Nobody Gets Out Alive

We live in a dangerous country. Would it surprise you to learn that the United States has a whopping 100% mortality rate? And it’s projected to remain the same for the foreseeable future. Sad!

According to anecdotes relayed by the President of the United States on national television this week, the scariest source of our countrymen’s fate is undocumented immigrants. From what I can glean from memes posted by racist senior citizens on “the Facebook,” more Americans are killed by immigrants than by every other cause of death combined.

Okay, that seems unlikely, I’ll admit it. But when has your Aunt Gertrude, an angry 80-year-old woman who hasn’t worked outside the home nor left her Midwestern hometown in the last 20 years, ever steered us wrong? Remember 9/11? Well, Gertie said on 9/12 that she’d “always been suspicious of the Moslems,” and I’ll be damned if she didn’t hit the mark with that shotgun spray of post-hoc accusation.

This just in: Aunt Gertrude never said anything about it at the time, but she never liked that guy you just broke up with, either.

Given our President’s inference that we should fear people from other countries, I decided to investigate all of the ways that people in our country find themselves taking long naps on the underside of the terrain. Imagine my confusion when I discovered that, at best guess, only 456 people per year die at the hands of undocumented immigrants!

Now before you go saying, “any murder is a tragedy, and the murderers shouldn’t have even been here!” keep in mind that the overall number of homicides in the US is about 18,624 per year. In other words, if you’re going to get whacked, you’re 40 times more likely to get whacked by a fellow American. That’s why I avoid each of you at all costs, just to be safe. USA! USA!

I was also shocked to learn how many ways to die are more common than “gittin’ kilt by a got-dang furriner whilst on mah way down to the Piggleh Wiggleh.”

And because I cherry picked the hell out of this list for maximum shock value, you should prepare to be shocked, too!

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Come Join My Wild Pigeon Chase

I own a restaurant in Washington, DC. We’re situated near the Smithsonian museums, the FBI headquarters, and lots of other federal office buildings. As you might imagine, we’ve been a little slower than ideal lately.

Why is it slower than usual?

I told my team that neither their service nor their food was at fault for the slowdown. It’s not competition from other restaurants or food trucks. It can’t be the weather, nearby construction, or the homeless people who ask our customers for money at the front door. While any and all of those issues would be worth an in-depth, intellectual investigation, I told my team that none of those are important.

We’re only slower than normal because of pigeons.

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When In Doubt, Don’t Bark

It’s human nature to categorize things, recognize patterns, and extrapolate missing data. Actually, it might be better described as animal nature.

My dog Lemmy uses process of elimination to determine where I hide the treats. He might do so clumsily, checking the same spot two or three times en route to crossing it off his list. But he’s definitely categorizing and extrapolating, ham-handed (maybe ham-pawed, as it were) or not.

Lemmy utilizes basic cause-and-effect to recognize that giving me “sad puppy dog eyes” will nab him some of whatever I’m eating. Incidentally, both of us have the same favorite cuisine: people food. Maybe he cuts his losses with hard-nosed Mom, and doubles down on Dad. He notices a pattern: Dad is more easily swayed to part with the scraps.

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If You Can’t Beat ‘Em, Delegitimize ‘Em

For decades, our country’s love of football has crossed political, socioeconomic, and generational lines.

And by “football,” I mean the game played on a gridiron with a prolate spheroid inflated leather ball. The athletic contest that requires gladiatorial equipment to protect the players from gruesome injuries. The sport where the players incur gruesome injuries anyway when they’re hit by people in gladiatorial equipment. The spectacle that’s played in North America and literally nowhere else…except of course when we trot it overseas to play in front of wide-eyed people with no earthly clue as to what is happening on the field. The game George Will once perfectly described as “violence punctuated by committee meetings.” Continue reading

Bad Stuff Is Probably Happening Somewhere

Bad stuff happens everywhere. I don’t mean “bad stuff” like getting in a fender bender. Or even really bad stuff like your Internet crapping out in the middle of streaming your seventh consecutive episode of This Is How To Get Away With A Million Little Scandals With The Stars: Miami.

No, I’m talking about Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse-level bad stuff. Continue reading

6 Lies About Immigrants Trump Hopes You Believe

As a native citizen of this great land, I’m entitled to certain inalienable rights. Everyone’s saying I was endowed with those rights by my Creator. It’s tremendous. Just fantastic, really.

While I have more Native American DNA than most US Senators, I’m only “native” to this land by virtue of the fact that I was born here. There is no doubt as to my citizenship status: I was born at a very young age in Houston, Texas, USA, in 1976, to two native-born American citizens. Continue reading

Halloween Costumes For Snarky Bastards Like You

It’s almost time for everyone’s favorite day filled with fright and dread! No, not Election Day. No, not the end of Daylight Savings Time, though if the end of Daylight Savings Time fills you with fright and dread, you should likely seek therapy. Those are good guesses (they are not really good guesses, I’m just patronizing you), but nope…I’m talking about Halloween!

Halloween is a chance for kids of all ages to go to parties, cut loose, and eat a lot of candy. Of course, if you’re going to be out on the hunt for fun, you have to wear a great costume. Continue reading

California Is Hella Stoked It’s Not Mississippi.

I have lived in a few different places around our great nation. I was born in Texas, where I lived until I realized I was allowed to leave.1 Then, I fled to Las Vegas. Las Vegas was amazing for my career; so amazing, in fact, it got me promoted and relocated to Northern California. I lived in the Bay Area for four years before life took me eastward to the DC area, where I am today.

California was—hands down—my favorite place I’ve ever lived. Which is why I never understand conservative America’s obsession with using California as the proxy for all things terrible. If you ask the average deplorable, they’ll tell you that California is just one big liberal, hyper-politically-correct, Marxist brunch, complete with bottomless mimosas, hosted by a drag queen version of Nancy Pelosi named, incidentally, Fancy P. Losi.

To be fair, I would probably enjoy such a brunch. So maybe that explains it thoroughly. Blog over. Fin. Continue reading