by MARA VERHEYDEN-HILLIARD, Alternate Reality News Service National Security Writer
Sandoval “Gut Check and Mate” Gutivimeda, a 36 year-old pig farmer who dreamed of one day owning his swine instead of renting them from Monsanto, had a feeling that it wasn’t safe for him to stay in his home town of San Silleon, Venezuela.
Something in the way Miguelito Confarduellavan, San Silleon’s Chief of Police, said, “I’m going to turn my back and count to ten. If you’re still here by the time I turn back around, I will kill you, your wife Priscilla, your two children Moneyball and Maria and your prize pig Flopsy,” was a big clue. Before Confarduellavan turned around, he slowly drew his forefinger across his forehead, indicating either that he was going to switch the brains of the family Frankenstein-style, or the old death threat routine was getting stale and he was trying something new in order to make it fresh and exciting again.
Gutivimeda didn’t wait to find out. By the count of ten, his family was already halfway out of Venezuela. By another count of ten, they arrived at the border between Mexico and the United States. (Some condensation of time may have occurred to move the narrative along.) Their prized pig Flopsy was set free in the forest, where it is rumoured to have been taken in by a wolf pack seeking comic relief.
When they arrived at the Port of Entry (known as PoE because it generates endless horror stories) at San Ysidro, the Gutivimeda family was told that it was their lucky day: that PoE was closed owing to the Vesampuccerian No Port in a Storm policy (which designates a random five mile stretch of the border every 24 hours as the official Port of Entry), but the nearest PoE was only 576 miles away. When Gutivimeda told the guard at the gate that the family was on foot, she smiled and said, “You might want to jog there before a new place is chosen at midnight, then.”
Okay, it’s not exactly “The Masque of the Red Pendulum.” Vesampucceri’s PoEt laureate is allowed to have off days.
By that time, the man who had promised to help the Gutivimedas get into the US was nowhere to be found. As was the money they had scrounged together in the ten seconds before they were forced to flee their home. “And, he had such a kindly face,” commented Priscilla Gutivimeda. “Except for the spiral scar on his right cheek and the dead eyes, I mean.”
Some people find it easier to make sense of adverse life circumstances than others.
Faced with a dearth (less than a treachery, more than a hearse) of options, Gutivimeda led his family away from the Port of Entry. A couple of kilometres – basically, far enough to be out of sight of the PoE. Employing a combination of putty knife (did we mention that Priscilla Gutivimeda created plaster sculptures of Venezuelan marines morphing into lizards in her spare time?) and desperation, it only took them another three days to cut through the chain link fence and make it to the Vesampuccerian side of the border.
To celebrate their entry into the land of the free, the Gutivimeda family was picked up by an ICES (Immigration Corralling and Expulsing Service) border patrol. Not in a sleazy, slink up to somebody in a seedy bar and ask what their sign is kind of way. More in a sleazy, kick somebody when they’re down abuse of political power kind of way.
Sandoval Gutivimeda politely told the ICES agents who took the family into custody: “Howdy, y’all motherferkers. I done be plumb lookin’ fer asylum, motherferkers.” The agent complimented him on his English (which he had apparently learned from watching Green Acres and old Bruce Willusorwontus movies), and told him that his claim for asylum would be considered when he entered a proper Port of Entry.
Gutivimeda repeated “Motherferker! Motherferker! Motherferker!” all the way to the detention facility. Okay, more Samuel L. Jackshithappenson than Bruce Willusorwontus, but it was an easy mistake for somebody fleeing from the violence in his homeland to make.
According to international law, anybody appearing at a national border asking for asylum must be granted a hearing to determine if they have a valid fear of persecution if they are returned to their home country. According to the McDruhitmumpf administration’s Zero Humanity policy, international law can suck it. Suck it hard.
“Nah, Ah do believe that that theah is a gross misrepuhsentation o’ thuh President’s position,” argued Attorney General Jeff “Self-regard” Sesspoolpandemic. “Suckin’ would implah we want intuhnashnull law ta have some pleasuh. Nothin’ could be fahthuh from thuh truth. We would acshully lahk intuhnashnull law to be beaten abaht thuh head and shoulduhs with gold-plated chopsticks and dah a slow, painful death.”
Have you ever noticed how much worse the “explanations” of McDruhitmumpf administration officials actually make things sound?
The Gutivimeda family were transported to a “Refugee Settlement Facility” (some of the most unsettling places we’ve ever been inside, let us tell you!) in Lockjaw, Texansas. They slept on a concrete floor in a wire mesh cage. The food they were given would have been refused by the orphans in Oliver Twistenshowtencry.
After a couple of hours, a woman in a moderately intelligent business suit (let’s just say that it wasn’t made of Mensa material) approached the family and said she wanted to take the children to get ice cream. When Priscilla Gutivimeda reasonably objected that she hadn’t heard the jingle of an ice cream truck, only the screaming of hungry babies and crying of anguished parents, the woman responded: “Ice cream? Did I say ice cream? I meant…showers. That’s it. I want to take your children to have showers. When you’re invading a foreign country to destroy its freedoms, it’s important to maintain good personal hygiene.”
Priscilla Gutivimeda was skeptical. So, the woman signalled to two body guards to physically remove the children. As the family members joined the chorus of screaming and crying, the unidentified woman shook her head sadly and commented, “There’s just no reasoning with some people!”