I remember when I first heard Charlie Kirk’s statement that the death of children in school shootings was the unfortunate but necessary cost of the second amendment. The thought that occurred to me at the time was that that would make the second amendment the most expensive amendment of them all. I can’t think of any other that we so regularly sacrifice our children to.
Having been shown the one altar, I began to recognize so many, many others. I read about children getting sick unto death, because they weren’t vaccinated against preventable diseases. Politicians, and often even the parents of these children, believe that this is the terrible, but inescapable, cost of keeping the government out of decisions that God gave a child’s parents, and only their parents, the right to make.
Next altar, the Epstein files. Trump reportedly stated that his reluctance to release the files was because “friends of mine will get hurt.” Let’s take him at his word (I know, I know). No one wants their friends to get hurt, and if the cost of protecting your friends is to turn a blind eye to the sexual abuse of minors, what choice do you have?
Then there are the children injured or killed in horrific ways by Israel’s military actions in Gaza—the sad but unavoidable toll of the never-ending war against terrorism.
Then there are the schoolgirls killed by the U.S. and Israeli attack on Iran. Undoubtedly, many more children will need to pay up as the war drags on.
Will we ever hear Trump, or Hegseth, or Rubio, or Miller, or anyone in the current administration say about some policy decision, that it’s off the table, because too many children will die?
In fact, is there anything at all that this administration actually values less than the lives of children?
If you follow me on Facebook, you know I like to draw and post political cartoons (as opposed to posting other people’s cartoons, which seems to be a common thing now). If you haven’t, here’s a gallery of my recent efforts, starting from around the time we started blowing up open motorboats on the high seas, along with any crew and, it turns out, survivors.
What’s the point? Well, as the authorities keep telling us, “if you see something, say something.” And I’ve been seeing a lot lately. At least I’ll be able to look back on these times (if I live long enough) and tell myself, “I said something.” And if you agree, please do share this.
For what it’s worth (maybe nothing) I created these without any help from AI (pretty obviously), although I did digitally enhance the sharpness of some of these images.
I drew the Hegseth portrait after revelations that the U.S. military had deliberately killed survivors of a boat strike who were in the water.
I was tempted to have Trump telling the survivors in the water, “Kiss my hairy…” as a reference to Nelson’s reputed last words, but I suspected no one would get it…
This cartoon and the next were related to Trump confiscating Venezuelan oil tankers.
I drew this after reading how persistent Trump voters remain in their support even after acknowledging his disastrous leadership
The next two came to me after Trump’s takeover, renaming, and then closing of the Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts in DC.
The next three were spurred by the horrible killings in Minneapolis, and the ludicrous smearing of the victims as ‘domestic terrorists’ by Trump and his cabinet
I’ve recently taken up watercolor painting. A couple of weeks ago I completed a self portrait which came out a bit clumsy looking, then executed a somewhat better portrait of an indulgent friend (thanks RK!). I decided to try portraying myself a second time, and this time to document my progress over the course of the 4 days, on and off, it took me. I hope you find it interesting.
Here’s the so-called reference I’ll be drawing from:
Reference photoAfter several erased and redrawn heads, eyes, noses and lips, a sketch I’m happy withI tape down the edges of the paper to an old cutting board and outline the parts I want to leave unpainted in yellowI lay a thin wash of yellow on the face. First mistake: the brush was a little ‘dirty,’ as you can see.I lay a thin diluted wash of red over the yellow. Feelings of despair. I seem to have a blotchy mess. Maybe all I’ve done is to ruin a promising pencil sketch.I use small brushes to color the mouth, eyes, and whatever those little pink things at the corners of the eyes are called.Always keeping an eye on the photo I add some reddish highlights to the face. Hmm, this guy is starting to look familiar.Let’s add the shadows around the nose, and the sides of the faceShading added around the eyes. Adds a scowl effect I didn’t intend.Add shading under the nose and mouth. Also a thin watery glaze of the shadow color across the eyes so they’re less spectrally whiteUsing the end of a flat, pretty dry brush I dab on a beardAdd mustache and eyebrows the same way. Darken the upper lip a little. I definitely know this guy.Add hair. Definitely looking less brutal.Add throat. Used wet on wet wash. Worked unexpectedly well, I was able to sort of sculpt the shape of the throat with the wet paint. But I had dipped the brush in the wrong puddle. It looks like a color head on a black and white neck.I glaze over the throat with a brown tone, looks a bit betterUsed wet paper again to fill in the shirt. Came out pretty blotchy. Can I be honest? I’m pleased with the result so far but I’m getting a little tired of this project.Add a little collar detail, t shirt collar, and shadow on the shoulders.Add a background, a wet wash of cerulean fading away from top left to bottom right. You know what, I think I’m done.Peel off the tape and sign and date. What do you think? I believe I’ve actually improved on the original. A low bar, I know!
