It's No Fun Being an Undocumented Worker
"Hey," said Vice Prime Minister William, walking into the office, "sorry I'm late. I was plucking my unibrow. What's up?"
"Nothing much," said the Prime Minister, Mr. President, with a yawn. "I'm just trying to work out a comprehensive immigration policy for the FDR. Your eyebrows look much better now, by the way."
"Thank you," said Vice Prime Minister William, settling into his chair. "Can I see what you've got so far?"
"Sure." Mr. President slid a sheet of paper across the desk towards him.
Vice Prime Minister William looked at it. "Genius, sir, genius," he said. "Let's call the mainland and let them in on this. It's better than anything the Democrats or the Republicans have come up with."
"Oh, that's not the plan," said Mr. President, "that's just a Tic-tac-toe game I played against myself while I was brainstorming." He sighed. "I lost."
"There's no shame in that, sir," said Vice Prime Minister William, handing back the paper. "You were up against a most formidable opponent. Er, did you come up with anything else?"
"Just the general goal," said Mr. President. "What we want is to attract intelligent, skilled people who will contribute to our economy, right? And at the same time, we should welcome those seeking a better life or political asylum."
"Makes sense," said Vice Prime Minister William. "So, what we need is a complex mess of red tape that will take them years to navigate before they can legally enter."
Mr. President blinked and scratched his head. "Er - forgive my ignorance, old buddy, but I kind of feel like that would be a bit counter-intuitive. Wouldn't it scare them off?"
"Ah, no forgiveness necessary, sir," said Vice Prime Minister William, "because it would indeed seem that way, without the next bit. Here's the next bit - we just ignore the red tape and let anyone in anyway."
Mr. President scratched his head again, mulled this over, and then smiled. "That kind of brilliant thinking, my friend, is why I keep you around," he said.
"But here's the real kicker, sir," said Vice Prime Minister William, leaning forward with anticipation. "Are you ready for this? To make absolutely sure they come, we offer them all the same benefits as legal citizens, and even more, but don't make them pay taxes."
Mr. President's jaw dropped. "I take my hat off to you," he said, "or at least I would if I was wearing a hat. But we'd better keep this on the down low. You're supposed to be a useless figurehead."
"I know, sir. I'll try to break the habit." Vice Prime Minister William gestured at the sheet of paper still on the desk. "Might I have the privilege of testing my Tic-tac-toe prowess against yours, sir?"
"In a minute," said Mr. President, raising his pencil. "I'm doing best two out of three, and you can play the winner."
***
"Good morning, Citizen Bob," said Postman Pete. "Here's your welfare check."
"Good morning, Postman Pete," said Citizen Bob. "Send it back, as usual. Thanks."
"Sure thing. Oh, by the way, you've got a new neighbor. Did you know that?"
"I didn't! Who?"
"Right next door. He subscribes to Cosmopolitan, but other than that he seems like a cool guy."
"I shall have to introduce myself and bring him a house-warming present. Thanks, Postman Pete. Have a nice day."
"Take care, Citizen Bob."
Citizen Bob went back into his house and made a cake. He tried to write in icing "Welcome to the FDR! I'm so glad to have you as part of our big happy family, and hope you don't hesitate to ask if you need anything!", but squirting the icing wasn't as easy as painting, and it ended up just being a neat squiggle design. Oh well. It was more abstract and artistic this way.
Then he went over and rang the doorbell.
"Hiya," said the man who came to the door. He had a stubbly face and a bit of a paunch hanging out of his wifebeater, but other than that he seemed sophisticated and charming. "Beer?" he asked, offering his open bottle of Jack Daniels.
"No thanks," said Citizen Bob. "I only drink when I'm depressed."
"Suit yourself. You've got cake? Come on in."
Citizen Bob entered the living room and gasped. In addition to the large television hanging on the wall, it was full of tasteful well-crafted furniture, tasteful paintings and sculptures, and not so tasteful but nonetheless artistic Tiffany lamps. He couldn't even imagine how much the contents of the room must have cost. "Wow," he said in spite of himself.
"Just set it on the counter," said Charlie, leading him into the kitchen. There, beside a nice stove, refrigerator and dishwasher, was a well-crafted hutch filled with fine china dishes.
Citizen Bob set the cake on the counter as directed, and looked around in wonderment. "Nice house," he said.
