There are times when my stoner brain holds two disparate problems in its whorls and suddenly, like a bolt of lightning turning a mighty oak into a pile of smoldering kindling, a single solution to both problems appears.
So it was last night as I was waiting to be booked for some trivial offense I have long since forgotten. For some reason, both illegal immigration and family values had embedded themselves in my head.
First, there was the problem of what to do about family values. The problem is that we want to strengthen the family even as we geld it. We want a strong family, but not a politically active family. What we are looking for is strength in apathy.
Then there are the twelve million illegals that have poured over our borders, no matter how tall our walls or sophisticated our electronic detection devices. The dilemma is that we don’t want them, but we need their cheap labor to pick our produce.
Then it hit me! As we leach the illegals out of America, we fill the void with migrant family workers of Euromerican descent. Why should millions of pounds of pears and other fruits rot because of a labor shortage when we have a middle class that is tumbling down the economic ladder?
Think about it! What is the best way to build family solidarity? In a word, it’s labor! The family that slaves together stays together. Nothing encourages family closeness like dawn-to-dusk backbreaking labor in the fields before returning to a shack so rustic it is one with nature.
We must shed the 50s image of the well-coiffured family gathered around their Emerson television set. The family of the future is hard of muscle and calloused of hand. Childcare is no longer an issue because the whole family labors together. You solve the problem of childhood obesity because the little buggers will be thin as rails, living as they do on their daily bowl of gruel.
Because it takes a whole family to scrape together a sustenance living, you would effectively put an end to divorce. You can also kiss goodbye to same-sex marriage. The family’s survival will depend on the woman pushing out as many babies as possible. The more hands there are, the more crates of tomatoes can be picked.
George, I see a return to the days of pastoral glory when poets immortalized the peasant starving in his hut. What family in their right mind would refuse a life of hard labor and pastoral beauty?