Author Richard Cahill's Website--Living By Our Motto:"There Are No Stupid Questions, Just Stupid People Asking Questions Everybody else already knows the answer to."

Ron DeSantis has promised to invade Mexico “on Day One” of his still putative Administration. The Tangerine Drama Queen has already threatened military action to that friendly, warm, tequila-producing neighbor of ours to the south. The rest of the GOP field is yittering about it as well.
 
We are not talking about marching to Tijuana and then driving through Rosarito all the way to Cabo, drinking margaritas all the way. I’ve done that personally, but not in the company of a hundred thousand heavily armed soldiers.
 
No, both Meatball Ron and Defendant Don are talking about Special Ops missions to surgically take out Mexico’s cartel kingpins, who are pumping the USA full of fentanyl, which is killing US citizens.
 
Naturally, Mexico is averse to this theoretical occupation. Why, you ask? Shouldn’t they be grateful the US is putting its criminal warlords out of business, because they don’t seem to be able to do it?
 
Consider an alternative scenario. Mexicans are getting fatter, and that is killing some of them. Some people blame that on American fast food, franchises for which are spreading throughout that sunny land. More rational minds note that Mexicans could easily get fat without the help of KFC and Pizza Hut, because their own food is delicious, but a future Mexican President decides that American junk food is to blame for the deaths of Mexican citizens, and launches surgical strikes using Mexican Marines on McDonald’s headquarters in Chicago, Wendy’s in Dublin, Ohio and, for good measure, the castle of the Burger King in Miami, Florida, even though their fries suck.
 
Would the US respond by saying, “Thank God! All those Double Quarter Pounders and Whoppers were giving us heart attacks, too. Praise the Mexican Marines! Too bad they left so fast in those black helicopters instead of sticking around to have sex with our daughters!”
 
Um, NO. I imagine the US would respond by laying waste to the Mexican land, from Mexicali to Cancun, killing thousands in the process. Mexico is not going to be able to return that favor, but they are going to be miserably unhappy about it.
 
Let’s face it, people love to suck down cheeseburgers and get high, although not necessarily in that order, and no amount of covert or overt military action is going to change that.
 
Mexico is our #1 trading partner. It’s true China sends us all the cheap shit in Walmart that breaks as soon as you try and use it, but that doesn’t make them number one. Every tomato in every American supermarket in January was grown in Mexico. Every bottle of Modelo was brewed there. I could go on, but mostly I oppose military action in Mexico because it is my favorite place para comer, beber y pescar.*
 
Most Republicans are afraid to go to Mexico. This is another of the pleasant wonders of this beautiful country. Republicans think that Mexicans hate us, and are liable to shoot us on sight. This is the opposite of the truth. Mexicans are the most hospitable people on earth, and you are much more likely to be shot at an American mall than on a Mexican street.
 
That would change if the Meatball or the Don started sending Navy Seals into the Mexican jungle. I would have to live out my days entirely north of the border, deprived of cervezas and pangas, misty-eyed over the loss of my favorite vacationland.
 
And it could happen. Besides using military force against our neighbor because Americans won’t give up drugs, Republicans could point out that the Mexican Supreme Court just legalized abortion.
 
That’s another reason to invade. Just ask Marjorie Taylor Greene.

*Eat, drink and fish.

A city councilman in Chula Vista, California, which borders my home town of San Diego, has filed a complaint with that city’s Human Resources department, alleging that Chula Vista’s mayor, Mary Casillas Salas, was being racially discriminatory when she said, “John, you’re such a gringo,” when the Caucasian councilman said the food at the Mexican restaurant where both were dining was too spicy for his tastes.
 
Used to be in this grand country of ours, if a man had a case of dwarf testicles, he concealed it. Those days are long past on the national stage, of course, with professional small-nutters like Charlie Kirk making a good living by complaining that the Super Bowl halftime show was “sexual anarchy,” even though there was no sex and only Mary J Blige showed any skin. Tucker Carlson proudly displays the pearls in his pubic fuzz every time he complains about AOC’s being too sexy to be in politics.
 
Yes, I said pearls. They’re white and they’re small. Still tinier testes are owned by the Former Caucasian-in-Chief, who whines about “racism” every time he gets served a court order. The entire Republican Congress, with few exceptions, are nutless wonders entirely, having sacrificed their manhoods on the altar of the Orange Lie-Boy.
 
