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Órale, the feature for this episode is the expression ponerle machín. It’s Spanglish. Its literal translation is “act like a machine.” In Caló, it means to step strong, show your power, or get into something assuredly, masterfully.

In the deep past, proto-crocodilians dominated the planet. And now, a West Texas fossil find has added a new species to the roster of these remarkable creatures.

Órale, the feature for this last episode about El Pichirilo is the expression le hubo. It’s abbreviated Spanish for it just was or just happened. In Caló, it means the end of whatever was being talked about. If the topic is a movie, then le hubo refers to the climax. If you’re talking about a low tank of gas, le hubo means you finally burned the last drop. If it’s about somebody’s life, then le hubo refers to death. And so on and so forth. The expression is related to the term la voy hacer (I’m gonna do it), except that it’s already done. It’s the phase that comes after you’ve announced that you’re leaving or disengaging.

Órale, for April, we’re going to talk about how a vato unexpectedly went on a national talk-show tour. Simón, the vato le puso out of the Southside to toriquear on the top TV shows in the country cuz they wanted to hear who fregados he was and what he had to say. So the next four episodes will be about his desmadres on TV.Pos then the featured Caló word in this first episode is vanquetear. It means to exalt oneself, as in exceed or vault over the ordinary. There’s no comparable term in Spanish or English. A close-homonym in Spanish is banqueta, which means sidewalk or walkable edge to a road—nothing close to exalt. In Romaní, there’s a near-synonym, barrequerar, which means to exaggerate. It could be vanquetear is a jumble of both words. Who knows. It could also be vanquetear is unique to Caló.

Órale, this week’s feature is the word, chiflado. It means to be carried away or assume too much about what somebody else is thinking or intending, usually in romantic situations. It comes from the Spanish verb for whistle, chiflar. The term is often simply stated as a telling whistle.

Órale, this week’s feature is the word, mandado. It means to be cast to hell or, worse yet, to be sent to the one who’s awaiting you there, La Muerte, who goes by many pseudonyms, like the bald one (la pelona), the one who’s flesh has been rubbed off (la fregada), the boney one (la huesuda), or the toothless one (la mocha). Now, having been mandado to la pelona doesn’t mean you’re already in hell. You’re only on the way there. This is what’s emphasized because, while you’re mandado, you languish, your impending arrival in hell ever present and predominating. Puro hangdog life. Nothing that’s good in life will ever happened to you, no love or empathy for you, no joy, nada. Everybody stops counting on you. Why? Cuz you’re mandado to the fregada.

The featured Caló word of this first episode is canijo. It means dogged, tough, indominable. It comes from the Latin word for dog, canis, which is also the root for the English word for the same, canine. A canijo shouldn’t be confused with an arranque, someone who’s fierce or always ready to fight. A canijo is a reluctant warrior who doesn’t pick fights but will answer the call. And once engaged, a canijo won’t lose. Canijo versus arranque? Bet on the canijo.

Órale, the Caló word for this week is cuete. It means rocket in Spanish, as in take a rocket to the moon. In Caló, it means handgun or drunken. Of course, both nuances can all be used in a single sentence, as in they were all cuetes on New Year’s Eve cueteando the stars until the jura came over to check out qué fregados was happening.

Órale, I’m continuing with the story I started last week about a vato who finds peace with his mortal enemy. If didn’t hear that episode, know that it ended with the vato, who’s very canjijo, backing up a sura bully named Quique.The feature for the continuing episode is the expression tirar ojo. In Spanish, it means to throw a look or stare somebody down, as in the common English expression, “throw darts.” This term should not be confused with the even more folkloric term dar ojo, which means to put a spell on somebody through a bad look. We’ll cover that in the future. Meanwhile, tirar ojo is a belligerent stare meant to intimidate or communicate ill will. It’s almost like the haka dance of some New Zealand ruby teams, where the players stick out their tongues, bulge their eyes, and contort their faces to project revilement toward their foes. In Caló, that hate and revilement is projected solely through the eyes. You throw everything imaginable through your eyes, like darts, daggers, cinder blocks, or rabid monkeys. If you can’t menace, you have to at least be annoying.

Órale, we’re going to dedicate the next four episodes to a storied car known as El Pichirilo. There are many more stories about it than four, but we’re gonna tell just the most talked-about ones in terms of a few common and, given it’s about a ramfla, appropriate Caló words.Pichirilo is, then, the featured word for this first episode. It means a man-made object with a personality, unpredictable and, for that reason, troublesome, but ultimately worthy of another chance. A great electronic speaker that seems to struggle through certain genre of music—maybe also talk shows—is a pichirilo. A car that unpredictably has bad days is a pichirilo. There’s neither a similar-sounding nor similar-meaning word in Spanish or English. The closest word in meaning is the slang term, hooptie, which means raggedy car, a vehicle who’s only virtue is that it still runs. There’s a close-sounding word in Romaní, pichirichí, which means joy or pleasure, but there’s no certain proof that it’s the root. The term pichirilo does not apply to human beings. Why? The word in Caló for people who act that way is sonsos, which as we discussed in a past episode, comes from the verb sonsear, which means to wander off.