This week’s hot potato item…….PANIC! PANIC!
I’m referring to what has become a political football for politicians. That being the influx of refugees from Syria.
Because, as we all know, (cough) all refugees, including women and children who may or may not be Muslims, are (cough) terrorists hell-bent on destroying all of us.
So, depending what side of the political football aisle you’re on, this may cause you to either panic or, if you are a normal person with a functioning brain, just get on with your daily life and write inane blogs such as this one.
I don’t panic very easily folks. Unless it’s one of my ex wives stalking me or the IRS sending me threatening letters. NOW THAT’S PANIC!!
Anyhow, I gave some thought to this refugee situation and it brought to mind the fact that my great grandparents were refugees, or immigrants from another country. And I’m sure if you dig back into your family bushes, er, trees, you’ll find the same applies to your family as well.
Some, actually many, were not welcomed here to the Yew United States many eons ago. Discrimination and stuff.
With Thanksgiving approaching, I thought about what it must have been like for Native Americans back in 1620 when the first boat of actual immigrants landed at Plymouth, Massachusetts.
“Soooooo Sipatu, what say you and I head down to the ocean’s edge and take in the scenic view this beautiful November morning.”
“Hey, great idea Nittawosew. I need a break from husking corn all day.”
“Ya know, I been meaning to ask ya. What does your name “Sipatu” mean in Native American lingo?”
“Oh….yeah, well it means “pulled out.”
“Yeah, my parents always wanted me to be aware of the best way to practice birth control so they named me Sipatu. What’s your name mean?”
OMFG Nittawosew! A big boat is comin’ towards us!!!!!!”
“Calm down Sipatu, it’s just a rowboat with some people in it for cripes sake.”
“Oh, sorry, well, um, it looked kinda big in comparison to our puny canoes.”
“Ahoy, strange looking half-naked people with loin cloths and feathers out there on the shore……may we drop anchor on your land?”
“Hmmmmm. Whaddya think Sipatu. They look kinda strange and dress kinda funny. And who the hell wears hats like that anyhow?”
“Yeah, they are kinda weird lookin’ if ya ask me. But, how bad can they be? Look at the name on the side of that boat out there. The Mayflower. Kinda feminine sounding if ya ask me.”
“Hmmmm. Yeah, I think you’re right. Ok, let’s see what they want.”
“Hello scantly clad whatever you people call yourselves. My name is Myles Standish and I claim this land in the name of us refugee immigrants who left our homeland to cross the great vast and very deep ocean causing us to barf a lot on the trip.””
“Pssst, Nittawosew……what’s he saying exactly?”
“Um, I think he’s saying that there’s no way in hell they’re gonna sail back to wherever they came from after months of barfing on that boat so they’re gonna claim our land and live here.”
“Oh…..is that a good thing or a bad thing?
“Well Sipatu, could go either way. If they claim our land, where TF do we go? If we decide to tell them to ‘f**k off” and put up a fight, we’ll never be able to dump that useless island further South for twenty-four bucks. AND, remember me telling you about that biggg rock over there, how we could make money off of it someday.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well, if we play our cards right, if we actually had cards, which obviously aren’t invented yet, we could make a fortune on tourism.”
“Hey yeah! What could it hurt? Let’s welcome those refugees off of the boat with open arms here in America.”
“America? What’s with that?”
“Oh, I just named our land “America” after that last guy that was here. You know, AmerigoVespucci or something like that. Anyhow, I think we may have started a trend here or something. Like welcoming immigrants or refugees with open arms. Ya think?”
“Well, it’s worth a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Having a baseball or football team named after us.”
“Oh yeah…..that………or worse…….”
For the record:
Oh yeah…..THIS: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” The Statue of Liberty-Ellis Island Foundation, Inc.
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