It is still a shame that this trend has percolated all the way out here to San Diego. Generally, we San Diegans embrace our gringo natures. We live among our Mexican neighbors in peace, gratefully accepting their services as landscapers, plumbers, roofers and mayors. We eat at taco shops that serve burritos the size of one of Dwayne Johnson’s forearms and hot sauce that could burn the paint off of the Space X capsule. We drink Modelo Negras and fishbowl-size margaritas. We laugh at the tourists who try to pronounce our street names.
 
All of us have underestimated a hot sauce at one time or another, and scooped our chip too deep in it. The proper thing to do when this happens is to gag, sneeze, weep, and have your face turn a sunset shade of red, while all your dining companions laugh at you. To be called a gringo at that point is the least of your worries.
 
But the politician in question, John McCann, shamed us all and himself and incidentally proved that his cajones were the size of hummingbird huevos, by filing his complaint. The complaint was dismissed some months later when he was advised, in proper legal form, to grow a pair.
 
I urge him to accept multiculturalism. I have. In fact, in my refrigerator, I keep a prime example of the blending of white and Hispanic food values. It’s a bottle of chipotle mayonnaise. Goes great on my tacos de pescado gringo viejo,* for which I am modestly famous.
 
Squirt some on your tuna salad sandwich, McCann. It’ll warm up those frozen peas in your tightie-whities.
 
*Old white guy fish tacos.

With paleolithic congressman Steve King sidelined from any committee seats in the next Congress for wondering out loud when “white supremacy” became a bad word, some of you may wonder when white supremacy became a concept at all.
 
The answer is, surprisingly, not so long ago. Civilization was invented by the Chinese, the Egyptians, the Sumerians, etc., none of whom were white. All of these early civilizations probably thought they were cooler and more badass than anybody else, like all arbitrary collections of humans usually do, from tribes to neighborhoods to military units to Philadelphia Eagles fans, and they would have laughed at the idea that they were inferior to whites, who at the time were living in smelly lean-tos in Europe, having spear fights with each other and occasionally providing nourishment for wolves and bears.
 
The Greeks became the first white people to take a stab at civilization. They invented science, drama, philosophy and long, boring epic poems. They took sculpture to new heights, although they apparently thought only men with small penises were worthy models for their statues, or else those guys were forced to model only on really cold days. Finally, they picked up a rookie warrior from the minor leagues of Macedonia to spread their civilization all over the world. There is no evidence that Alexander the Great thought much about white supremacy, though. Anyone with a yearning for a career in the rape-and-plunder field was welcome to join his forces.
 
It fell to the Romans to be the next hot white thing, and they did the job proud, ruling their patch of the world for 800 years by wearing skirts, helmets  with toilet brushes on top and using their short swords to chop up anybody who laughed at their wardrobes. They chopped up the white people of Gaul and the swarthy folks of Carthage equally, however, so playing the race card to a Roman legion did not result in you not getting slaughtered, or even being left in more generous bits.
 
The Roman Empire finally fell, and the ancestors of today’s white supremacists celebrated by becoming peasants under the yoke of the Catholic Church, and got their fun from burning heretics and having plagues. They eventually got into religious warfare, which had been invented by the Jews and perfected by the Muslims, but which white people went at with great enthusiasm. This caused them to develop better weapons than anybody else. When they got tired of fighting people equally well-armed, they said to themselves, “Hey—let’s try out some of these muskets and galleons on those people that Chris Columbus just discovered.” They went to the Americas and found that cannons and steel swords worked great against spears and stone axes. Then they discovered that you could easily convert the locals to Christianity at gunpoint and then they would build cathedrals for you. The first inklings of white supremacy were stirred.
 
In no country was the concept of white supremacy received more enthusiastically than in a boggy island in the North Atlantic called Britain. This nation of pale alcoholics went off to conquer the world and, between gin breaks, succeeded at most of it, including many parts of it that had been pre-conquered by other white people. They only had trouble with a breakaway bit in North America that eventually turned itself from a hodgepodge of querulous states to the greatest nation on Earth. White supremacists were happy to go along for the ride.

One of their major achievements was to raise the bar for whitehood extremely high—at one point in the US, such obviously melanin-deprived people as the Irish and the Poles were written off as non-white. Likewise, those Greeks and the descendants of the Romans were derided as dark and inferior. Popular feelings ran high against non-Anglos, and campaigns were organized to keep them out of the country. These didn’t succeed, as the growing nation needed these people to do its manual labor and later on, fight in World Wars.
 
