The Real Immigration Problem

We booted them out 230 years ago, but Brits resurface with annoying frequency. They have no proper sense of having been conquered, least so in the past century having their asses saved from being conquered—they just keep showing up and interfering.

The 60s British Invasion was cute until the Beatles got the whole country on pot, playing sitars, marching on Birmingham and protesting our war. That other goat-worshiping Brit band refuses to die despite decomposing, thanks botox. What’s even more irritating, they freely admit that they got their music from our negroes. Ours.

Recently, Brits interfered with national security— that guy from the Guardian lands a nice young NSA employee in exile by revealing surveillance secrets no respectable US publication would touch, since obviously spying on everyone is the only way to prevent totalitarian doom and the paranoia it breeds...a limey comedian on Comedy Central goes on fierce, comprehensible rants explaining finely crafted American propaganda—how is that funny?—and this hairy, feral tattooed one with an accent thicker than Eliza Doolittle on thorazine picks fights with Sean Hannity and Bill O’Reilly since obviously the Irish must be suppressed if they can afford 25-hundred dollar suits. Why the hell aren’t they over in their own damn country giving Maggie Thatcher a hard time?

It just doesn’t figure why Congress is obsessed with immigrants on the wrong border.

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