The Doggie Ate His Homework
If you were unfortunate enough to be in the Salt Lake City area yesterday, you might have heard me on city mayor Rocky Anderson's show getting it on with a quasi-Minuteman named Mr. Hatch.

If you missed the big shew, let me fill you in on the hilarity. As you might know, SLC chose The Devil's Highway for its all-city read program (like San Francisco, everybody tries to read the same book.) You probably also know from previous posts that I'm tired of that book--if only because cities like Phoenix have to send detectives with Glocks on their belts to watch over my readings in case nutbags like Mr. Hatch show up gunnin' for the commie, beaner-lovin', America-hatin', defeatocrat writer. So, you know, it was lovely talking to Mayor Rocky. He's a real gentleman, and he knows the book inside and out. And fellow guests were informed and, as all Americans should be, concerned about the border situation--all sides of it. Including the poor downtrodden who die slowly, sentenced to grisly fates because they want to fry up your Biggie combo at Burger King. Don't get me started. And then, Mr. Hatch showed up.

Like many of the really het-up patroits, he started off trying to sound reasonable. But he couldn't contain himself. He started yelling, and started throwing the usual accusations: welfare chselers! Third world scum! As soon as he called me "people like you," I knew we had crossed the line into the standard I-wanna-kill-yo-mama-and-all-yo-offspring Aryanist babble. Foolish me, in my general role of mediator and pastor to America, I was trying to concede points about the Minutemen's agenda--my usual ass-kissing about how it's not a crime to worry about the security of your country, about how the issue is one of honoring existing laws, about...whatever. Like, whatever. I was working myself up to the crow-eating announcement that Minutemen had, in fact, shown great restraint in dealing with "illegals," and had in fact saved a couple of lives and given food and water to walkers. But I didn't have to! Because Hatch was so wound up in his hatchet job that it became farce. It was like a Monty Python routine where some mad middle class fellow goes on a rampage, spitting invective that escalates to true hysteria. People like me? I started to laugh. He really got mad when I laughed. But it was hilarious.

Yeah, he suggested I was some Amrica-hater. I was seeking sympathy for, for, for--THEM. I never did anything in Mexico to help alleviate the situation, just criticized the US of A! I coudn't stop laughing. I wish he'd been with me ever since, oh, 1978, to see how long I have struggled to improve the situation! Wish he'd been there to pay my bills, and to cover my endless rounds of illness from, oh you know, working in the Tijuana garbage dumps to help them stay there and not come here. Mr. Hatch! Stop it, you're killing me! Or do I mean you'd like to kill me. At least grease some greasers. Finally, the Mayor couldn't stand it any longer and cried, "Mr. Hatch--have you even read this book?" Our hero sputtered. Mind you, he's a school teacher. He reverted to the greatest bullshit 14 year old excuse which all us parents have heard--"I, uh, I, well, skimmed it. But a friend read it!" Oh no! The doggie ate his homework! How could you not laugh? Then he started to explain that the book was just more pro-Mex anti-US lefty propaganda. Wrong. Like Joan Didion, I am a political agnostic--I write Goddy propaganda.

I managed to say, "You are so wrong about my book." Then I asked him, "Have you ever been to Mexico?" The death-knell. "I've been to Tijuana! Once." I started to laugh again. "I've been to Bell Gardens (California). That's Mexico!!!" he cried. Uh-huh. Nuff sed.

Rocky, Baby--be sure there are good coppers in the hall Saturday night. The right wingers are mad at me because I'm concerned about the Mexicans; raza is mad at me because I am too warm to the border patrol; coyotes are mad at me because I revealed too many of their secrets. Fortunatley, the New World Order, the Bilderbergers, the Tri-Lateral Commission, and the Anti-Christ are all on my side.
Plus I got some signed books from Mick Foley! Wrestlers. My peeps!

People like me aren't the ones who threaten to harm writers, or suggest in cowardly anonymous emails that my children are tainted. People like me don't make racially based threats to other people. If these mysterious others, these people-not-like-me are full of love of country--I agree with Mr Hatch that this is the best country on earth...after all, it lets crackpots like us run around spouting our absurdities without sending death squads to silence us--check it out: I live here, duh, and I ain't leaving--why do they spin into hate and rage so easily? I wonder if you boys making threats would say that stuff to Pancho Villa? No, people like me pray for their enemies, though I'm praying to the Old Testament God, that scary one in the whirlwind who sends down rains of fire to burn the wicked because I'm getting sick of the stinging red other cheek

All you need is love, love--love is all you need. Oh, I forgot, John Lennon got shot in the head.

See ya, Luis

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