Today, white supremacy is far more sophisticated and thoughtful in the US. Far from being looked-down upon, Irish-Americans and Polish-Americans are now freely afforded the opportunity to become white supremacists themselves. In this ongoing spirit of tolerance, the Greeks and the Italians have been let back into the white club, too, especially when Steve King speaks fondly about western civilization, which they started and which King regularly claims is endangered by Mexicans.
 
Funny thing is, though, without western civilization, we wouldn’t have Mexicans at all.

Looks like we’ll make it out of Mexico before Trump closes the “Boarder.” Maybe not-- we still have two days to go, but our only source of news here—the shipboard New York Times—tells us that right now Agent Orange is dropping that threat to contemplate diverting funds away from hurricane victims to build his Wall, figuring that while those hurricane survivors may not like sleeping in tents in the dirt, at least they won’t have to worry about Guatemalans sleeping in the tent next to them. 

There’s a considerable contingent of our fellow passengers who don’t leave the ship in our Mexican port calls, or if they do, don’t go any further than the gated disembarkation area, where the thoughtful natives have set up souvenir shops and temporary cantinas, so the nervous may set foot on Mexican soil that is already conveniently walled off.

We venture beyond, of course, because stuff gets even cheaper past the security portal, where you can drink, eat and bargain in Spanglish. Yesterday we took a cab out to Chico’s Paradise, a riverside resort about thirty miles outside of Puerto Vallarta, where we could zip-line in the company of monkeys and parrots, and get a platter of seafood the size of an off-road tire for the equivalent of 45 bucks.

The zip-lines and the seafood were there, but the waiter said they only had one monkey left.

“And Thursday is his day off?” we suggested helpfully. The waiter was not amused.

One fellow passenger wore the same shirt every day, a red, white and blue number emblazoned heavily with American flags and eagles, which we took to mean he was in contempt of those of us who sauntered ashore to keep the company of mariachis and margaritas, and chose instead, to express his disdain for our host country by patriotically staying on the deck of a ship registered in the Netherlands.

That didn't keep him from being in contact with actual Mexicans--a pair of local customs officials were spotted at the buffet in P.V. Nothing really happened as a result of their visit--they might have been there just to nosh on some lox--but it proved the Mexican government was on the job.

People do get killed in Mexico, of course, but they are mostly cartel members and soldiers killing each other. The US finances both sides of the drug war, by being a nation that likes to use drugs and having a government that wishes they would stop. The drug users pay for the cartels’ weapons and the US government pays for the military's, and then we bitch about the results. If you, as an ordinary citizen, want to participate, you need to get caught in a cross-fire, which is difficult, as the firefights are not generally conducted in tourist hot spots. If you are really determined to get hit by a stray bullet, you are far better off going to Chicago.

Likewise, if you want to be killed because you picked the wrong disco, movie theater or elementary school to be in, stay in the US. Mexicans are not permitted to own guns unless they are for legitimate hunting purposes. We are sure they have people here like we do at home, that think that everybody at a particular concert or in a certain church needs to die, but Mexican mad killers lack the means to bring their dreams to life. A deficit of personal guns and ammo also means they seldom have the opportunity to accidentally shoot themselves or each other. If you need to have that kind of fun, stay in the US.

Only one shopkeeper, who learned his English in Fresno, wanted to talk politics. He was very voluble, and would have been content to lecture us for hours, but we had cervezas to drink, and detached ourselves from his company before he was done. We grasped his central point, though. It was that no matter how brown and disgusting and inferior we want to regard a group of people, it is almost impossible to get them to feel that way about themselves.

We have to admit, he might be right.

​Among the numerous threats Trump spewed in the waning days of 2018 was his warning that he will close the entire US-Mexico border, (or Boarder, as he refers to it) if he doesn’t get his beloved Wall.
 
We haven’t heard much about that in a week or so, as cooler heads have been telling the Hothead-in Chief that zipping up the whole border would be an economic disaster that would crash the market, bankrupt numerous import-export businesses and leave the nation’s salad bars complete bereft of tomatoes until around July.
 
Which is not to say that Trump won’t pull a Syria, ignore everyone’s advice, and do it anyway. This bothers my Significant Other and I, because we are setting sail today on a cruise to Mexico and, after a week of sunny skies and carefree maximizing of our unlimited beverage package, we need to get back into the country.
 