"Thanks," said Charlie. "My welfare checks are bigger than I expected, but I'm not complaining."
"So," said Citizen Bob, "this is a pretty small island. Did you just move here from somewhere else?"
"Yeah, just left the United States. I couldn't stand it there any longer. Those blasted Republicans are ruining everything with their racism and their sexism and their demands for a balanced budget. So when I heard about this place, I came running for political asylum."
"You've come to the right place," said Citizen Bob proudly.
"Yeah, well, I've got a few words to say to your leader about getting in," said Charlie with a disgruntled grunt. "It was a real pain in the patookus dealing with all that red tape. But I was so eager to contribute to your economy that I decided to skip it all."
"So, you're an illegal alien?"
Charlie dropped his beer in surprise and it shattered on the floor. "Look, jerk, if you're going to be racist too you can just get out of my nice house this instant."
"Sorry sorry sorry," said Citizen Bob, slapping himself for being such an idiot. "I meant 'undocumented worker'."
"And don't you forget it," said Charlie, glaring at him. "The key word being 'worker', by the way. Come see what I've got going in the basement. That is, unless you're going to be racist again."
"No, I promise. I don't know what came over me."
"Right."
They walked down into the basement, which was really more of a wine cellar, with so many fine vintage wines that Citizen Bob had to wonder why Charlie had bothered with the Jack Daniels. In one corner there was a small table littered with gadgets and gizmos and other doohickeys.
"This is my work bench," Charlie explained. "I spend most of my time down here, which is why I'm not fully dressed. I'm so grateful to be in this country and for all the great free things it's given me that I can't wait to repay it by making valuable contributions."
"I see," said Citizen Bob, silently embarrassed to admit that to him it looked like a pile of junk.
"I'm the next Thomas Edison," said Charlie, picking up one boxy device. "This here will power any vehicle indefinitely with zero pollution." He picked up another. "This one will solve world hunger." He picked up another that looked like an ordinary pair of sunglasses. "This one will make any woman look like Megan Fox."
"Ooh!" said Citizen Bob, reaching for his wallet. "How much?"
"This is only the prototype," said Charlie, putting it back on the table. "It won't go on sale until tomorrow."
"Awww."
[To be finished someday]
Next: Oh, Shoot!
"Nothing much," said the Prime Minister, Mr. President, with a yawn. "I'm just trying to work out a comprehensive immigration policy for the FDR. Your eyebrows look much better now, by the way."
"Thank you," said Vice Prime Minister William, settling into his chair. "Can I see what you've got so far?"
"Sure." Mr. President slid a sheet of paper across the desk towards him.
Vice Prime Minister William looked at it. "Genius, sir, genius," he said. "Let's call the mainland and let them in on this. It's better than anything the Democrats or the Republicans have come up with."
"Oh, that's not the plan," said Mr. President, "that's just a Tic-tac-toe game I played against myself while I was brainstorming." He sighed. "I lost."
"There's no shame in that, sir," said Vice Prime Minister William, handing back the paper. "You were up against a most formidable opponent. Er, did you come up with anything else?"
"Just the general goal," said Mr. President. "What we want is to attract intelligent, skilled people who will contribute to our economy, right? And at the same time, we should welcome those seeking a better life or political asylum."
"Makes sense," said Vice Prime Minister William. "So, what we need is a complex mess of red tape that will take them years to navigate before they can legally enter."
Mr. President blinked and scratched his head. "Er - forgive my ignorance, old buddy, but I kind of feel like that would be a bit counter-intuitive. Wouldn't it scare them off?"
"Ah, no forgiveness necessary, sir," said Vice Prime Minister William, "because it would indeed seem that way, without the next bit. Here's the next bit - we just ignore the red tape and let anyone in anyway."
Mr. President scratched his head again, mulled this over, and then smiled. "That kind of brilliant thinking, my friend, is why I keep you around," he said.
"But here's the real kicker, sir," said Vice Prime Minister William, leaning forward with anticipation. "Are you ready for this? To make absolutely sure they come, we offer them all the same benefits as legal citizens, and even more, but don't make them pay taxes."
Mr. President's jaw dropped. "I take my hat off to you," he said, "or at least I would if I was wearing a hat. But we'd better keep this on the down low. You're supposed to be a useless figurehead."
