I know a thing or three about illegal aliens. My father had illegal aliens, or “wets” as we called them, on our plantation in California.

What most white people Americans fail to grasp about them is this: they’re greedy. As soon as a restaurant or a construction business offers them two or three dollars an hour, off they go. They are quite eager to abandon the pastoral life in pursuit of the Almighty Dollar.

That’s all well and good for the construction firms, but I can tell you that it doesn’t get any strawberries picked.

And they barely speak English. I would go out in the fields and try to impart the wisdom of the Ancients, describing in detail the Roman aqueducts and the way the ancient Athenians would fertilize their fields using their own dung. I may as well have been speaking a foreign language.

I even tried demonstrating the fertilization technique, but they just stared blankly, like they’d never seen a man crap in a strawberry field before.

And they’re completely unserious. You can try teaching them ancient fertilization techniques, but as soon as your back is turned, they’ll break into laughter like a pack of hyenas.

Now they’re coming across the border so fast, it won’t be long before they overrun the country, turning us into the United States of Wetifornia. That’s why I called my book Wetifornia. And if you read it, you already know what we should do about the problem.

But you didn’t read it, did you? Regnery had to pulp half a million copies because none of you illiterate bastards cared enough about the problem to actually pick up my book and find out how to keep our national integrity. So here’s the short version:

Build a wall along the southern border. Fifty feet tall, with watchtowers and guards armed with .50 caliber machine guns. And land mines. And a moat. With a dragon in it. It would be expensive to acquire the materials for the wall, but we could use the illegal aliens to build it, so labor costs shouldn’t run more than a few hundred dollars.

Then we have to go about the business of assimilating the illegal aliens that are still on our side of the wall. First, they learn English. People would be instructed to ignore them if they spoke Spanish, and make no attempt to understand them. I think we’ve got that one covered already.

Step two is to make them forget Spanish. This would probably require partial lobotomies. The cost of having doctors perform 11 million lobotomies would run into the billions, so we’d better train some illegals to do it.

Step three is to teach them the classics. If they’re ever going to be fully assimilated, they’re going to have to know as much about the literature and history of ancient Rome and Greece as the average American does. I recommend a year’s intensive study of Homer, another of Plutarch, and another of Virgil. Another year of immersion in the study of the Peloponnesian Wars would probably get them close enough to pass as Americans.

Step four: No Goddamn Laughing! If you’re trying to make a serious point about fertilization techniques, anybody who titters should be horsewhipped. And if Victoria the maid catches you jerking off in the “throne room,” she should just say “perdon,” and leave. Scratch that. She should say, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Hanson,” and leave. At any rate, I should NOT hear the sound of laughter on the other side of the door.

Which leads me to step five. When I was fifteen, our maid Victoria walked in on me while I was reading a magazine. She ran out of the room like it was on fire, followed by the usual laughing. But it got me to thinking about what might have happened if she had stayed long enough to get a good look at my manhood…

As I was cleaning up after that incident, I had an epiphany: if we’re ever to fully assimilate the aliens, we must interbreed. Here’s the plan:

For every night that Victoria spends with her husband, she spends a night with me. I mean, for every night that any illegal alien spent with her husband, she’d spend one with a white man American. In one generation, the problem of having aliens in our midst would be halved. Within five generations, it would no longer be a serious problem.

Now go out and buy my book! You don’t even have to read it! I’ve got bills to pay, y’know!

This entry by V. D. Hansen was posted on Saturday, April 1st, 2006 at 9:35 am and is filed under Wingnuttery. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.