Pastor Doug Giles, Vicar of the Vagabond Inn, sayeth unto his flock that the banditos from Treasure of the Sierra Madre are a’coming to burn our homesteads, rape our cattle and stampede our women.
I have nothing against friendly foreigners who want to get the heck out of their banana republic and get a legal life over here in the land of plenty. I feel your pain, hombres. Well, not really. Actually, I have no idea what kind of gruel you have to slog through while I live on a marina in Miami next to a world-class golf course.
Just like Jesus did. Although He was able to just step off his 46′ ketch and walk directly across the channel to the Pro Shop whenever he felt like knocking around a quick nine, whereas Doug, His humble apostle, has to take the long way through the reserved parking lot and around the Yacht Basin.
However, given the fact that you’re leaving your homeland in flippin’ droves, I’m guessin’ the place sucks like a ravenous Rosie working the fleshy remnants of a ripe mango seed.
The Rosie-is-fat joke has even less to do with the column than usual, but Doug has to protect his trademark. (Whenever I get to the inevitable Dykes! Adipose tissue! jape, I’m reminded of the end of a Jack Webb production, when a hammer wielded by a brawny, glistening forewarm would stamp out the Mark VII logo.) Anyway, chunky lesbians aren’t the target of Doug’s blank-eyed verse today; he has browner fish to fry.
Look, if I were a Mexican living in Mexico, I too would be braving long walks through the desert and even swimming across the Rio Grande during flood stage. Why?
Because we like you! Oh wait. Anyhow, raise your hand if you believe Doug would risk getting his hair wet after he’d just applied a fresh coat of Kerastase Mousse Volumactive.
There are three reasons:
1. American TV is better. Have you seen the horrid Mexican stuff they torture their citizens with?
Yeah, who’d want to sit through crap like Yo soy Betty, la fea, when you could be watching Deal Or No Deal? By the way, Doug, a lot of Spanish language television — at least, the kind you’re probably familiar with — is produced in and around Miami, so why don’t you go pound on your neighbor’s door and tell them to quit blowing their leaves in your yard and producing crap like Dame Chocolate?
2. I’d get sick of mariachis playing their big guitars and singing through their noses at me in restaurants.
Outside of the major tourists areas, your chances of avoiding this in Mexico are pretty good. But if you insist on immigrating, I’d suggest you steer clear of El Torito on Saturday nights.
I like peace and quiet when I eat an enchilada with my lady.
Doug, despite his collection of cranberry Banana Republic shirts and religious devotion to tweezing, will be represented by the “Dud” card in “Mystery Date.”
I don’t want three chunky Julios butchering their guitars in my face, singing “Frito Bandito” at the top of their lungs while I’m masticating with my Maria in public. Comprende?
Comprendo. And a friendly tip: if you want to hear the “Frito Bandito song” you’ll get better results requesting “Cielito Lindo.” Also, it’s illegal in four Mexican states to masticate your Maria in public.
3. I want some money, honey. I’d be running north to the States through Gila monsters, prickly pear and javelinas…
Wow! It’s just like that one !
…because after about a year of living La Vida Broka, I’d like to earn some real cash, dammit. Getting paid in drinking gourds, chickens and corn tortillas after pouring concrete for 18 hours a day in 119 degree heat would get real old muy quickly.
On the bright side, I hear that over the next two decades, Mexico is planning to slowly transition from a strictly barter-based economy and introduce some form of specie.
Yes, I would be looking across the border for the bigger, better deal for me and mi casa if I were an upright Mexican with kids to take care of. Who can blame them?
I’m gonna take a wild leap here and guess…You?
I’d also be looking to relocate in the States if I were a punk criminal/piece of Samsonite/worthless scum bucket/Darwinian holdover from anywhere in the world. Why? It’s quite obvious. America has more stuff and better stuff for the criminal’s clutches.
Criminals are marked by certain innate characteristics, among them: ambition, a tireless work ethic, and a Horatio Alger-like willingness to endure hardship in order to improve their circumstances. Also, they can’t be hurt or scratched, even when a gorilla throws them around his cage.
Look, sombrero and donkey theft in Guadalajara is only fun for the first two, maybe three times, and after that the buzz wears thin. In America, however, there are all kinds of toys to steal and plenty of people, places and things to use and abuse.
Yep, there’s nothing in Latin America worth stealing except livestock and comical headgear. Is it just me, or do you get the impression that the closest Doug has come to Mexico is the front counter at Taco Bell?
In some cities if we catch you, the illegal alien, we won’t even report you or deport you. Isn’t that yummy?
“Yummy?” What are you, Charles Nelson Reilly? I think what you’re referring to, Doug, are the municipalities that prevent police from asking about the immigration status of people who are being questioned, but not arrested. But rest assured, if you’ve been caught redhanded in non-donkey-related theft north of the border, the authorities are likely to get a little more inquisitive. So you should probably just take a deep breath and relax before you really get wound up and start shouting epithets at your readers…
However, you must be careful, you chunk of thieving, raping, killing and gang-bangin’ crud, that you stay in a “Sanctuary City.” Indeed, in order to have a long and successful life of crime here in the United States of Anarchy, you, the felonious illegal freak, have to choose with precision the places to prey upon our people. If you don’t, you could (if caught in some municipalities) get sent back to Suckville and the old donkey thieving, mariachis and Mexican soap opera schlock. And you wouldn’t want that to happen now would you, señor?
While Doug wrote this paragraph, he paused periodically to choke the life from a Speedy Gonzalez plush toy.
You think your gardner is just a nice, hard-working guy? Well here he is on his day off!
To help you in your evil and illegal existence here in the States, herewith is a partial list of craven, criminal-assisting cities to inhabit in order for you to carry out dirty deeds…
If arrested here, never fear; the local authorities won’t even ask you where you are from and if you are legal. You will not be deported. It’s a satanic dream-come-true for you poor little darlings.
Because the local ordinances of Cicero, Illinois, and Katy, Texas trump the power of the U.S. government. Look how the Feds had to back off from enforcing the drug laws in states that passed medical marijuana initiatives. Suck on that, DEA, while I suck on this joint! HA!
Rest assured, demoniacs, that the Mayor McCheeses who lord over the sanctuary cities promise you the following if you get busted: no deportation and outrageously cheap bail.
I don’t think Mayors –even the famously iron-fisted alcalde of MacDonaldland — can set bail or deport people by fiat, although I so believe the Grimace is empowered to summarily execute anyone caught misappropriating a Shamrock Shake.
If convicted, they guarantee you stupidly short sentences, a nice education, some soft porn on cable, three squares a day, plus Pilates classes and…and…when you get out…they’ll let you stay in their city where you can screw them and us all over again.
Nice prisons they have in Chandler, Arizona. Of course, these are the same things Doug’s congregation is required to provide him (not to mention frequent vacations, hunting trips, and sabbaticals), so my advice to the luggage-resembling, donkey-thieving demoniacs casting an envious gaze to the north is to forget slogging across the Rio Grande. Just rent a ballroom at the Matamoros Holiday Inn and start your own church! But get a J. Crew catalogue and some volumizing hair gel first.