Back when America was Great Again, a caravan of bad hombres plotted to invade the heaven-blessed land. Among the desperadoes was a woman named Maria and her son Joaquin, who had the unmitigated gall to try to get to El Norte to escape a gang of rapists and cutthroats whose fathers had been specially trained by the CIA to fight Communism, only to be thrown out of work when the Soviet Union collapsed.
But that’s as may be; history, as a wise old American Jew hater once observed, is bunk. A squad of determined ICE agents, known to the immigrants as la migra, formed up to block the caravan at the border, but Joaquin was clever and scampered away down an arroyo, with Maria close behind. Eventually they made their way to the Imperial Valley, where they followed in the footsteps of generations of evil violent criminal Latino invaders before them and went to work in the fields, earning a whole forty dollars a day for twelve hours of backbreaking work, thereby robbing honest unemployed white Americans of this labor that they are so very eager to do.
At the end of their first two weeks in America, Joaquin gathered up what was left of their meager earnings after paying the rent on their shack and went to buy some groceries for his mother and himself. On the way to the store he was stopped by a stranger who offered to sell him a bag of beans for $35.21, which just happened to be all the money he had.
“I don’t even like beans,” said Joaquin.
“Ah, but these are magic beans,” said the mysterious stranger. “Eat some to gain the strength of ten men, and plant the rest for a stupendous surprise!”
“Pardon me, señor, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” said Joaquin. “I require proof before I part with my hard-earned money.” The stranger kicked Joaquin in the head, robbed him, and left him with the bag of beans stuffed into his mouth. When he recovered, he staggered back home with nothing to show his mother for their hard work except a bag of beans. Maria hugged her boy and cried, and neither of them even thought of calling the cops for fear of la migra, which just goes to show how illegal aliens bring crime to the streets of America.
They tossed the beans out behind their shack and went back to work. But mirabile dictu, there was something to the robber’s preposterous claim, for he had stolen the beans from a warehouse owned by Monsanto, and the legumes were genetically modified. By the time Maria and Joaquin got home from work, the beanstalk had overtopped their shack, but it was dark and they were too exhausted to notice.
Joaquin woke up early to get ready for work, wondering why it was still so dark in the shack. He glanced out the window and saw the beanstalk, which was as thick at the base and even taller than the redwoods that California used to be famous for, before they all burned down in wildfires that were definitely not caused by climate change. Consumed by curiosity, Joaquin ran outside and began climbing the beanstalk, emerging in a magic land above the clouds, where Monsanto was testing out genetically altered, supersized Frankenfoods. Joaquin stared around him in wonder, and decided this would be a far better place to live than the shack in Imperial Valley. To convince his mother to come with him, he grabbed a blueberry the size of a basketball and started back toward the beanstalk. Before he got there, though, he felt the ground shaking and heard a voice like thunder roar:
Fee, fi, fum, fuse
I get my info from Fox News!
I don’t live in no coastal bubble
It’s immigrants causing all this trouble!
A hand the size of a serving platter reached for Joaquin, but he was too quick for the Very Stable Giant and scuttled away down the beanstalk. Jumping back to earth, he dashed into the shack and grabbed an axe to chop down the beanstalk. Already he could feel the ground shaking as the giant drew near. Maria woke in a panic and asked him what was going on. But before Joaquin could answer, la migra burst in and dragged them both away, treating the boy especially roughly before deporting him because he was found in possession of a dangerous weapon. Meanwhile, the VSG stomped all over the Imperial Valley, destroying farms and squashing countless people, immigrants or not, because like most watchers of Fox News he wasn’t very bright. The damage and casualties were blamed on an earthquake, which the other VSG blamed on “illegal aliens playing loud music.”
Moral: Immigrants cause all our troubles.
Emanuel Goldstein 