I’ve been lucky enough to be one of the translators participating in the Pirandello Society of America’s ambitious project to eventually provide English versions of every one of the 300 or so short stories written by the master. The latest one from me is a translation of Pirandello’s grim account of the aftermath of a barbaric assault on a Catholic mission, “Ignare,” or, “Oblivious.” (“Ignare” literally means the ignorant, unknowing, unaware, naïve, or oblivious ones.) You can read it here. Enjoy.
While you’re there I encourage you to check out other stories by Pirandello, translated by me as well as others. It is truly a labor of love on all our parts.
My thanks to Lisa Sarti and Michael Subialka of the PSA for driving this project and for their attention to and suggestions for my translation, and to their reader Nicole Trigg for her suggestions and corrections as well, and also to the Pirandello scholar Daniela Bini for her reading and suggestions.
In my Denton, Texas high school years, not belonging to an actual sports team, I had to endure, along with the other losers, something called “Physical Education,” taught by an instructor who was burdened with the task as a condition of their real job, coaching football. In my sophomore year that instructor was the beloved Coach Collins, for whom a high-school football stadium was later named. This would have been the 1974-1975 school year.
There was a physical aspect to Physical Education. On any given day we might be issued a badminton racket, or directed to run around a field. But I would say the educational element was basically absent.
But one day we were instructed to “write a report” on some sport. I don’t know why. It was probably a state requirement. What this meant in practice was that you went to the school library, looked up the entry for, say, “basketball” in the World Book Encyclopedia (which was basically the same as the Encyclopedia Britannica, except for idiots), and copied a page or so of text by hand onto a sheet of paper. Then on the appointed date you’d stand up in front of the other kids and read “your” “report.”
But it occurred to me that this was all a charade. No one was really interested in whether or not we actually did research, or in learning something. So I decided to just make something up, and have some fun with it.
And going through a box of old letters and scribblings some fifty years later, I found my “report” (thanks, Mom!). Here it is, in its entirety.
Basketball was started in 1897 by William Johnson, son of a cantaloupe plantation owner. While tossing one of his father’s fruit [sic] into a wastepaper basket, suddenly the idea of what is now basketball popped into his head. Although he was soon punished by an angry father, his friends started a now popular game. Five years later a plastic ball was substituted for the cantaloupe, because constant dribbling made it rather soggy and hard to handle, and also made it taste bad. It was also rather expensive, as that particular species of fruit was fairly rare at that time. Two years later, in 1904, a basket, with no bottom, was substituted for the wastebasket, thus freeing the latter for trash.
But the really basic origins of basketballs go back much further than this. Descriptions on walls of ancient Mayan temples reveal a ball-through loop rite for fertility. It had many sexual implications, and one historian hints that “It was a sort of primitive girlie show.”[1] [Yes, I included an actual (bogus) footnote.] The basketball itself (which was not named a “basketball” until its incorporation into that sport in 1902) has had many other earlier uses. Many prominent historians contend that it was not a pumpkin that Cinderella’s famed fairy godmother changed into a coach (despite popular belief) but what is now called a basketball. The coach she rode in she thus named a basketball coach. The social gathering she went to was also called a basket-ball, as the fashions of the time dictated that all dancers dance veiled in fine, net-like baskets.
[1] Nightclubs through the ages, vol. 1 pg. [illegible] by John Sorcy.
I did in fact get up in front of the class and read the above. I made no outward indication that it was satirical. I think I was a little nervous. No one laughed, no one cracked a smile. I don’t think anyone was really listening. I was the egghead of the class, it was totally expected that I would actually go to the trouble of doing serious research and come up with a long (or at least longer than necessary) paper. In fact, I think I heard another kid who hadn’t even bothered to consult World Book quote my report in his completely improvised lecture later on in the hour. I was a trusted source, after all.
Coach Collins was in the audience too, of course. What did he think? Well, you can see from the photo the grade he assigned it. If he thought anything funny was going on…he never let on.
