How to Really Stop the Surge of Migrant Children

Photo via Flickr user Barnaby Dorfman

Good Golly, Miss Molly. Thousands of Central American children who have illegally crossed the border into the US sure are causing a lot of problems over in Capitol Hill. Headlines describe the “flow,” “flood,” and “tide” of selfish little brats who dared to risk their lives in the hope of a better future. What are we gonna do with all these whippersnappers? The New York Times recently ran, in its opinion section, a debate entitled “How to Stop the Surge of Migrant Children;” in it, six immigration experts discussed the issue. They hemmed, and they hawed, but came to no concrete conclusions. I have, though.

Want to stop the surge? First, you’re going to have to barricade the doors. Use whatever you have handy. My suggestion? Your great-great-great grandfather's—the one who valiantly fought on the side of the good ol’ boys during the Civil War—trunk filled with rebel paraphernalia. Because the enemy will try to enter your home, operating under the auspices of wanting work cleaning said home and parenting your children for a sub-living wage. Don’t let them.

Or, failing that, do, but make a solemn promise to your God that you won’t respect them and their sacrifice. No matter what, don’t treat them as people. Because, by the same God I just name-checked, your ancestors came on a boat, which is far more dignified than swimming across a river, so that inherently makes them better people, more deserved of rights.

Photo via Flickr user Brian Kelley

Next, go to your PC. Note I said PC, not Mac. MAC, as we all know, is an acronym for Minority Amiable Computers, of which you want nothing to do with. Register your fear and revulsion for the other on a message board of some kind, or in the comments section of a YouTube video that has little to nothing to do with the issue at hand. Having done so, microwave yourself a meat treat, because you earned it.

Surround yourself with the safety that is your guns. Note that I said guns, with an “S.” Plural. The more guns you have, the safer you, and by proxy your family, are. That is, after all, the last advice God gave to us before he died. Note that I said he, with an “H.” It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and “Eve-qual Rights Amendment.”

Think about the good old days. This isn’t necessary to the cause, per say, but it will make you feel better. Doesn’t it feel nice, just rememberin’? Rockin’ in your favorite chair? Drinking a lemonade your long-suffering wife mixed for you, in spite of the fact that you haven’t spoken to her in a non-aggressive tone since the Carter administration?

Photo via Flickr user Xavier Badosa

Unlearn any Spanish you may have picked up by virtue of being an American human being that exists in the 21st century. Un-like that Santana song you awkwardly danced to once in 1978. Santana’s one of the good ones, sure—he’s got his own brand of tequila, which in spite of its ethic origins, sure as shit can get your second wife Amber turnt the fuck up, emphasis on fuck. But his ethnicity colors (yeah, you went there, but hashtag sorry not sorry) his gifts. This ain’t about Carlos. This is about your tax dollars. Being used on bleeding heart, socialist rhetoric.

Unbarricade the doors, but only for a minute. You need a smoke break. I mean, you could smoke in your own home, but why do that when you have such a nice deck? Everyone knows how much you spent re-staining it. I mean, you got a sweet deal from your buddy Brian, who’s a fucking grand wizard when it comes to staining wood, but still. It wasn’t cheap.

Because nothing’s cheap in this goddamned country. And you know why? ‘Cause you’re paying the bills for all these illegal immigrants, and welfare queens, and motherfuckers who are unwilling, unable to pull themselves up by the bootstraps and make something of themselves like you and your parents and your parent’s parents did. Oh, your God. Thinking about it’s making your blood boil again. You’re gonna need to go online soon. Finish your cigarette, then rebarricade the doors.

Go back to your PC. Read the comments on your comments, and comment on those comments. Get a dialogue going! Someone disagree with your opinion? Tell them that they deserve to get brutally murdered in front of everyone they love. It’s the only way to affect change!

Photo via Flickr user Kevin Dooley

It has probably, at this point, occurred to you that you do not own enough guns. This is a common realization and one, thankfully, that can be quickly rectified. Short story long, you’re going to need to buy more guns. But you already knew that. The race war is imminent, after all! And if there’s one thing you love more than your guns, it’s war. So stock up! The enemy is Catholic, and if you know one thing about Catholics, it’s that they love making more Catholics.

After stocking up on heat, look your own child in the eyes and distance him from the non-English speaking children you hate on spec. Reconcile the fact that he is as innocent, as pure, as deserved of a future as the son you hate fucked into your second wife’s womb on a night you got too loco (Damnit, there’s that infernal language again!) to put a rubber on it. Because, I mean, Amber was looking good that night. Not to say that she still looks as good, but when you got together? That bitch was slammin'.

Think about the good old days, again. Think about the days in which Amber’s pussy wasn’t all stretched out. GodDAMN. She was nice, huh? You could almost resent your sons, if you didn’t love them so fucking much, for what they did to that sweet snatch. But you do love them. You’d do anything for them. Which is why you’re willing to sacrifice it all, sacrifice your life, sacrifice your future, for their future.  You can’t stomach them being persecuted for nothing, for being born into an alleged patriarchal white male society, without you taking a stand. Without standing up for  their rights, which are being infringed upon, apropos of nothing. Wait, did I talk too big? With my usage of "apropos"? I apologize.

Unbarricade the doors, again. Come out, all barrels blazing. Go out in a hail of police gunfire, courtesy of pigs on the payroll of Barack Hussein—think about it—Obama, because your country has abandoned you. Because you are a martyr for your cause, the cause being the status quo. Know that you died, as you lived, unwilling to accept the tide that is change. Because you were a patriot. For a dead republic.

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