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Unspeakable Horrors Up North

While Rajjpuut continues his recuperation from a compound hangnail and aggravated golf-shoulder, 96-year old understudy, Payne Hertz, covers his blog-beat this week.

I found myself singing “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” and getting bewildered looks from the crowd standing at attention around me, then I realized they were singing “God, save our noble Queen” . . . Canada has proven something of a pleasing cultural shock. The last time I visited the country I was 26 and like many adventurous Americans headed north to join the Canadian wing of pilots training for the Brit’s Royal Air Force in hopes of stoppin Herr Hitler. While much has changed on the surface, the underlying benificence of the Canadian people rolls on eternally.

I was assigned a strange story this week, to research “What’s up with the vast emigration of the liberal-elite out of the United States, and specifically the motivations for hundreds of thousands of elite illegal alien liberals sneaking into Canada each and every week?” My first stop was with Robin Glassconk, Dean of the Alberta School of Agriculture and ex institutional head for the Canadian Uranium Network-Technology Outreach. She was a pleasant widow lady who smiled and chuckled after I nimbly deflected her initial efforts to hit-on me with my classic line “Robin, you’re young enough to be my granddaughter . . .” She nodded her head and returned to the business at hand . . . .

“Not since the height of the Viet Nam conflict has Canada witnessed such an influx of leftist malcontents from the States. Frankly, it’s working a great hardship on the Canadian people and we’re only now beginning to understand the causes and how best to deal with this very unexpected phenomenon.”

As some American progressives and progressive-lites a.k.a. “liberals” find themselves facing a complete rejection of their core values at American voting booths this November, the left-wing of America finds itself with two unpleasant prospects: 1) having to take to the streets in demonstrations for the Obama administration and be heckled by the vast new TEA Party majority, the course chosen by virtually all of the ultra-progressive neo-marxist wing . . . OR . . . 2) to flee northward and become illegal liberal American aliens – a path seemingly becoming all too popular for Canada’s native-born and naturalized citizens to embrace.

The Canadian government, initially slow to act, has jumped to this new challenge. The RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police a.k.a. “the Mounties”) has quadrupled mounted patrols and walking K-9 patrols of all the most negotiable border crossing hotspots. Robin led me to a small rickety outbuilding at the edge of the campus. There under some loose hay I found the Ridley family from San Ramos, California, all four of them drinking their last sips of the imported bottled-water they’d brought with them. A grim specter haunted their every breath: the recent rise of the TEA Party in America. William Ridley, an ex-Curator for the Museum of Labor Union History who’d also founded seventeen branches of ACORN, explained . . . .

“It’s not just being outvoted, it’s my awful dread of Glen Beck and Greta Van Susteren . . . can you imagine being forced to learn to hunt, trade our SUVs in for one pick up, and pray on our knees. It’s horrible! I can’t imagine my colleagues and I having to discuss Beck, Van Susteren and Chris Wallace all day long.”

Why didn’t the Ridley’s choose to enter Canada legally? Robin Glassconk put it this way. “At first, there were a few legal immigration openings, but they quickly filled up. Our country needs people that are used to doing actual work or better yet entrepreneurial folks who can create jobs and businesses. Canada is still largely a frontier nation and the pioneer spirit is alive and well here . . . I mean, how many lawyers, animal-rights proponents; sociologists, economists and psychologists; radical feminists; environmentalists; and Black Studies profs can we afford to add to our welfare rolls anyway? Did I mention lawyers, one in three liberal illegals has a law degree.”

Checking it out for himself, Ol’ Payne spent a night hidden in a likely forest-crossing point with his infrared scope at the ready. Quickly it was apparent that Canada has a huge problem. One hundred and seventy six illegals crossed in the five hours I maintained my vigil. Children with parents seemed to make up the vast majority of the liberal-elite fleeing American’s mainstream oppression on foot. They came with their sculpted poodles and pedigreed cats. They came with their laptop computers and I-phones pausing occasionally before me to communicate with old friends they might never see again. They came in wave after wave of cold, frightened, hungry, thirsty and exhausted humanity.