“Quit worrying,” I hear you saying. “Trump isn’t going to keep cruise ships full of elderly Republicans docked behind barbed wire at cruise terminals, with wary Border Patrol agents making sure they don’t disembark,” to which I reply, “He may not want to, but carefully thinking things out beforehand is not the way this Administration rolls. Witness the Muslim ban, in which people in Iraq who worked for our side  weren’t allowed into the USA.”
 
So, I see a distinct possibility that we may sail home to a barricaded dock, at least until a judge rules in our favor. I see all of us passengers wheeling on our chairs, leaning on our walkers, tottering on our replaced knees and hips, staring mistily at the shores of freedom through our glaucoma-ed eyes and shouting out our battle cry:
 
“HEY! WE HAVE DOCTORS’ APPOINTMENTS!”
 
Attempting to forcibly overcome the barriers would be foolhardy. It’s going to a be a slow charge, for one. Egging the authorities into tear-gassing us would be near insanity. Fortunately, the decks of cruise ships are not nearly as well-supplied with rocks to throw as the streets of Tijuana. May of us will be carrying souvenirs, though, and when those customs agents start getting hit with volleys of pinatas, rainsticks, and paperweights with scorpions embedded in them, they may decide they have no choice but to use force to keep us aboard.
 
Some of us may decide to have heart attacks or strokes in response, letting heartless Homeland Security hottie Kirstjen Nielsen host another press conference where she blames our deaths on ourselves, for leaving the country in the first place, and also on our cholesterol consumption at the ship’s buffet.
 
And on the Democrats, too. For sure.
 
Me, I’m retaining a lawyer before we go.

Been spending some time this weekend perusing the Go Fund Me page for the border wall with Mexico, which aims to raise one billion dollars to fulfill Trump’s dream of a full stop barrier between ourselves and Mexico.
 
The page is sponsored/run by Brian Kolfage, a triple amputee veteran of the second Iraqi war, a man who has sacrificed much for this country, and who is an ardent admirer of someone who has sacrificed nothing for anybody, ever, our President, who appears thumbs up at the top of the page, superimposed on a picture of the Wall as it currently exists in my home town of San Diego. We’ve had a wall on the southern border of our city ever since I first moved here, in 1980, but for sure Trump has never visited it, hence the need for photoshopping.
 
A running list of recent contributors to the Wall Fund runs alongside the faked-up picture of Trump. People give $5, $10 or $20 mostly, and their names appear next to the amount of their donation. Most of the names are pretty ordinary white people names, although one $100 donor was named Abraham Rozensweig, despite the fact that our country once denied a lot of people with names like Rozensweig asylum, letting them get sent back to Europe to be put in concentration camps by Hitler.
 
But that was back when Jews weren’t white people. Now that they are, even though there are prominent Trump supporters with some reservations about that classification, there’s at least one named Rozensweig who’s ready to slam the golden door behind him, so to speak.
 
Kolfage, whose picture appears at the bottom of the page, along with his stunning blonde wife and two adorable towheaded children, says that he’s Go Funding the Wall to keep us safe from being murdered by illegal aliens and to keep their brown paws off his hot wife. Just kidding! He doesn’t say that about his wife. He just lets us think it--Why shouldn't someone so gorgeous, and also the mother of kids so adorable, be able to wear that sexy slit dress without worrying about being ogled by horny Hispanics? Build the Wall!
 
Not that many of us get murdered by illegal aliens anyway—it seems to be about three or four per year. I’m confident of that number because every time it happens, it gets splashed all over the media, whereas most of the 17,000 or so of us who get murdered by our fellow citizens every year expire much more anonymously. It’s pretty easy to see Kolfage railing against murderous Latinos someday, as he makes a speech at a shopping mall in the deep white suburbs while running for Congress, surrounded by his photogenic family. He'll be  campaigning on a platform of shutting the border and denying healthcare to people with pre-existing conditions, because the future of our country depends on both those things.

​Pretty sure that’s his long-term plan.

Not until after he’s raised a billion for the Wall, though, even though the Wall is supposed to cost 25 billion. A billion is only one-fifth of what Trump is willing to settle for to reopen the government, so it’s basically chump change, impenetrable-border-barrier-wise.
 
