Our forebears didn’t need backdoor amnesty — just good ammo
For God’s sake, what a pack of pusillanimous pansies.
The story that led off with this sorry announcement appeared a few days ago in The New York Times, a bastion of the far left, like all media outlets.
Left, by the way, derives from the Anglo- Saxon word “lyft,” meaning weak, and the Latin word sinistra, originally meaning left, but later connoting something sinister and evil, such as a media outlet.
So they want to suspend deportation of us? What a regiment of boneheads.
They think we shouldn’t be blamed for the sins of our fathers. Wow, maybe they’re Christians. Or maybe they suffer from some similar viral or genetic malady.
The sinister pinko who sponsored this legislation, Democratic Sen. Richard Durbin of Illinois, claims that “these young people should not be punished for their parents’ mistakes.”
Can you believe that he and these other lefties actually say stuff like that? “Should not be punished for their parents’ mistakes.”
Why not? That’s as good a reason to punish them as any, and one of the most common still in use across the planet. Punishing children for what their parents do is the grease that keeps the old wheel turning, isn’t it?
And check this out: “The new policy is expected to help thousands of illegal immigrants who came to the United States as young children, graduated from high school, and want to go on to college or serve in the armed forces.”
There you go. They want to get smart or defend us, or both. Us, the kings of illegal! Man, what a great country. Even better, they want to defend us after their parents have worked their asses off for low wages with no benefits in rigorous conditions, under threat of deportation.
As soon as I read Sen. Durbin’s comment and the rest of the story in the Great Gray Lady (that’s what they used to call The New York Times, but now it should be the Great Lyft Lady) I ran outside with my Second Amendment rights and opened fire on the nearest palmetto scrub.
I love the smell of gunsmoke in the morning.
Up and down my road I could hear other shooters, my neighbors, blazing away (I’m not kidding about this, although they do it regularly with no seeming reason). Maybe they’d targeted some of those illegal immigrants.
Each other, in other words.
The funniest thing about all this is status, ours in particular.
Undeniably, we’re the kings of illegal when it comes to immigration. Me. My neighbors. You. Not those little brown people from south of the border who do most of the field farming in the region and the state.
We (my forebears and yours) didn’t just sneak in here all meek and mild like they did hoping to find work that no truck-driving, gun-toting, rear-bumper-beef-for-supper advocate of deportation for brown people would be caught dead doing. We weren’t looking to ship money home to our families, or maybe someday win a citizenship for our kids in the greatest nation ever invented by God or man (that would be a clear and bold act of love handed from parent to child).
We were looking to kick ass and take names, and we did. We kicked the crap out of those little brown people called Indians, to start with. We used repeating rifles and sheer numbers and unapologetic, unselfconscious determination, along with God, whom we invoked regularly. And we ran right over the top of them.
Except for the Seminoles, of course, who fought us to a standstill, and except for that small diversion from 1846 to 1848.
That’s when us illegals ran down to Mexico with the U.S. Army, where we were illegal-times-two, and whipped their sorry little butts just for fun.
We had both Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant serving as West Point graduates and young lieutenants, and those boys weren’t kidding around, as time would tell. High casualty counts in the name of illegal immigrants? No problem. Just a pleasant little warm-up for the Civil War.
Bob and Ulysses and the boys shot a whole parcel of Mexicans and absconded with a huge chunk of Mexican territory, millions of square miles as a matter of fact. Made these modern drug gunnies look like cotton candy piss ants.
The Mexican territory they took included not only Texas but a then trackless region inhabited by some other little brown people the Mexicans didn’t respect (except in a fight) any more than we did — Apaches, Comanches and the like.
That extended from the current Mexican border all the way north across Texas and New Mexico to the Arkansas River. The Arkansas flows out of the Rockies and eastward through the Royal Gorge in Colorado — the old Mexican border — which lies about 20 miles south of the big cattle ranch where my grandfather homesteaded 97 years ago.
I should probably mention this: Walter Nash staked his claim, later amounting to between 50,000 and 75,000 acres (and probably more when I was a boy), on land owned only a few decades before by the Ute Indians. Good hunters. Good fighters. They didn’t have a chance against us.
Meanwhile back at the Obama ranch, Republican Rep. Lamar Smith, of Formerly Mexico (Texas is what they call it now), denounced the new policy.
He calls it “backdoor amnesty to illegal immigrants.”
We just kicked in the front door, after all.
And a guy named Roy Beck, described in the Great Lyft Lady as president of Numbers USA, claims it’s “a jobs issue.”
According to him, “The president is taking sides, putting illegal aliens ahead of unemployed Americans.”
Sure, Roy. That’s why I’ve never driven by a crowded bus lot in Florida counties where farm labor contractors pick up workers and seen a single beefy unemployed Anglo male standing there waiting for a job with the other, albeit newer, illegal immigrants.
It couldn’t be that the older illegals are lazier and whinier than the newer illegals, could it? ¦