They came and later discovered a small all-night diner where they found sadly that organic oranges, almond-mocha-latte coffee, and free-range chicken were not on the menu. They came and only when 100 miles into Canada noticed that Michael Moore movies were not being shown. They came despite brand new 12-foot high chain-link fences with rolls of barbed-wire atop aiming to stop them . . . scaling these fences, tunneling below them and even driving their SUVs through them at full throttle.

They came even though some Canadian border communities had mounted long chains of loudspeakers that blared Ronald Reagan speeches all day and all night and found that 90% of the illegal crossings avoided their towns until the liberal Americans ignored them and crossed with ear plugs. Despite this failure, dairy farmers and egg farmers discovered that Reagan increased typical productivity by 60% and seemed to make their animals more content, so the speeches continue 24-7.

The big problems, Canadian government officials acknowledged, are actually NOT caused by the Americans themselves . . . “The percentages that cross by foot are small. They’re pretty naïve and not used to the ultra-rugged and less comfortable lifestyle up here, it’s the human- trafficking Canadian citizens that are causing most of our problems,” according to a highly placed official in the Canadian immigration service who chose to remain anonymous.

Our “wolverines” can get $70,000 - $80,000 to conduct a family of three or four across and often they just leave them somewhere two hundred miles north of the border beside the road without any clue at all. They’ll promise them anything -- green tech jobs; $200,000 forest ranger positions; professorial seats; even law partnerships, you name it they've promised it.” The official continued. “Helicopters, canoes, tunnels, hot-air balloons, smuggling them across in California wine shipments and organic food crates . . . other than skateboards, it’s all being done. But three or four days later, about the time they find we don’t sell Obama-food or imported drinking water . . . a lot of the illegals turn themselves in to our mounties. I understand a lot of them in our jails discuss trying Cuba next.

“One scam that worked for an awful long time for single persons and childless liberals was to masquerade as senior citizens from the states touring our country by bus or coming north for lower-priced prescription drugs.” The man laughed, “but we stopped that up good, you should see all the gray wigs the border patrol folks collect in any given day!”

The Canadian authorities now give 20-question quizzes to all older Americans. Said one border guard, “If they don’t know the words to “Teeny-weeny-yellow-polka-dot bikini,” “Splish-splash,” or “Standing on the Corner” they immediately become suspect as a younger person masquerading older. A lot of them have never even heard “Doggie in the Window,” believe it or not. If they’re then shown a dial phone and give us a blank look, they’re busted. But I did have one trivia expert who almost got through our testing process. But when I asked him who “Fess Parker was, he looked blanked and removed his wig to scratch his cue-ball hairless noggin.”

Despite rumors of American plans for “normalization camps” run by the TEA Party where liberals can learn to drink cheap American beer, belch and fart and watch NASCAR, no such re-ed centers are currently planned by the TEA Party or any other conservative groups. "We're pretty much 'live and let live' despite what they believe about us, and only about 35% of us like NASCAR." said one TEA Party activist sporting a "Beck's Right" T-shirt. On the other hand, tensions are mounting among Canadian liberals and the illegals because of projected shortages of imported beer, video rentals of Al Gore’s movie, escargot, caviar and organic foods of all kinds. Initially, sympathetic to the plight of American liberals, Canadians just don’t see the need for any more music history teachers, feminist-lawyers, or art-therapy majors in their country.

In recognition of the crisis and to lessen tensions between the two North American nations, President Barak Obama has 1) promised that the U.S. Mint and Postal service will issue three new collectors’ series -- coins featuring endangered American species and famous labor unionists; and a stamp series featuring Stalin, Che, Mao and other mainstream heroes and 2) Barbara Streisand, Paul McCartney, and several of Mel Gibson’s ex-lovers will all be making Revolution-Victory Tours around the nation . . . according to the president, “It’s very important to reach out to these disenchanted citizens just as we’ll also seek to stymie the hideous efforts of those racists who’ve been oppressing them.”