Once upon a time, or rather, several times from 1995 to 2011, Italy had a prime minister named Silvio Berlusconi. He was a preposterous choice as leader for a modern democratic nation. Immensely wealthy, right wing, nationalist, buffoonish, corrupt to the gills. He privately admitted that he had entered politics mainly to stay out of jail. He had already cornered the Italian private media sector, turning it into a personal propaganda machine. He became infamous for arranging sex parties that included underage girls.
But there was a silver lining to Silvio, at least for us Americans: he was Italian. He fit nicely into several American stereotypes of Italians: the corrupt politician, the easy-going Latin lover, the large-living playboy. Jon Stewart had a brilliant skit on The Daily Show that skewered not only Berlusconi, who had been recently charged with statutory rape, but those tired stereotypes as well. Olivia Munn, for example, played an imaginary mother to Berlusconi. Dressed in a black shawl, Munn wrung her hands and pleaded to the camera, “My son, he’s a good-a boy! He no rape-a no statue!”
Oh, weren’t those the days, when American moral superiority felt so…superior! If America is still exceptional today, it’s only…exceptionally ridiculous.
What else can you say about a man who is delighted quite literally by bright, shiny trinkets? A man who pleases himself by naming public monuments after himself? A man who publicly proclaims himself to be a smarter military tactician than any general, who changes public health policy because he’s smarter than the scientists? A man who saw the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, and reacted by planning a bigger, “better” one for himself, in our nation’s capital? (He literally has a Napoleon complex!) You would have to call that man ridiculous, a buffoon, a clown. And we Americans chose him, of our own free will, to be the one to take charge of us, twice. And that makes us even more ridiculous than him.
There are much worse things one can do besides behaving like a clown…and Donald Trump is doing all of them, too. But what I want to discuss here is the shame, the humiliation, the embarrassment we feel or should feel for ourselves and our country. It’s deeply embarrassing to be an American right now. God forbid I find myself trying to have a serious debate about anything with someone from, say, Denmark. Or France. Or Ukraine. Or Italy. I don’t know if I could even look them in the face right now. I feel so…ridiculous!
And I have to say, the late Berlusconi is looking better every day. True, he was a corrupt megalomaniac and a sexual predator. But (and I am not an expert on Berlusconi; I invite my Italian friends to correct me) I do not recall that Signor Silvio ever blew up helpless crews of small motorboats in the Mediterranean, or sent the Italian army to put down peaceful protests by brute force, or used the Italian criminal justice system to wage war on his political opponents, or renamed Constantine’s Arch to “Arch of Silvio”, or made himself the director of La Scala. Or tried to annex Malta. Or changed maps of the Mediterranean to label it “Mare Italiano.” We should be so lucky!
Like many of you, I am horrified and frightened by the man leading our country and the thought of what he might do next. I have no good answer to a foreigner who asks, “why?” I am also deeply embarrassed. I can only hope that some if his less diehard supporters are at least starting to feel the same way.
Yesterday afternoon I found out I could be a domestic terrorist. Reader, so could you.
My discovery came from watching a clip of Kristi Noem, the person in charge of the safety and security of the United States and its people, describe a woman named Renee Nicole Good as having committed “domestic terrorism.” Noem explains that Good was “trying to kill” a police officer with the vehicle she was driving, as part of a “coordinated” nationwide scheme to “train” terrorists to “run over” anyone who gets in their way as they “try to disrupt peace and public safety.” Noem declares that she will prosecute such acts as terrorism, although in Good’s case it’s hard to see how that will happen, since she’s already been executed.
Good, a 37 year-old poet and mother of 3, including a 6 year old child, would seem to make an unlikely terrorist. She was an unarmed U.S. citizen, was not a criminal, and was not being sought by authorities.
Federal officials have accused her of “weaponizing” her own vehicle in order to kill ICE officers. I invite you to watch the videos taken at the scene here, and come to your own conclusion about that.
It appears to me that Good was not remotely trying to run over anyone, or even trying to scare an officer with her vehicle. It looks like she was deliberately trying to avoid hitting anyone. In any event, no one was struck by her car, and she was shot at even after the officer who opened fire was out of her path. She may be guilty of deliberately blocking the street with her car, and of making the dumb (and probably panicky) mistake of trying to drive away from ICE officers shouting at her to “get out of the fucking car.” And she’s guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time: her hometown, on a Wednesday afternoon.
