complain and the cops show up.
5. Get Political (or at Least Pretend To)
   Cinco de Mayo’s roots are in resistance, so channel that.  Rant about whatever’s pissing you off – colonialism, cultural appropriation, or the price of avocados.  Post a typo-riddled screed on X about how the holiday’s been co-opted by corporate greed, then immediately contradict yourself by buying a six-pack of Modelo.  The hypocrisy’s part of the charm.  If you’re feeling extra, stage a mock protest outside a chain restaurant serving “Mexican-inspired” nachos.  Bring signs.  Bring flair.  Or crash a suburban block party with a megaphone and demand “reparations in tacos.”  Bonus points if you’re white.  You’ll be a legend or a felon.  Worth it.
6. Smash Shit (Figuratively or, Uh, Maybe Literally)
   Obliterate a piñata filled with candy, hot sauce packets, and those mini tequila bottles from gas stations.  Or shatter your own pretensions – write a poem so raw it scares you, scream it into the night, then burn the evidence.  Kiss someone you shouldn’t.  Steal a lawn gnome and name it Zaragoza.  The goal is to feel alive, not sane.

If you’re my kind of overachiever, and you want to really take it too far, here’s how to make Cinco de Mayo a legend whispered in horrified tones:

• Karaoke “La Bamba” in a Viking Helmet.  Because it’s wrong, and wrong is beautiful.
• Challenge a Bartender to a Tequila Duel: Loser pukes first.  Winner’s still screwed.
• Wear a Poncho Made of Chipotle Bags: It’s eco-friendly and unhinged.
• Declare Yourself “Supreme Comandante of the Fiesta”: Demand loyalty oaths in Spanish.  Get chased out by 9 p.m.

Cinco de Mayo is a war cry for the underdog, a reminder that a bunch of nobodies can humiliate a king.  It’s about laughing in the face of empires, borders, and hangovers.  It’s Chicano pride, Mexican defiance, and the universal thrill of telling the universe, “You ain’t shit.”  So this May 5, raise a shot to Puebla, to Zaragoza, to every lunatic who ever swung at the impossible.  Then chug it, dance like an idiot, and write something so wild it makes the moon flinch.

Now go make some epically stupid choices.  I’ll be over here, ensconced in the Safe House, cackling into my tequila and toasting your inevitable arrest.  ¡Viva Cinco de Mayo!

N.P.: “Danza Kuduro” – Don Omar, Lucenzo