AND THE MEXICANS WERE SUPPOSED TO PAY FOR IT IN THE FIRST PLACE! Doesn’t anybody remember that? That whole negotiation was botched from the beginning. We shouldn’t have put the Mexicans’ backs up by demanding they pay for the Wall. Mexican politicians are hardly incorruptible. We should have bribed them to build the Wall themselves. If we had, it would already be standing, probably at a bargain basement rate. Of course, then the Mexicans would already know where all the good spots to tunnel underneath it were, and it might collapse in a heavy rain like the toll road to Ensenada did a few years back, but it would at least be there, and Trump could take full credit for it.
 
As it stands, basically zero pesos are going towards building the Wall. That changes now. Here are some pesos I fished out of the cup holder in my car, probably change from the last time I took that toll road, which has been rebuilt. I am willing to donate these funds toward the Wall, even though I am going to be in Mexico next week and could freely spend them there, because the Wall needs to be funded with at least a few symbolic pesos, for the sake of our national self-respect.
 
I’m clicking on the Donate button on Brian’s page right now. And finding they only take dollars!
 
Irony lurks everywhere, amigos.

Oregon Senator Jeff Merkley called Trump’s planned border wall a ‘4th Century strategy,’ while explaining why the Dems will never support it-News item.
 
Feisty blonde Homeland Security Secretary Kirstjen Nielsen immediately embraced Merkley's critique. “That’s what the wall has been missing,” she enthused. “A little dynamism. Sure, we want a big beautiful wall to symbolize what is good, white and monolingual about America, but, you know, it’s just going to sit there. True, if you use a little imagination you can see it as giving a gigantic middle finger to every country south of San Diego, but if we equip every Border Patrol officer on the top of it with a nice hot bucket of Dark Ages-style tar to pour on any stray caravans they might spot, it really increases the deterrent effect.”
 
When asked if Homeland had any more plans to use medieval fighting techniques to defend the border, Nielsen replied, “We’re still brainstorming over here, but some of the undersecretaries are excited about moats, especially out on Arizona, where there aren’t any natural water barriers. And those giant showers of arrows in any movie about knights always look cool, and would have a great deterrent effect on refugees. I mean, who wants a piercing dart from the sky to hit them right in the anchor baby?
 
“But what really gets us stoked from the medieval weapons catalogue are the catapults. I mean, America is the nation that put a man on the moon. Who says we can’t build some kind of catapult-rail gun combo that could hurl a giant rock all the way to Guatemala? Hit ‘em where they live, baby! And that way, people can’t criticize us for shooting people who hurl rocks with guns, because we’re just throwing rocks back at them. True, gigantic rocks that land with the force of a meteor, but that’s a lesson these refugees need to learn—don’t bring a slingshot to a catapult fight.”
 

Mexico will pre-empt Trump’s unbuilt wall by building one of its own, announced Mexican President Enrique Nieto in a press conference today.
 
“America is not sending us the right kind of people,” Nieto responded when questioned about the project. “Spring breakers that drink a bottle of tequila by nine in the morning and then huck chow all over Cozumel. Crusty old expats who can live here for twenty years without learning a word of Spanish. Honeymooners screwing on our white sand beaches. We want to keep all of them out.”
 
“The Mexican people are all in favor of this, particularly Mexicans who have to deal with Americans. They’re sick of gringos standing at reception desks pantomiming requests for coffee and towels. Mariachi bands are fed up with playing “La Bamba” at restaurant tables because that’s the only song in Spanish that most Americans know. 
 
“But don’t worry about the aesthetics of the wall. It will not be some ugly poured concrete thing with masses of barbed wire attached. We will make it out of our famous Mexican tile, the same kind we put in our hotel bathrooms, where just a little overspray from the shower makes it slipperier than Julian Assange. We’re just trying to injure hungover tourists there, but tiling the Mexican Wall will make impossible to climb over, especially after it rains. And Americans won’t be able to tunnel under it, because Mexicans already do all the jobs in your country that involve knowing which end of a shovel to hold.”
 
When asked if Mexico could afford the wall, Nieto replied, “Hell, we’re not going to pay for it. Paying for your own wall is so East Berlin. The United States will pay for it, naturally. That way you won’t have to build Trump’s. We don’t expect any complaining about you guys covering the tab, either. Or else we cut off your supply of Coronas and crystal meth.”

