I’ll go to my oft-deferred grave one of these days swearin’ there’s not a racist bone in Don Trump’s body even if every last one of ’em is white. And the jury’s still out on that.
If ya stop an’ think about it you’ll see there’s nothin’ racist about takin’ kids from migrants. Hell, we did the same thing in this country to the people who was here before we were. We were the migrants then, and we turned out just fine!
But that’s the problem, most folks don’t stop an’ think. All they do is think. If only they gave stoppin’ a chance this world would be a better place. More like Muskoka, I figure.
Anyhow, everybody’s upset, like always, and they’ll be just as upset about somethin’ else next week. That’s just how it goes. Ya can’t make America great again without breakin’ a few eggs and then separatin’ ’em.
Besides, if they could speak our language I bet those kids’d say they’re havin’ the time of their lives!
I know the times I was separated from my folks are some of my fondest unsuppressed memories, and they weren’t even Mexican, truth be told. (Though Mother did have some Scottish in her, which was like the Mexican of the day.)
Sure, grown-up Trump haters with their four-dollar empathy can look at those steel bars and see a cage, but to a kid with imagination, why, that could be the colonnade of some fantastic outer space palace! Or, for the less imaginative, an exciting prison like Alcatraz.
The world is their play structure, indefinitely.
But seriously now, anybody what thinks America today is the right place to seek asylum maybe ain’t fit to be a parent anyhow. I mean, hell; the Internet can’t be so slow down there they think Obama’s gonna greet ’em at the border with a green card.
Meanwhile, to anybody seekin’ an insane asylum I know just the place. Stinks of wacky tobacky and rhymes with empanada.