by FREDERICA VON McTOAST-HYPHEN, Alternate Reality News Service People Writer
A middle-aged man drives his pickup along the border, his piercing black eyes scanning the horizon for signs of people who clearly shouldn't be there.
"These illegals," he pronounces the word as if it spitting a dead rat out of his mouth (having seen him spit a dead rat out of his mouth the night before, I can attest that the only difference was a slight vibrato), "they gotta be stopped!"
The man: Buck Puckthudder. The border: the imaginary line that separates the United States from Canada. That's right. Canada.
"Yeah, Mexico sucks up all the oxygen in the illegal immigration debate," Puckthudder admits, "but Canada, Canada – well, let's just say, it's always the quiet ones you gotta watch out for."
Puckthudder is a member of the Thirty Second Men (their motto: "It's not how long you last, it's what you do while you're there"), a loose group of patriots, gun lovers (having seen him begin to make love to his rifle the night before, I knew I would never sleep soundly again) and people who generally don't trust the government to do the right thing. Keeping the country's borders secure is high on the Thirty Second Men's list of things they don't trust the government to do right.
"Oh, they may seem polite enough," Puckthudder tells me, his eyes scanning. "But, those, those...snowbacks are here for one thing: to take jobs away from hardworking Americans!"
What jobs would those be? "University jobs. You know, teaching things like 17th Century Icelandic Epic Blank Verse and...and French Literary Theory and the like."
"Well, that's just silly," commented Rita Mae Irrangulature, the Obama administration's Secretary of Calmly and Respectfully Talking the Loonies Down. "Everybody knows that Canadians take those jobs because Americans don't want them."
"I know it may sound harsh," Puckthudder stated, yes, harshly, "but I would rather my children never read The Saga of N'Jaarl or know who Jean Boudrillard is than have them be taught those things by a...snowback! The idea that somebody who doesn't have the proper documentation to be in this country could be teaching my kids at a university just makes me want to cry!" (Having seen him cry the night before, I had worn a bib as a precaution.)
In order to keep illegal immigrants from Canada out of the country, the Thirty Second Men propose a wall be built around the border. Of course, they have to take into account the fact that many arrive by plane, so the Thirty Second Men argue that the wall should be at least 10,000 feet high. "We could start with the important routes, like the corridor between Pearson in Toronto and JFK in New York," the group's Web site states, "and, kind of build out from that."
"I don't know how practical that would be," Secretary Irrangulature stated. "Canadians are like cockroaches. Polite, icy cold cockroaches. They can always find a way to get into the country. You think you've stopped a few here, another bunch show up over there. And, there really isn't much you can do about it. They're like tall...muscular...well-mannered cockroaches."
The Secretary added that she hoped that I wouldn't use the term "snowback" in my article, as she found it derogatory and prejudicial.
As vexing as the question of keeping illegal Canadians out of the country is, it's a children's riddle compared to the Final Jeopardy Question of what to do with the thousands of illegal Canadians who are already in the US. The official government position is to ignore them and hope they will go away. The Thirty Second Men, of course, have a different idea.
As described on their Web site, they would like to round up anybody in the United States who ends their sentences with "eh?" and immediately deport them to Canada. "Those who were in the country legally," the Web site said, "are welcome to come back...as long as they can get over the 10,000 foot high wall!"
Buck Puckthudder drives a lonely road, always alert, always standing on guard for thee. After an uneventful 12 minute shift, his vigil comes to an end. "Got to be home for dinner," he mutters. Having seen him get home late for dinner the night before, I didn't have the heart to argue.