In Praise of Deportation or Mykel's Post MRR Column no 45

Mykel's

Post MRR Column no 45

In Praise of Deportation

by Mykel Board

[NOTE: My columns got switched. What should have been this month’s column (scheduled for the end of April for May reading) was released last month. This column should have been published at the end of March for April reading. Sorry for the mix-up.]

Ah April, whose showers bring May flowers. A month of renewal, where things resurrect. Jesus rises from the grave. Matzoh rises from the Seder plate. Saplings turn into little trees. Chocolate turns into little rabbits. It’s the beginning of the new.

But April is also the time of endings. The cold weather ends. Sunshine ends as the rain begins. The fiscal year ends as millions of Americans file their income tax forms. Besides ending, April also means leaving… Winter leaves us. Animals leave their homes of hibernation. Seems like half of the Netflix programs will be leaving in April. So leaving is a fitting topic. And that's what I want to talk about this month: DEPORTATION.

Let’s make this clear. I’m the grandson of illegal immigrants. I LOVE immigrants. When I hear about “an influx of new immigrants,” I think Oh yeah! More restaurants! I’m there. I love the sounds of new languages jammering helter-skelter in the streets… in the subways… ALL of my best friends are immigrants..

BUT!

And here’s the big BUT… I love big butts... immigration and deportation are not the same. I know, you think of them as a pair. In and out. Up and down. Immigration and deportation. The old coin that has two sides often flipped on immigration and deportation. You're wrong. They are not the same.

I used to be as against deportation as I was pro-immigration. My thoughts have changed. Here’s what happened.

FLASH TO MY BEDROOM: I sit naked in front of the computer. It's 5AM. My body-- as it often does-- has awakened me with one urge or another. Piss taken, it's time to relieve myself of that special morning stiffness. But wait! My eyes burn... itch... snot fills my sinuses... sneezes: One... two...three... four... in a row... like a chain punch in kung fu. Allergy... messing up my jerk off. I rub my eyes. I rub my nose. Whoa what's that? A hair... a tiny millimeter of a hair... on the outside of my nose. NOBODY has hair on the OUTSIDE of their nose... what the fuck is that?

I try to pluck it out with my fingers... pressing it between my thumbnail and the skin of my forefinger. .. I can't get it. I try again. Shit... it's still there... I don't believe this. I fetch the tweezers... lying next to the computer... used... until now... for removing paper jammed in the printer. I go to the bathroom and lean close to the mirror. There it is... right at the tip of my nose... a hair... no bigger than a bedbug.. growing from the outside of my nose... a whisker... completely in the wrong place.

I put the sharp edge of the tweezers under the offending hair. Carefully, I clamp down... I've got it! I give a tug. A delightful burst of pain... and the offending hair is removed... deported directly to the waste basket.

FLASH TO BOWERY ELECTRIC: Being neither a Kate Bush nor a Brian Eno fan, I’m at a Kate Bush/Brian Eno tribute band festival. Why isn’t important. What is important is to tell you about the layout of the place. In the back is a mezzanine with a bar and merch corner. If you stand at the front of the raised part, you have a good view of the bands… if nobody tall stands in front of you.

The lower section is a bit like CBGBs for the hardcore shows. No tables, just a big space in front of the stage. I (all five feet three inches of me) stand downstairs on top of the only bench… along one of the walls.

I can see fine… for the first few songs. Then this oaf… a giant… if I were standing on the floor I could bite his nipple without bending my knees… I wish I had the chance… This oaf, with a beer... probably a Bud Light… pushes his way through the crowd and stands right in front of the stage.

“Tall people in back!” I yell.

He pretends he doesn’t hear. What the fuck? I stand right behind him... breathe hard on his OBEY t-shirt... press the toes of my army boots against his heels.

He turns around... looks down at me.

“You want something little man?” he says.

“I want you to die... a painful-but-quick death,” I reply.

He smiles and turns back to the stage. Then it occurs to me. Why not deport him? Him and all tall people. Tall people use up natural resources. They take oxygen before it can reach the ground. They pollute the air with their carbon dioxide... global warming the rest of us... those of us who are closer to the earth. Get rid of 'em. Now.

Who cares when or how they came into the country? They're bullies and egotists... randomly using their height privilege... their sense of entitlement... their long reach to grab things off the shelves before the rest of us can get to them. Send 'em to Holland. There're plenty of tall people there. Maybe the Zulus will welcome them... they seem to be a height-friendly people. I don't care. Off with them, I say. America will be a better place if we get rid of tall people. Where to, is not important.

FLASH TO THE WHEELTAPPER BAR: It's in midtown... a faux Irish bar with real Irish waitresses. A quiet place... no TVs... a place where you can have a beer or three... unfettered. There's only a murmur of voices from the other tables. I sit with three friends, two Japanese and one Cuban-American. We talk sex and beer.

“I donno,” says Yoshi, one of the Japanese guys in our group. “Beer and sex don't always mix. One gets in the way of the other.”

“It's like I always say,” I say like always. “It's blowing your nose and wiping your ass with the same piece of toilet paper. There's nothing wrong with it... provided you do it in the right order.”