Despite threats from the White House to snub Mexico if they don’t agree to pay for the Wall, and the unanswered questions of where the barrier will be started and what it’s going to look like, a chagrined spokesman for the Trump Administration admitted the Wall with Mexico will not be built after all.

On condition of anonymity, the source confided, “We thought Mexico was sending us rapists, but it turns out they were sending us all their best masons, bricklayers and concrete contractors all along. It turns out there’s not enough non-immigrant Americans with construction skills to put up a picket fence in Nogales. How did we become a nation of people who don’t know which end of a shovel to hold?”

Sad. But are you sure? I’ve seen pictures of gringo contractors.

“Those guys? They look good in hardhats, but all they can do in real life is point at a fellow named Luis, Jose, or Jorge and tell them where the cement needs to go. It’s embarrassing.”

What about all of those unemployed people who were counting on Trump to get them jobs?

“They were thinking more of jobs where they get paid twenty-five bucks an hour to post misspelled stuff on Facebook. America already has plenty of people doing that for free. Even those people you see on the street, wearing “Make America Great Again” caps and holding up signs that say ‘Will Work for Oxycontin,’ aren’t serious about digging holes and putting posts in them.”

What is Trump going to do? He promised us a wall.

“It’s going to be an Alternative Wall now. Instead of concrete and barbed wire, it’ll be crime scene tape and security guards armed with laser pointers from the Rio Grande to San Diego.”

And do you really think that will keep people out?

“The laser pointers are going to have really fresh batteries. And did I mention it’s bilingual crime scene tape?”

“My culture is a very dominant culture, and it’s imposing and it’s causing problems. If you don’t do something about it, you’re going to have taco trucks on every corner.”
Marco Gutierrez, founder of Latinos for Trump.
 
Don’t disregard this wake-up call is my advice for all of you sheeple who are thinking about voting Democratic. As a Southern Californian, I already live in the Land O’Tacos. The nightmare described by Gutierrez is one we can’t awaken from here in the Golden State.

Taco trucks aren’t literally on every corner here, of course—they tend to congregate around industrial parks at lunch time and then they cozy up to craft breweries in the evening. But we have taco shops on every corner, or at least in every strip mall, and they cause no end of problems.

First off, they drive off natural American food purveyors. You’re thinking to yourself “Hey, I’d like a wad of thinly sliced beef organs with no condiments crammed into a fistful of greasy white bread,” and you head off to an Arby’s, only to find it’s been converted to a taco shop. You’re left desolate, because now you only have a variety of flavorful hot sauces to season your lunch, when you were counting on consuming some horseradish that squirted out of a tube.

Classic American diners are being pushed out of business by these burrito-rollers as we speak, making it harder for older white Americans to find the eating-out menu items they crave—baked potatoes piled high with fake bacon nuggets, canned asparagus and lemon pies the color of Bart Simpson’s face. Creamed chipped beef on toast and fish sticks are vanishing in favor of flautas and flan in the New World Food Order, and the tastes of these oldsters are just being swept aside by an avalanche of tortas and taquitos.

Often these taco shops are open 24-7, fueled by their owners’ unnatural Mexican impulse to work hard all the time. Closing time at the local pubs unleashes a horde of ravenous drunks to their drive-thru windows, in search of salsa-dripping goodies that they can vomit up at their leisure before passing out in their bathrooms. No neighborhood wants its peace disturbed by a bunch of playful alcoholics at 2 AM, yet there the taco shops are, brightly lit and painted, with signs displayed that might as well read “NOTHING SETTLES YOUR TUMMY AFTER TWELVE SHOTS OF JÄGERMEISTER LIKE A CHIMICHANGA!”

Even those who embrace the Mexican food onslaught often find themselves in bitter conflict. One of the things you’ll never hear a San Diegan say is “I don’t really have a favorite taco shop.” We all do, and woe to us attached citizens whose Significant Other craves a taco shop that their partner doesn’t really care for. Sure, the chile rellenos she loves are great there, but the carne asada is much tenderer at the place you like. If you want to save your relationship, it’s two trips through two drive-thru's, which leads to one of you getting cold food and also contributes to global warming.

So there you have it. It’s too late for us, but if you don’t want your state’s natural cuisines, whatever they be, fried possum or scrapple or pickled beets, swept away in a tsunami of guacamole, vote Trump, because Clinton will turn the whole country into a fiesta of comida Mexicana.

Abandon all hope, ye who enter Taco Hell.