Help Me, Cher! There’s a Honduran Caravan Migrant Stuck in My Driveway!

CherAs a person who is temporarily trapped in one of the biggest sanctuary cities in America, I’m really enjoying President Trump’s threat to dump more illegal alien caravan hoboes in sanctuary cities. Serves ‘em right!

Friends and family members often think I’m lying or exaggerating when I describe what miserable day-to-day life is like in a sanctuary city. The politicians definitely think I’m lying – they’ve never seen anything on the news like that, so it couldn’t possibly have happened!

But it’s all true. Every time I leave my house, it’s like stepping into an episode of the X-Files. The only difference is that instead of unexplained events involving aliens from outer space, I encounter bewildering events involving illegal aliens from here on earth.

Like right now, for example! As I’m typing these words in my overpriced house in a sanctuary state, it’s a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and there’s a Honduran caravan hobo trapped in my driveway.

Don’t look at me. I didn’t trap him there! He did that all on his own. I’m just an observer. In fact, if I were to call ICE right now and tell them there is an illegal alien trespassing in my neighborhood, I could be arrested by the LAPD for tattling on him. My hands are tied!

Meanwhile, Pedro – that’s my nickname for him: Pedro. Anyway, “Pedro” creates kind of a personal dilemma for me. On the one hand, I don’t want him to be there. I didn’t invite him in, and I would like very much for him to leave. I could just interrupt my important work – typing this for you to read – and go let Pedro out.

On the other hand, I get a certain sense of joy watching Pedro bake in the hot sun because he doesn’t understand how to operate a modern technological advance known as a “gate.” So, I’ll let him bake for while as I explain how he trapped himself there. I just hope that Pedro doesn’t have to go poop soon, because we all know how that’s gonna end.

If you plan on visiting the sanctuary state of California anytime soon, you should know that things have changed a bit from the last time you were here. There are now illegals everywhere. You cannot go anywhere without encountering them. Well, you could go to Malibu, where people like Cher and Rob Reiner live. There are no illegals there, but you couldn’t afford to live there anyway. But anywhere that normal people would go, you’ll encounter illegals.

I encountered one “up close and personal” in the grocery store parking lot just yesterday. A woman lurched out in front of me, started to say something, and then erupted in a fit of sneezing and coughing. To remedy this, she did what we used to refer to as a “farmer’s blow” when we were kids. Holding one nostril shut with her fingers, she blasted a snot rocket onto the concrete directly in front of me. Diversity! If that’s how classy and sophisticated the migrant caravan ladies are, you can imagine how the men behave.

Then, using the same hand that she just blew her nose with, she holds out a plastic bread sack filled with an oleaginous, steaming pile of goo. I have no idea what it was. It appeared to be composed of corn flour, sauce, a mystery meat whose origins I don’t want to contemplate, and whatever just came out of her nose.

“Fresh tamal!” she yells at me, continuing her incredible sales pitch. “Five dollar!”

“Tamal” is probably Spanish for tuberculosis. No, thank you very much, but no. Illegal alien street vendors selling homemade bags of who-knows-what are everywhere. None have business licenses and the health department never pays them a visit. They have free rein to do whatever they want in this sanctuary state. No one stops them from doing anything.

Why would you? If you write them a ticket for selling poisoned bags of tamal to gullible tourists, the ticket would never get paid and they’ll just disappear “back into the shadows.” Tickets for criminal violations are solely reserved for Americans and tourists in California. We’re the only ones left that can pay.

Another thing that will surprise you if you should visit this sanctuary state is the surprising number of walls around things. There are millions of walls protecting things. Even homes in my gated neighborhood have walls around them. It might seem more practical to just build a single big wall on the southern border, instead of millions of internal walls, but it doesn’t work that way. Even the bathrooms have virtual walls. If you visit a restaurant and need to use the bathroom, good luck.

The bathrooms are all locked. If you want to use the bathroom, you have to track down the employee with a key. Hopefully it’s not an emergency, because marijuana is legal in California. The kid with the bathroom key will not be in a big hurry to help you.

So, contrary to popular belief, there are walls everywhere in California. Pelosi’s house, the governor’s mansion, virtual bathroom walls, Malibu… everything has walls. Even my neighborhood entrance has a big, eight-foot-tall security wall. Which brings me back to Pedro, the plucky Honduran caravan hobo trapped in my neighborhood.

Someone stole a section of concertina wire from the wall in one tiny section back in the southeast corner. Everything that’s not nailed down in a sanctuary state gets stolen eventually. That was all the opportunity that a go-getter like Pedro needed. He clambered over the wall and proceeded to go dumpster-diving, a job that no Americans want to do. Boy, did he hit the jackpot! He must have found $3 or $4 worth of recyclable beer bottles in the dumpster – which is part of the equation now preventing him from escaping the driveway.

Pedro is too short to make it back over the wall, so he’s stuck in front of the gate. He’s tall enough to make it over the gate, I suppose, but to do that he would have to abandon the treasure haul of beer bottles that he worked so hard to collect. It’s a conundrum. He’s like the late comedian Chris Farley with his hand stuck in the cookie jar; if he’d let go of the cookie, he could get his hand loose.

If Pedro throws the bag over the gate, the bottles would break, also thereby reducing his labor-to-cost ratio. Pedro is obviously a deep thinker like me when it comes to economics. Maybe I should go let him out, since we have so much in common. Nah!

Meanwhile, President Trump is offering to bus all of Pedro’s enterprising relatives here to join him. Cher and Rob Reiner both object for some reason.

I don’t understand what their problem is. Their lives would be so much better if Pedro paid them a visit. But their walls are too high for him to gain access to their properties, so everyday Americans like me get to have all the fun and diversity instead.


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