“Eeeeeehahahahah! Oooooh!” An inhuman scream comes from someplace to the left. I look over at a table on the other side of the bar.

“And then he asked me out? He's a fisherman and he asked me out?” she's talking at the top of her lungs. Screaming... a voice precisely tuned to the pitch of maximum irritation. There's one in every bar.... one girl with THAT VOICE... who can spoil the best night out. 

“I bet she's from Long Island,” says Richard, the Cuban American.

“That's geographyism!” I answer.

“I bet she's a Jap,” whispers Richard... then he looks at Yoshi. “Sorry,” he says, “a different kind of Jap.”

But race, birthplace, or age have nothing to do with it. It is some sort of biology... or maybe an accident of having a lot of brothers. But if you're honest you know it. Every bar, every night, has a girl with that voice. What is to be done?

Of course, DEPORTATION!!! Get rid of them. Send in D.I.C.E. (Department In Charge of Expulsion). Let 'em raid every bar. Find THE GIRL WITH THAT VOICE in each one. Out! Dump 'em on Mexico or Canada... anywhere... but get 'em out NOW!! Pack 'em up and ship 'em out!

FLASH TO DELAWARE: In an effort to be more ecumenical, the Delaware state legislature allows a mosque member to give the invocation. The guy removes all Allah references from the text before he gives it. Still, one of the legislators walks out.

“How could I stay?” he asks. “The Quran tells people they should kill Americans.”

The Quran was written in 600 AD... about a millennium before there was an America. Only a total moron could say that a book he's never read (authorized Qurans are only printed in Arabic), predicted the existence of a country a century later... and then told the readers to kill the people of that country. Of course, the legislator is white.

Then I start thinking about white people. Ya know, most people don't like to admit their racism, but if you look at history, you gotta see it. Who dropped the atom bomb? White people! Who built concentration camps? White people! Who made selfishness into a philosophy (called Capitalism)? White people! Who runs Chase, Citibank, and Pfizer Pharmaceuticals? White people! Who are the presidents of Starbucks, Spirit Airlines, and Walmart? White people! White people! White people! If there is a race with NO redeeming qualities... it's WHITE PEOPLE.

America must have been a great place to live (under a different name)... before there were white people. I'm sure the Indians had their skirmishes, but there was nothing to compare to the massive trail of tears... or the Civil War... or WWI or WWII.... Yeah, I know the Japanese were involved... but it was mainly a war of WHITE PEOPLE.

The answer? DEPORTATION! Get rid of them. I don't know who's anxious for an influx of savage white dolts, but there must be someplace that will take them. Maybe England... they seem to be begging for white people. Why not give them what they ask for?

Who else? Jocks! People who stand on the walk side of the escalator! Rude clerks at fast food places! Train station cellphone talkers! The list goes on. Get them out! Deport them like an errant nose hair!

Ah, what a great place this will be when deportation is finally able to work its magic. What a beautiful place, when there's only me.

-end-

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me by email at god@mykelboard.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available by joining the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group readmboard-subscribe@yahoogroups.com]

-->Gender inequality Dept: The U.K. is trying its first case of Female Genital Mutilation. You can read reports about it all over the internet. I wonder how long before a US doctor is tried for the same crime. Of course, MALE genital mutilation continues on a daily basis in the US. No one cares...Business as usual... of course.

-->Gender inequality pt. 2 Dept: Anti-fascist^® attacks on peaceful protestors or speech-makers continue. In Australia, a politician was punched in the face on national TV because anti-fas disagreed with him. In Berkeley, during a protest which included attacks on wheelchair bound veterans and old people... A woman throwing bottles at “Nazis”(aka anybody she disagrees with)was punched by someone trying to stop her. Instant outrage? (Not at the bottle thrower, of course.) Why? He hit a woman!
Sounds like 1950s Christian morality... but if it fits, the anti-fas wear it. Sorry folks, but you gotta expect the other side will eventually fight back. That eventually is now.

--> Take that and shove it dept: The Daily Dot reports that an expensive “personal vibrator” is equipped with an internet camera so that the vibratees can record and watch the action on their personal devices. Of course, hackers found the device easily hackable, and now, somewhere, there is a site for the rest of us to watch. Oh, the default password for the vibrator is 88888888. Though I don't know why you'd need that.

-->Keeping the pressure on: I want to thank reader George Metesky for suggesting a Bring Back Mykel concerted effort directed at Maximum Rock'n'Roll. He forwarded me an answer to a letter MRR printed where the editors excuse my firing not as censorship for content, but because I “refuse to answer letters in the letters section.”

That's a lie.

In any case, please send comments to mrr@maximumrocknroll.com with the subject line: BRING BACK MYKEL. Let me know how they answer.

MRR also has a facebook page, (as does as Mariam Bastida, the girl who fired me). You might want to let them know how you feel.

-end-

If you're interested in my travel writing (not updated recently) check out http://mykelsdiary.blogspot.com/

You can read some of my classics as far back as the 70s at: http://mykelsoldies.blogspot.com/

I also have some random postings including several on how rich people spend their money. Those are at: http:/mykelsclippings.blogspot.com

See you in hell!