WELCOME

You are reading the thoughts of one who has kept them mostly out of the public venue. By virtue of the concept, blogs seem narcissistic so you can expect a lot of personal pronouns to show up.

I don't like being pigeonholed, though many have called me a conservative. I agree with much of what is often considered conservative views, but I do tend to occasionally differ on this view point. I have also been termed opinionated. Well, please remember this is my view, and I consider my view valid until convinced otherwise. That doesn't necessarily make it right; it simply makes it my view.

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NOTE: The posts in this blog are duplicates of the column I write for the Perris City News and Sentinel Weekly.

All right, let's get started. You are about to read neither the rantings of a madman nor the reflections of a genius. Perhaps somewhere in between:

November 11, 2015

A Strange Moment in DC

Things have been somewhat slow here in Riverside County, so I hopped into my new teleporter and zipped through the ether to Washington, Iowa, to see how the election is shaping up in that early primary state. To my surprise, I landed in a bar in Washington, DC. Guess I haven’t quite gotten the hang of teleporting yet.

What the heck, since I was there anyway, I decided to belly up to the bar and sip a cold one. Before I could get the first sip, I heard some guy a couple of seats down say, “I’m the real Santa Clause.”

Well, that got my attention! All the pictures I have ever seen of Santa were of an oversized plush White man with a beard. This guy was dark-skinned, clean-shaven, and had a pair of ears that stuck out like taxicab doors at the airport. I noticed he was talking to some poor fellow that looked well out of place even in this bar.

Santa – I think his real name was Barry – said to this man, “You look like you’re not from around these parts. Foreigner, are you?”

The guy says, “Uh…”

Barry keeps up, “I’ll just bet you don’t have the proper documents to be in this country. Am I right?”

“Well…”

Barry’s on a roll, “Why, this is your lucky day, friend. I’m going to see to it that you get a social security number. Then you can get an EBT card and buy whatever your little heart desires. I’m even going to get you a drivers license, and let you stay in the country as long as you like.

“Uh…”

“Got a place to stay?” Barry asked.

“I’m at the…”

“Don’t worry, I will get you housing and a few dollars for mad money. Just give me a call at this number.” Barry scribbles something on a napkin.

“I don’t have a phone.”

Barry looked surprised and told a man in a suit standing nearby, “Get this man an Obama phone.”

“Have you registered to vote yet?”

“Uh…”

“No problem. I have the forms right here. Just sign your name, and you can vote for Democrats in every election.”

About that time another very wrinkled old black man butted in. “Hi Prez, how’s it hangin’”

“Al Sharptongue! You dog you! Just talking to my new friend here. He’s an undocumented immigrant. From… say, just where are you from?”

The man looked at the floor and said in a low voice, “England.”

Sharptongue went off, “Damn Prez, what you doing with this racist cracker. He ain’t no Illegal; he’s just some White freeloader from Europe.”

Barry said, “That right?”

“Well no sir, I am from England but I have immigrated here legally, and I own a medium-sized manufacturing company.”

Barry looked disappointed and a bit angry. “Well you can forget the EBT card and free phone, plus you’re on your own for housing. Don’t even try to vote. We will be watching you.”


I slugged down the rest of my beer and hit the teleporter. The atmosphere in that bar got real foul.

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