Cuccinelli Owes Me Royalties

Bot too long ago, I wrote a sarcastic parody about the Statue of Liberty, suggesting that it no longer stood for the ideals it once did. I never suspected that one of the members of the White House Theatrical Society, which includes all the “acting” federal officials, would steal my idea without at least attributing the source.

Ken Cuccinelli, Acting Director of US Citizenship and Immigration Services has decided that immigration should only be available to those who can stand “on their own two feet.”

Of course, that was the standard when thousands of black Africans were brought here as slaves.

When the Irish fled starvation and the Jews fled persecution.

Oh, and may I add for the benefit of Mr. Cuccinelli that his ancestors may have arrived during the significant immigration of Italians, who fled their home country because “decades of internal strife had left a legacy of violence, social chaos, and widespread poverty. The peasants in the primarily poor, mostly rural south of Italy and on the island of Sicily had little hope of improving their lot.”

Thank heaven that the people of Guatemala, Venezuela, Syria, aren’t facing such problems.

Ken, you can send my royalty checks to any charity that supports the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, the hungry, the pure of heart, the peacemakers, and those who are persecuted.

 

Left Out

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I’m feeling left out—maybe you should feel left out, too.

Many people are being tweeted about, given nicknames, mentioned by name at press conferences.

“Rocket Man”

“Sleepy Joe”

“Pocahontas”

“Nervous Nancy”

He never gave me a nickname but just ignored me.

How about you? If you have been ignored, then you’re a nobody too. Just admit it and accept your fate in life.

Few deserve his attention, and neither you nor I made the cut.

I guess he doesn’t like that my hands are very large.

 

Honoring the Troops

The Washington, DC extravaganza, today, is touted as “honoring the military.”

Answer me honestly–how would you feel if for a holiday, which you expected to have time to relax and spend with friends, instead you have to put on a uniform, complete with tightly buttoned coat, and stand in the sun?

In Washington, DC.

In July.

With the forecast of 90 degrees (F), although the heat index (how it feels) will be 102 degrees.

Plus strong thunderstorms forecast.

Me? I’d rather have the day off.

Truth in Advertising?

1280px-Liberty-statue-from-behind

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

Author: Emma Lazarus

Given the current state of affairs, you need to do something about the Statue of Liberty. There are several possibilities:

  1.  Return it to France
  2. Modify the arm holding the torch and reshape it so that it is extended with the palm facing out, like a traffic cop giving the signal to STOP.
  3.  Pass it on to a country that is more immigrant friendly
  4.  At least rotate it 180 degrees so that the statue has its back turned toward the Atantic.

A little honesty, please.

A Scary Barometer

I have watched societies for millennia and there is a barometer I use to determine when it is headed toward its demise. Shock.

When a society is no longer shocked by any news it receives, it’s in trouble. When persecution, corruption, and lies become the norm and are accepted as “normal,” things are not looking good. When inhumanity becomes acceptable, things are looking worse. When the population prefers fictitious entertainment to reality, it means that the people no longer even wish to know what’s going on.

What shocks you?

Turnabout

He’d always hated traveling, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He wasn’t quite certain how he’d managed to be headed away from home this time but chalked it up to getting older. His memory wasn’t quite what it had been–everything about him had diminished with age. Then again, it might have been that bottle of Jack Daniels he vaguely recalled consuming the night before.

Traveling in America was bad enough with the TSA security screening, but many other countries were worse. They did all of the TSA things, and then insisted on conducting interviews with each. and. every. traveler.

So here he was, standing in line, with some old guy (well, older than him, anyway) behind a podium, waiting to be interviewed. The line snaked forward until it was his turn. The old man looked down a list.

“Ah! Here we go. Would you please state your occupation?”

“Damned bureaucrats,” he thought, “always poking their nose into other people’s business.” Then he said, “I work for Homeland Defense, protecting America’s borders.”

“Ahhh,” commented the man behind the podium. “What’s your position on immigrants?”

“If they are legal, educated, employable, and speak English, I can tolerate them,” he replied, surprised that he was so blatantly candid.

“And if they’re seeking refuge from dangers?”

He looked for an ID card or at least a badge so he could complain about this jerk, but all he had was one of those stupid stick on “Hello my name is” labels with Rock written in sharpie. He realized that the man was waiting.

“If they don’t have a visa, they’re not allowed in. That’s the law.”

“What about natural born citizens?” the man behind the podium asked.

“No problem.” he replied, “If they have proof of citizenship, we let them right in.”

“But not the refugees?”

“Right. The law is the law.” He smiled inside, proud of himself for sticking to his values.

“Tell me,” the man behind the podium asked, “were you born here?”

“No,” he replied, irritated at Rock’s stupidity. “I was born in America.”

“So you’re not a natural-born citizen here” Rock replied.

“Of course not” he responded. This guy was a real idiot. The man behind the podium put his finger on a button that was visible on the top of the podium. “Since you are not a citizen here and since you have not completed the immigration process, I cannot let you enter.”

“Where am I going?”

“Some call it limbo, others call it purgatory. You can call it whatever you like.

“Once you complete your application and submit it through proper channels, we should get around to it in an eon or so. Next!” he pushed the button. A trap door opened and the man began to fall.