It came from Tijuana!
by H. Millard (c) 2003

I ran into Trailer-Park Dave last week.

“It’s the damn Mexican commies who’ve done this to California,” said Dave.

“What did they do?” I asked. I figured he meant the gigantic $ 34 billion (plus or minus a few billion) dollar state deficit, or crime, or other problems that most intelligent people know are the result of California's wink and nod policies toward the millions of illegal aliens who are turning the state into a third world sewer and who are stealing all the benefits from safety net social programs so when citizens need them, they're not there.

It came from Tijuana!“They stole our beaches," said Dave. The damn sickos have gone too far now. I suffered silently when they stole our schools and our neighborhoods, and closed down our hospital emergency rooms, and took the jobs from our kids at the fast food joints, but I draw a line in the sand with the beaches.”

“The beaches? What beaches?”

“All of 'em, I think. The beaches should be ours! Let 'em have the friggin' slums and the fields, but the beaches are ours.”

“Hey, California has plenty of beaches. We're the state of surfers and beach babes," I said.

“Funny you should mention beach babes," sneered Dave. "You ain't been to the beach lately have you amigo? Well, I have. My trailer is up on the bluffs looking down at the beach and I've been checking it out with my binoculars. It ain't pale Sandra Dee and Troy Donahue down on them beaches trying to git no tans, anymore, muchacho. They're full of brown Mexicans who don't need no tans in the first place, so they just wear street clothes while walking on the sand. And, when they do wear bathing suits, it just ain't the same.

long legged blonde in bikiniThey don't jiggle right, and their legs aren't long enough. They're kinda like squat. . Used to be I could see long legged blondes with sun bleached hair traipsing around down there all covered with tanning oil and wearing them little string bikinis. They're gone. Chased off. It's un-American. Now, we've got a buncha people walking around like they was goin' to the local taco joint. Hell, the women might as well be wearing burkas, and this might as well be some friggin' third world dump. It just ain't right. We’re just gonna have to rassle them Mexicans for the beaches.”

“So, what are you really saying?” I asked.

“War! You idjot.” We’ve got to declare war on Mexico and invade that friggin' hell hole that calls itself a country and force all these friggin' beach stealers back down there so the jiggly blondes will return. Force is the only thing their kind understand.
President Clinton understands jiggles and he'll be behind us on this."

"Yeah, but Clinton isn't president anymore," I said.

"What? Who's president now?"

"George Bush."

"Bush? Are you nuts? He was president before Clinton."

"The new President Bush is the old President Bush's son."

"You mean Bush reproduced?"

"Yep. One of his sons is married to a Mexican, and he's got a bunch of kids that the former President Bush called "those little brown ones." In fact, the next George Bush on the horizon is the present President Bush's nephew, and he doesn't look like the Bushes at all. He's one of those little brown ones. When the guy signs his name he probably thinks he's English, but when he looks in the mirror he sees a Mexican looking back at him. Some folks wonder what he would do if he ever became president.

Bill Richardson Maybe there was a clue in the news about this lately. Get this. Governor-elect Bill Richardson of New Mexico just made five appointments to his incoming administration. All five appointees are Hispanic. Richardson, like the upcoming George Bush, has an English name but is Hispanic. It's like a genetic call of la raza."

"Geez. There you go," said Dave. "It's like the descendants of those people involved in the mutiny on the Bounty. Buncha people on that island out there beyond our beaches someplace with English names but who aren't Europeans anymore. It's like them black people in Jamaica with German names and blond great-grandparents. They've all been absorbed, assimilated, transformed, blended away. Kaput."

"Yeah, we don't live in America anymore," I said. "This is post-American America. If a nation is it's people, and if people are their genes, then we're not the same nation we were just a few years ago."

Invasion of the body snatchers"It's worse than I thought," said Dave. "Not only are they takin' over the beaches, they're taking over the president's family. No wonder we've been invaded and no one is doing anything about it. The Bush family is sleeping with the enemy...and becoming the enemy. Hell, it's like that movie where space aliens put pods in people's houses and the pods become the people. Geez, the Bushes are transforming themselves into the enemy right before our eyes. Well, I want them blonde beach bunnies back. We've gotta go to war against Mexico."

"Cripes, Dave, of all the problems caused by illegal aliens from Mexico, you get outraged over the beaches? What about the California state deficit? Doesn't that anger you."

"Nah. The guvmint always figures out what to do about stuff like that. What's to worry about? Debtor's prison for Governor Brown? Won't happen. So, the state goes broke, big deal. What's that even mean? Who can relate to that? But the beaches and a lack of jiggling blondes? Now, that's something that people can relate to."

"Dave, Brown isn't governor anymore. Oh, forget it. So, what's your plan?" I asked.

"Simple. We're north of Mexico, so we have the high ground. We'll start the campaign with a unified flush of our toilets to show the bastards. That should stop those sneaky creeps who are swimming in across the Tijuana River. Then we’ll disable their boom boxes and let the air out of the tires of their 1960 Chevies. While they’re stopped out in the middle of the freeways trying to get their boom boxes and cars working, we’ll invade with our legions of yuppie Twits, who'll drive the Mexicans nuts by talking too loudly and acting too friendly, like they're talkin' to children. When the evil Mexicans are scurrying for the nearest check cashing joint to get away from our Twits, we’ll send in our legions of Ninnies from the U.S. government to mumble them insane.

Hugger attackThe Ninnies will be followed by our Huggers, who will hug every Mexican still standing, while telling them that some of their best friends are Mexicans and America is a land of immigrants and we all bleed red blood. Then the Twits, the Ninnies, and the Huggers will join together to sing Kumbaya while holding little candles. If that still doesn't work, we'll send our legions of doe eyed Great White Mothers and Great White Fathers to give the Mexicans white haircuts and clothes like they used to do with the Injuns. The Mexicans will retreat. Glorious victory will be ours! We’ll get our squealing, bikini clad, oily skinned babes back by damn.

After we’ve won the war, we’ll show that we're good winners with a demonstration of cultural sensitivity. We'll make our beaches over in Mexico's image. For starters, we’ll put abandoned shopping carts in the sand; put up some graffiti; put in charities. Then we’ll add a job center, some check cashing joints and thrift stores. A couple of oil change shops and some street corners with loitering day workers and it’ll be complete."

“Dave, I think you’ve hit on something,” I said, as I tried to humor him. “But maybe we really should try to have immigration reform before we attack them. Hell, the diplomatic approach is always better and they might go for something like that.

“Keep dreaming , Bucko,” said Dave, now looking at me with squinty eyes as though I might be one of the Huggers, Ninnies, Twits, or even a Great White Father.

Attack at dawn!“Them Mexicans is a sly lot. I say we just forget the talkin’ and do this my way. We leave our double-wides and attack at dawn before they know what hit ‘em!”

#  #  #


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