Note: Even though he posted his story on the internet already, our nonogenarian correspondent Payne Hertz continues his tour of Canada because he so enjoys all the “trivia quizzes” thrown at him every day. He reminds liberals that Fess Parker played Davy Crockett for a Walt Disney movie and make sure you know the words to “Love is a Many-Splendored Thing” should you care to join him . . . .

Ya’all live long, strong and ornery,

Rajjpuut

Obama Seeks Scapegoat for Hurricane Fiona,

A very strange thing happened to Payne Hertz, the 96-year-old who sometimes substitutes for Ol’ Rajjpuut on those ultra-rare occasions when Rajjpuut has a chance “to get lucky,” ‘er, finds himself with a schedule conflict. You might recall the fine interview that Hertz did with the polar bear** hunter Al Gore . . . .

http://rajjpuutsfolly.blogtownhall.com/2010/02/02/polar_bear_hunter_overworked_al_gore_seeks_serious_back-up.thtml

naturally, we’ll let the elderly gent speak for himself . . . .

It happened this way, I had just left one of my gal’ friends’ apartment about 4:00 in the morning when a couple of juvenile d’s accosted me next to my Pierce-Arrow. They wanted to shake me down, but I was in too good a mood all full of p’ ‘n vinegar to surrender my dignity right then. Of course I pulled out my trusty pack of cards and, using the ancient Monte Carlo martial art form of Stri-chi-baccarat, disabled the taller of the two with a quick Jack of Diamonds to the right temple and a trey of Spades to his right knee which dropped him like yesterday’s bowel movement and was firing the niner of hearts full speed at his friend's lower midsection (technically in Stri-chi it’s called a "collateral damage appendectomy") when the tire iron he’d swung connected a glancing blow with my balding pate . . . as I fell, I could see through fuzzy vision he was worse off than me, but than I lost consciousness . . .

Suddenly it was bright daylight, I found myself occupying the body of a much younger, taller and stupider man. I was on a golf course, that much was obvious. And then I saw that my golfing pard with his putter in his hand was none other than the president of the United States Barack Obama. Talk about a shocker!

I looked into the mirror of the cart and another surprise, the man that looked back at me was Brian Williams, the cub reporter who is somehow anchoring at NBC . . . an incredible revulsion grabbed me and I found my new body projectile-vomiting . . . luckily a couple of secret service guards stepped between me and the president and protected him from my disgust. I dropped back weakly into my seat.

They paused the game for about three minutes while I swigged down some bottled water after rinsing my mouth and felt better. We had only three holes to play and let me tell you that being in the body of a younger man was great . . . I outdrove him on all three holes and outplayed him (what a frigging duffer!) badly and then discovered apparently we’d had a hundred dollar bet. Apparently we’d played several times and he thought he owned me I guess, because he called my a “racist basta-d”, then smiled like it was a joke as he handed me ol’ Ben Franklin, but I could see he was plenty sore.

Anyhow, the real surprise was passing a newspaper vending machine about ten yards before the clubhouse. I could see the date was September 15^th, somehow I’d leaped twenty days into the future besides being in the body of a liberal-slanting cub reporter. Anyway, we retired to the 19^th hole and despite the secret service men reminding him that Muslims don’t drink and that he had four state functions scheduled for the rest of the day, he downed about five Miss Piggy Cocktails (I thought Muslims didn’t do pork either?) before he’d even deign to talk to me. No matter, I was preoccupied and too busy for him anyway. Was wondering about how to arrange getting to use my new body with the cocktail waitress I was flirting up . . . nobody was around, just the seven of us, the four secret service agents saw to that . . . just me and Ol’ Poor Sport was allowed in there with this gorgeous auburn-haired . . . .

