Extry, extry! Read all about it!

So many balls, so many street dances, so little time. Manitas, my feet are killing me! It is horrible being this popular, y eso es que I had my callos surgically removed.
At a recent soiree at which I was guest and, as it turns out, witness, it came down to logomachy and flyting, that is to say hurling curses. All should be done never to have these two women on the same city block again. Manitas, never so quickly have I seen adversaries nail their colors to their masts to let everyone know there would be no surrender. There was between them no room to swing a cat.
Why pass the torch when you can torch the past? Manitas y manitos, she's acting like we don't 'member the terrible twos of their tempestuous marriage and that strange little fire that managed to raze only a certain part of the abode.
Here we go again. Qué sí, qué no. Qué I am woman, hear me roar. Qué I'm a good little member of the docile gender. Come out, come out, wherever you are, and stop strewing the litter of broken hearts along the roadside.
Speaking of the roadside, she made a hasty exist from the passenger side of this vehicle. It looked like a bad argument going to hell. Good for her for having the moxie to move along, even if it meant being left at the curb.
Hola, chica, qué tál? Did you like that moment at the all-girls club meeting when she who slighted and in such obvious fashion acted 'zactly like nonesuch had transpired?
Comadre, comadre, whatever have I done to so displease you? Aren't you being a little bit obvious and going so far out of your way to let folks know just how you feel about me? Such chicanery, especially when I've done nothing to invite your disdain, and how about your professional mien of defensiveness and answering the phone with cacheteadas -- that's quickly becoming an obstacle for your office conducting business with mine. Of curse, I mean of course, you can move past this.
"She cooks her egg in her oats to keep from washing a extry dish." Yes, that is what I overheard at luncheon the other day. I looked quickly to set eyes on the Ellie Mae who had uttered such, but found instead a remarkably sophisticated looking woman.
Manita, you've got class and you wear it like a million bucks. My, how they've tried to put you in your place, which clearly they believe is somewhere below their self inflated stations. They haven't figured out your armor is what you carry in your heart.
Heave-ho, it's off to work we go. This sister had no problem rolling up her sleeves and using her new gym biceps and quads to get new merchandise into the store. Hubbie melted in the heat and was glad that a protracted phone call kept him indoors when he ran inside for the dolly. Her new physical regimen makes him very nervous, but he won't join her.
They're a strange couple, but a couple of what? They are so androgynous (look it up, girlfriend) that we don't know what they are about.
I don't know, manita, but after breaking bread with the lovely Nordic beauty of such purportedly perfect continental manners, I can only say she acted like Helga the Norway Rat when it came time to split the party favors.
Honey, the last time I saw that color was on the paint swatch chart at Lowe's for varnish and water sealer. I think you need to drop your membership at Tan Your Hide. Little Butterball turkeys look great in that color, but that is not a natural color for human skin.
And speaking of butterballs, baby, does it not strike you that you have crossed the line from thin to emaciated? You are very pretty, and I don't want you to look like Geraldine Chaplain in the new Almodovar film.
In case you don't know them, let me give you the quick reference guide for the seven stages of drunkness -- verbose, grandiose, amicose, bellicose, morose, stuperose, and comatose. Are they the same for smoke inhalation of the green persuasion? Did you catch a whiff of those stumblers coming out of the Santana concert?