But it’s permanent “opposite day” in this country, where the vigilantes who injured police officers In Washington, D.C. on January 6, 2021, are “patriots” and (until they were all pardoned by President Trump) “hostages,” and a peaceful citizen like Renee Nicole Good is a “domestic terrorist.” Evidently anyone in this country or in this hemisphere might be a “terrorist,” either for the purposes of justifying their murder before the fact (as with alleged drug smugglers in the Caribbean) or afterwards (as with Ms. Good).
I’ve taken up drawing lately. I attended a continuing-ed-type drawing class for beginners and have been messing around on my own. I’ve played around with drawing various fruits and vegetables, plants, animals, and people. Many of the results so far have been disasters, of course, some have been mildly pleasing, and there are a few that I’m rather proud of.
But as I struggle (enjoyably) to improve my artistic skills, I’ve been struck by a nagging thought: what is the point, in this new age? Is drawing now just an outdated parlor trick? What object could I ever render, with my own two hands and my little box of supplies, that anyone in the world couldn’t do better than me, just by uploading a photo to an AI engine and supplying the right prompt?
Or could they? Let’s see.
A few weeks ago I sketched the face of a marble bust, from a photograph I had taken in a museum with my phone. (The bust, representing the historical Roman figure Servius Sulpicius Galba, a first-century AD Roman statesman and, briefly, emperor, is in the Torlonia collection of marbles, currently on display in Fort Worth.) I thought it turned out quite nicely… So I uploaded the same photo to ChatGPT (the basic, free version, to be clear.). I then prompted ChatGPT as follows:
render the photo I’m going to upload as a pencil sketch by a professional artist
I included “by a professional artist” to ensure that the AI engine didn’t intentionally render the sketch as being done by, say, a child, or as a casual doodle. The bot finished its job in a few minutes (at the very least it’s lightning fast compared to my labored effort of a few hours), even helpfully labelling the result “aging wisdom.”
How did I do against the machine? Well, here is the photo we both used:
And here are the competing sketches. One is mine, with my signature removed. The other is ChatGPT’s entry. If you follow me on Facebook, you know which one is mine. But if you don’t already know, make a guess. Which one is mine? Which one is “fake” (if “fake” even means anything in this context)? And, which one do you like better? Cast your vote in the comments.
As for me…well, I’ll just say I feel pretty good about my limited human capabilities.
In a strongly worded post on social media, [Donald Trump] said immigration had eroded living conditions in the United States and that he would remove or denaturalise migrants who “undermine domestic tranquillity[sic].” as he put it.—BBC Newshour, 11/28/25
Going back as far as Ronald Reagan’s presidential campaign of 1980, I can remember someone saying that if “X” were elected, they might have to leave the United States. Those kind of remarks have only increased with Donald Trump’s ascendence to the throne, er, White House.
I smirk (mentally, at least) when I hear this sentiment. It’s hypocritical, since those who say it never seem to actually move out of the country. It’s just a patriotic, brave-sounding thing to say. But what kind of patriotism is it to abandon the country one professes to love when its leadership turns foul…especially when the leaver is in no real danger of physical harm or imprisonment by staying? And what kind of sacrifice is it, when the proclaimed leaver is of the economic class that can easily afford to leave, and leave the rest behind to suffer? If you want to retire to a life of wine, sunshine, and cheap rent in Portugal, then bless you, but don’t pretend it’s a brave political statement.
That’s how I used to feel. But now something has changed. The menace from on high has become more immediate and personal for me. Our president has threatened to deport even naturalized U.S. citizens.
Now this has caught my attention. See, I know a lot of naturalized citizens. Some of my best friends are naturalized citizens! More to the point, I, like our president, am married to a naturalized citizen. And whither she goeth, I goeth too, baby!
Now, as far as I know, she does not “undermine domestic tranquility” (which is spelled with one L, Mister “stable genius” President), but who determines that? Recent experience shows that anything can be grounds for deportation, from criticizing Israel’s military campaign in Gaza, to loitering near a hardware store.
But if I do have to follow my wife to her native Taiwan, I think I’ll actually enjoy it. Sure, they got earthquakes, monsoons, flooding, and the constant threat of invasion by a certain bellicose superpower. But on the other hand, the food is great, as is the public transportation. And…oh yeah, it’s still a democracy!