Suddenly, he sneered, “Your chance to make me look good, Bry-boy!” Which apparently meant he’d allow me to ask him a few questions. I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, get myself oriented to the hapnin's of the last twenty days and get him in the mood with some easy ones first . . . .

Q: “Mr. President, how would you describe your administration’s accomplishments for the past twenty days? And how do you feel about them?

He glared at me, for a couple seconds.

A: “I’ve told everybody and you should know better, Bri, I’m not answering questions about the problems we’ve had with disaster relief.”

Suddenly, the newspaper headlines I’d seen made sense. Apparently the names Earl, Fiona and Gaston were the names of three tropical storms, maybe even hurricanes. Now I really did want to get on his good side for at least a couple of questions . . . .

Q: “You know me, Mr. President, I need to get the true picture . . . so that when I slant the story in your behalf, it’s ah . . . it’s got the necessary congruency . . .”

A: Sorry, Bri, must be the drinks, for a moment there I thought I was with Bill O’reilly or Glenn Beck, of course I know you’re in my camp . . . OK . . . OK . . . well, as you know the administration line is that we’re very disappointed in this Gaston scandal thing.”

Q: “Gaston scandal . . . thing?”

A: “Yes, yes, we didn’t think that the meterologists would make such a big deal about a little change like Robby Gibbs was using in his press conferences . . .”

Q: “Little change, Mr. President”

A: “You know calling the third major hurricane to pound the Atlantic Seaboard . . . G.W., that’s really not all that much to ask . . . I mean the storm might have been named 'Gaston-Wilbur,' you know and so G.W. seemed natural enough, but then all those weather people got in a big huff.”

Q: “Wow! I mean I can see how that would upset you, Mr. President . . .”

A: “I mean the whole country seemed very understanding -- even though our response was a lot slower than it was for Katrina and Rita -- when I explained that if George W. Bush hadn’t delayed all the vital global warming counter-activity so terribly long we’d have a cooler globe and everyone of the hurricanes wouldn’t be so violent, I mean category-4 twice and then a -three, that’s pretty rough.”

Q: “You blamed George W. Bush for all three hurricanes! ‘er, I mean to say, Mr. President. When you blamed him didn’t your media support stick with you as you expected?”

A: Well, of course, we neo-marxists understand each oth^^ . . . .

Then, as suddenly as I’d been wisked into Brian Williams’ body I found myself lying on the concrete back in New York twenty days earlier with a doozy of a headache and the still bodies of two bloody juvenile delinquents near me . . . . I know it sounds like I’m stretching the truth, but I’ll swear to it. I only regret that I never got to know that little waitress better . . . .

Well, thank you PH, good job under unusual circumstances . . . now do you readers understand why Rajjpuut never takes a vacation?

Ya’all live long, strong and ornery,

Rajjpuut

** recently the younger Alaskan Al Gore that Hertz interviewed in the earlier blog had some bad news for his cousin the older and uglier and fatter Al Gore from Tennessee we all know and love. 1) It seems that some naturalists recently revealed that the infamous “Inconvenient Truth” scene of a polar bear floating on an ice floe was not the picture of a polar bear in distress, but to the contrary -- pretty standard operating procedure for polar bears who regularly float out 10-12 miles from shore to find the best hunting grounds for seals and 2) Alaska and Canada are both now lifting their embargoes on hunting polar bears because of the large numbers of the beasts now found all up and down the Artic Circle. The Alaskan said, “Sadly, that may turn out to be a couple of inconvenient truths for my cuz” he grunted, “ Of course, now that the hunting ban is lifted, I can operate legally piling up those bountied bear feet for my Tennessee cuz.”

^^ By the way, the Congressional Budget Office (CBO) now says that their latest forecasts of government deficits and national debt says that by 2020 half of your taxes will go for interest on the national debt and that the national debt the American public will face by 2020 will amount to more than 100% of Gross Domestic Product (GDP). The CBO says that national debt per household will rise to $150,000. Damn, that G.W. Bush anyway.