"I know, sir. I'll try to break the habit." Vice Prime Minister William gestured at the sheet of paper still on the desk. "Might I have the privilege of testing my Tic-tac-toe prowess against yours, sir?"
"In a minute," said Mr. President, raising his pencil. "I'm doing best two out of three, and you can play the winner."
***
"Good morning, Citizen Bob," said Postman Pete. "Here's your welfare check."
"Good morning, Postman Pete," said Citizen Bob. "Send it back, as usual. Thanks."
"Sure thing. Oh, by the way, you've got a new neighbor. Did you know that?"
"I didn't! Who?"
"Right next door. He subscribes to Cosmopolitan, but other than that he seems like a cool guy."
"I shall have to introduce myself and bring him a house-warming present. Thanks, Postman Pete. Have a nice day."
"Take care, Citizen Bob."
Citizen Bob went back into his house and made a cake. He tried to write in icing "Welcome to the FDR! I'm so glad to have you as part of our big happy family, and hope you don't hesitate to ask if you need anything!", but squirting the icing wasn't as easy as painting, and it ended up just being a neat squiggle design. Oh well. It was more abstract and artistic this way.
Then he went over and rang the doorbell.
"Hiya," said the man who came to the door. He had a stubbly face and a bit of a paunch hanging out of his wifebeater, but other than that he seemed sophisticated and charming. "Beer?" he asked, offering his open bottle of Jack Daniels.
"No thanks," said Citizen Bob. "I only drink when I'm depressed."
"Suit yourself. You've got cake? Come on in."
Citizen Bob entered the living room and gasped. In addition to the large television hanging on the wall, it was full of tasteful well-crafted furniture, tasteful paintings and sculptures, and not so tasteful but nonetheless artistic Tiffany lamps. He couldn't even imagine how much the contents of the room must have cost. "Wow," he said in spite of himself.
"Just set it on the counter," said Charlie, leading him into the kitchen. There, beside a nice stove, refrigerator and dishwasher, was a well-crafted hutch filled with fine china dishes.
Citizen Bob set the cake on the counter as directed, and looked around in wonderment. "Nice house," he said.
"Thanks," said Charlie. "My welfare checks are bigger than I expected, but I'm not complaining."
"So," said Citizen Bob, "this is a pretty small island. Did you just move here from somewhere else?"
"Yeah, just left the United States. I couldn't stand it there any longer. Those blasted Republicans are ruining everything with their racism and their sexism and their demands for a balanced budget. So when I heard about this place, I came running for political asylum."
"You've come to the right place," said Citizen Bob proudly.
"Yeah, well, I've got a few words to say to your leader about getting in," said Charlie with a disgruntled grunt. "It was a real pain in the patookus dealing with all that red tape. But I was so eager to contribute to your economy that I decided to skip it all."
"So, you're an illegal alien?"
Charlie dropped his beer in surprise and it shattered on the floor. "Look, jerk, if you're going to be racist too you can just get out of my nice house this instant."
"Sorry sorry sorry," said Citizen Bob, slapping himself for being such an idiot. "I meant 'undocumented worker'."
"And don't you forget it," said Charlie, glaring at him. "The key word being 'worker', by the way. Come see what I've got going in the basement. That is, unless you're going to be racist again."
"No, I promise. I don't know what came over me."
"Right."
They walked down into the basement, which was really more of a wine cellar, with so many fine vintage wines that Citizen Bob had to wonder why Charlie had bothered with the Jack Daniels. In one corner there was a small table littered with gadgets and gizmos and other doohickeys.
"This is my work bench," Charlie explained. "I spend most of my time down here, which is why I'm not fully dressed. I'm so grateful to be in this country and for all the great free things it's given me that I can't wait to repay it by making valuable contributions."
"I see," said Citizen Bob, silently embarrassed to admit that to him it looked like a pile of junk.
"I'm the next Thomas Edison," said Charlie, picking up one boxy device. "This here will power any vehicle indefinitely with zero pollution." He picked up another. "This one will solve world hunger." He picked up another that looked like an ordinary pair of sunglasses. "This one will make any woman look like Megan Fox."
"Ooh!" said Citizen Bob, reaching for his wallet. "How much?"
"This is only the prototype," said Charlie, putting it back on the table. "It won't go on sale until tomorrow."
"Awww."
[To be finished someday]
Next: Oh, Shoot!