Don’t want to wait until 2027 for Frozen 3? Soon, you may be able to make your own. On the company’s fourth-quarter and full-year 2025 earnings conference call, Disney CEO Bob Iger said Disney+ is “in the midst of rolling out the biggest and the most significant changes – from a product perspective, from a technology perspective – since we launched the service in 2019[….]The other thing that we’re really excited about, that AI is going to give us the ability to do, is to provide users of Disney+ with a much more engaged experience, including the ability for them to create user-generated content and to consume user generated content[….]”— “Disney+ to Allow User-Generated Content Via AI,” The Hollywood Reporter, 11/13/25
And so it begins, first with Disney, and then doubtless far beyond: fans and anyone else will create their own versions of beloved film classics with merely a whisper in the digital ear of an AI engine. So after consulting with local school board members, religious leaders, maiden aunts, and Texas state legislators, we propose these films, just like the originals minus defects like death, suffering, and uncomfortable truths:
Four Weddings and Another Wedding
Saving Private Ryan and Also That Nice Tom Hanks
The Remodeling of the House of Usher
Night of the Living
Everybody Gets On Schindler’s List!
They Send Injured Horses to a Nice Rehab Center, Don’t They?
No Way Out, Without The Stupid Final Scene
Casablanca But They Have 3 Letters of Transit Instead of 2
Anna Karenina Uses Her Super Powers to Stop the Train!
Basic Instinct Where They Just Tell Us What the Icepick Under the Bed is Supposed to Mean
12 Admittedly Unpleasant Minutes A Slave
Wicked, Plus The Sequel, Cut Down to Like 40 Minutes Total
Barbie Exactly Like It Already Is. You can’t improve on perfection!
National Guard troops from Texas assembled in the Chicago outskirts on Tuesday, an extraordinary symbol of what local officials have decried as an unconstitutional “invasion” ordered by President Trump. – The New York Times, 10/7/2025
SCENE: LST packed with Texas National Guardsmen plows through Lake Michigan, approaching the beaches of Chicago, Illinois. A LIEUTENANT scans the shoreline through binoculars. A PRIVATE leans over the bulwarks, vomiting.
VOICEOVER: You’ve probably never heard of a place called Oak Street Beach. It’s a faraway spot in a faraway town called Chicago in a faraway state called Illinois. Most of the Texas boys on this landing craft have never seen Oak Street Beach, either. But brother, they’re going to get a good look today. Yeah, a good, close look!
LIEUTENANT: Scared, son?
PRIVATE: I…I reckon so, sir.
LT: So am I, kid, so am I. Why, you’d be stupid not to be scared.
PVT: [BRIGHTENING UP] So, if I’m scared, it means I’m…not stupid?
LT: No son, you’re most likely scared and stupid. [PEERS THROUGH BINOCULARS]: This landing ain’t gonna be no picnic. Even though there’s plenty of folks having a picnic. That damned beach is packed with insurrectionists! Hell, most of those savages are half naked! And some got spears! With strings at the end. Almost like they’re…fishing or something…
PVT: Say, lieutenant…
LT: Yes, private, what’s on your mind?
PVT: Well sir, some of the boys was sayin’ how…not everyone in Chicago is a insurrectionist. Why, some of ‘em are just plain folks, like back in Grand Prairie or Sugarland. And they was sayin’ how the insurrectionists don’t wear no uniform, so you don’t know for sure who you’re supposed to shoot and who you’re supposed to protect….
LT: Here son, take a look through these glasses. See? Now a lot of ‘em are black or brown, so you know right off they’re probably illegal or doing something criminal. It’s our job to put them in jail or send them to El Salvador.
PVT: So the white ones, they’re on our side?
LT: Not necessarily, private. Take a close look. See how some of the white ones are holding up signs?
PVT: Why, yes sir!
LT: Those are the insurrectionists, see? And they have to be stopped!
PVT: What’s wrong with holding up a sign, lieutenant? That don’t seem so bad…
LT: Look, I know how you feel. I once had feelings, too. But do you want people holding up signs in Waco? Fort Worth?
PVT: Oh, no sir!
LT: Do you think there’s any chance our Commander in Chief would put us in harm’s way unless it was absolutely necessary for the security of our country?
PVT. Well…no sir, of course not!
LT: Don’t you want America to be great again?
PVT: Oh, yes sir!
LT: That’s why we’re here, son. To stop them in Illinois, so they don’t infect Indiana…and beyond! See, it’s like this. Those people on the beach, they might look to you like regular folks, having a barbecue, going for a swim. But don’t be fooled.
PVT: But ain’t they American, sir, just like us?
