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.
God bless America. God bless the American Dream.
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.
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? There are three reasons:
1. American TV is better. Have you seen the horrid Mexican stuff they torture their citizens with?
2. I’d get sick of mariachis playing their big guitars and singing through their noses at me in restaurants. I like peace and quiet when I eat an enchilada with my lady. 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?
3. I want some money, honey. I’d be running north to the States through Gila monsters, prickly pear and javelinas, 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.
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’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.
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. In some cities if we catch you, the illegal alien, we won’t even report you or deport you. Isn’t that yummy?
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?
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:
Los Angeles, California
San Diego, California
San Francisco, California
Sonoma County, California
Takoma Park, Maryland
Ann Arbor, Michigan
Durham, North Carolina
Albuquerque, New Mexico
Aztec, New Mexico
Rio Arriba County, New Mexico
Santa Fe, New Mexico
New York, New York
Marion County, Oregon
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.
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. 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.
Taxpayers Funded Housing For Illegal Unaccompanied Minors Complete With Petting Farm, Guitar Lessons, Organic Vegetables | Katie Pavlich