Burt Prelutsky

Recently, I was on a panel addressing the Republican Jewish Coalition here in the San Fernando Valley. The others on the dais were screenwriter Roger Simon, comedian Evan Sayet and in the role of moderator, radio talk show host Mark Isler. We discussed a gamut of issues, including what we panelists would do if we were president. My own response was that I’d refuse the job. Instead, I said, I’d like to be dictator. What’s more, being the sort of conservative who favors capital punishment and is glad we invaded Iraq, I wouldn’t be one of those benevolent ones we always hear so much about.

Ever since I made that statement, I’ve fantasized being totally in charge. As I told the audience that evening, for openers, I’d build a 50-foot wall that not only ran the entire length of our border with Mexico, but was also 50-feet deep. (I, for one, am getting sick and tired of those damn tunnels.) You think my plan would cost a bundle? No doubt. But it would be a bargain compared to what illegal aliens cost us, both financially and in the loss of our national sovereignty.

It’s not just the craven response of our elected officials to the border problem that makes me hunger for the czarship. Every single time I hear Harry Reid, Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Hagel, and the rest of the peace-at-any-price doves in Washington chirping about deadlines or see them trying to nickel-and-dime our troops to death -- literally to death -- I find myself positively yearning to take the reins.

The most recent occurrence that got my gorge rising is simply the latest example of judicial arrogance and cruelty. For a long time, I’ve realized that the only people who place more emphasis on blood than certain aboriginal tribes, Islamic fundamentalists and Dracula, are American judges.

Some years ago, in a highly-publicized case, the Illinois Supreme Court removed a young child from his adopted family, and handed him over, as if he were a used car or a stick of furniture, to some foreign jerk-off who hadn’t even been married, as I recall, to the boy’s biological mother. But blood, these black-robed idiots decided, counted for more than love and sacrifice, and far more than what the child wanted or needed.