LT: No son, they’re not American. They’re mostly Democrats. And that means they’re liberal. And we know that every last liberal is a socialist. And if you’re a socialist, you’re a radical Marxist. And our intelligence reports indicate that if you’re Marxist, you’re a dirty rotten insurrectionist! And the only good insurrectionist….
PVT: Gosh, if you put it like that, sir!
[BOOM! BOOM!]
LT: [chuckles] There go the big guns! I’ll bet when the Navy boys are through with ‘em, all we’ll have to do is pick up the leftovers and toss ‘em in a bucket!
[PRIVATE RECOMMENCES VOMITING OVER THE SIDE. PLUMES OF SMOKE AND SAND ON THE SHORE]
LT: Pull yourself together, private. [LST RAMP LOWERS]. Now listen up, people! Once you reach shore, get off that beach quick as you can! Anyone who stays behind is a dead man!
PVT: Because the enemy has every inch of the shoreline pre-sited for mortar fire, right, sir?
LT: No, because those UV rays could give you cancer in thirty years!
The Trump administration asked the Supreme Court on Friday to review the constitutionality of President Donald Trump’s executive order seeking to end birthright citizenship […]. “The lower court’s decisions […],” wrote Solicitor General D. John Sauer, […] “confer, without lawful justification, the privilege of American citizenship on hundreds of thousands of unqualified people.”—CNN, “Trump asks Supreme Court to decide whether he can end birthright citizenship,” 9/26/25
Garden of Eaton: What does it mean for a baby to be “an unqualified person?” Today I’m speaking to two newborns: Gael, a five-day old from California, and Taylor, a two-weeker from Ohio. Gael’s mother is in the U.S. on a temporary work visa, and Taylor’s parents are regular U.S. citizens. Hello to you both!
Taylor: Goo goo ga ga.
Gael: It’s great to be here.
GoE: Wow, you’re already talking!
Gael: When you’re a poor, first-generation American, you grow up fast. Have to.
Taylor: Blub blub gerg.
GoE: Umm…Gael, let’s start with you. Do you consider yourself an “unqualified person,” to use the solicitor general’s term?
Gael: What do you want, I’m five [redacted] days old! That’s not even enough time to get a realtor’s license!
GoE: Ok, but…
Gael: You want to see my resume? OK, I can poop and pee, wave my arms around, and make old people go all gooey. Oh, and conduct a civil, coherent discussion. That makes me more qualified than old slobber-mouth over there.
Taylor: Waaaah!!
Gael: Or your so-called chief executive.
GoE: But some would say that because your parents are here illegally, you should go back to where you come from….
Gael: Ok, two things. Christ, I could use some slightly fermented formula right now. First, like I told the ugly galoot from ICE, this is where I come from. I was born here. Why don’t you check out Melania Knauss Trump’s immigration papers? Or Ted Cruz’s?
GoE: Wait…you talked to an ICE agent?
Gael: Uh, yeah! And I shouldn’t have said he was ugly, sorry. I really couldn’t tell, with the ski mask and all. And second of all, my mother isn’t here illegally, she’s here on a valid work visa….
GoE: Oh, so you have nothing to worry about!
Taylor: Gugga gobba googa boo?
Gael: Good point, Taylor! Taylor is asking, “did you even read the [redacted] executive order?”
GoE: Uh, heh heh, not really, I just read about it…
Gael: Typical! It says I ain’t a citizen if my mom’s here illegally or, and I quote, if her “presence in the United States at the time of said person’s birth was lawful but temporary (such as, but not limited to, visiting the United States under the auspices of the Visa Waiver Program or visiting on a student, work, or tourist visa).”
GoE: So your mother…
Gael: Watch what you say about my mother…
GoE: …didn’t plan on staying here permanently. So why should you automatically be awarded citizenship?
Taylor: Gagga gogga goo goo bop?
Gael: Taylor says, uh, this little thing called the United States Constitution? In particular the fourteenth amendment, which is quite explicit? And also, he needs to get changed. And beyond that, if I can just add to what Taylor said…
Taylor: Goo gogga!
Gael: You need babies like me. Your population is aging and soon will actually be contracting. You need more workers to keep your economy going and to pay into your social safety nets, not to mention generating more income tax. You need more skilled young people to compete with countries like India and China in fields like technology and medicine. Those are the practical considerations, and we haven’t even started talking about basic human decency….
Taylor: Gubba gogga bogga boo!
Gael: Ha ha, good one, my brother! He says if they don’t like it, Donald Trump, John Sauer, Kristi Noem, and…