Are you tired of our immigration problem? Angry at your politicians, their political dodges and wishy washy half-solutions? Fret no longer. With great excitement I relay to you a solution to America's immigration problem. I'm also mailing an executive summary to my congressmen so he can write it into law. I invite you to contact your representatives, too, with a copy of this surefire policy, below. The more politicians on-board with this idea, the quicker it'll get done.
So what's my big idea? Two words: Mountain lions.
Inspiration stuck me a while ago when I stepped into my backyard to pull weeds. A couple steps out the door, I spotted motion in my periphery. I turned and looked and discerned a figure. Terror struck. My heart thumped. My limbs trembled with a fresh shot of adrenaline. The sight of the creature in my yard rendered me apoplectic. There it was: Amy Winehouse after an all-night desert keg party, looking for a place to crash. I kid, I kid. It was actually a mountain lion! I'm not kidding. In my yard was a freaking mountain lion, a champion killer, a hunting cat.
You don't know terror until you've stared into the eyes of a mountain lion, or some other kind of lion, without a cage or an inch of Plexiglas between you and the beast. This wasn't on television, or some caged beast you can mock while you're drunk at the zoo. I was face to face with a killer cat. Petrified, I couldn't muster a twitch. I was immobilized with fright. I was only a few feet from the safety of my back door, but it may as well have been a light-year. Had the mountain lion had designs on me, I'd be in ribbons. As it was, the cat took only a passing interest in me as he trotted along the perimeter of my yard and then cleared my 6-foot fence with a casual leap. Ferocity meets grace – with a dose of mercy thrown in for my sake.
Once I composed myself I reflected on the experience. That cat had a dramatic effect on me. And as I often do, I got to thinking. Before long, my mind settled on America's immigration problem. I'm a problem-solver by nature, so it didn't take me long to put the two together, like when the one guy accidentally dipped his chocolate in the other guy's peanut butter. The result – Reece's Peanut Butter Cups. That was it! Let's have mountain lions patrol and enforce our borders. They love the desert. They instill fear in man. They have a knack for hunting and killing. They can cover large areas with their keen senses, speed, stealth and cunning. They'll work for next to nothing. They don't need benefits or a retirement package. And you can't accuse of mountain lion of being racist, a rouge, abusive or corrupt, even if they're working for George Bush.
All we need to do, then, is teach these highly trainable cats to patrol the US border and terrorize the riffraff fixing to cross from the south. Should an illegal alien get too close, that's when Simba pounces. How do we train them to attack? Simple. Every time the mountain lion bites a Mexican, he gets a steak. Every time he bites a white fella, we squirt him with a water bottle. Roger, dodger.
This is more practical and less absurd than it sounds. How hard can it be to train a mountain lion? I saw Siegfried and Roy train a tiger to ride a unicycle. That stunt couldn't be further than what nature had in mind for a four-legged, 700-pound predator. But the tiger delivered. Don't be a Doubting Thomas and remind me that that same tiger later attacked and nearly killed Siegfried. I'm aware of that. But the mountain lions won't be biting into sexually ambiguous circus performers. They're biting illegal aliens. Much different. Plus, they're not working in the chaos of a circus. The mountain lion must do only what comes naturally: patrol, stalk, chase, savage the downtrodden would-be immigrant, then eat a steak.
Environmentalists will eat this idea up (much like the mountain lions will eat up the slower-moving illegals...rimshot!) Environmentalists love it when we solve our problems by using nature. Natural foods, natural medicine, natural energy sources, natural boobs -- they can't get enough of the romantic notion of Nature alleviating our ills. Well, what can be more natural than mountain lions patrolling their territory? Plus, it's a built-in conservation effort for the mountain lions. We're tossing them steaks and foreigners; might as well scratch them off the endangered species list right now. It's a win/win.
Here's another bonus. By installing video cameras at 10-mile intervals along the border, Immigration can sell footage to the Discovery Channel. They'll make a fortune! That means less of the federal pie going to border patrol agencies. People love watching hunting cats tear the crap out of animals who can't run as fast. Let the advertisement revenues flow!
I can already hear protests from the humanitarian crowd: “LBB, are you suggesting we sic savage beasts on people trying to escape abject poverty and strive for a better life?”
Pipe down, hippie. Of course I'm not. I just want to seal the border. And this brings me to the genius of using mountain lions. You see, mountain lions are the runts of the hunting cat world. They're not so tough. The vast majority of mountain lion attacks are non-fatal. They're not human killers so much as human deterrents. I know this from firsthand observation. I frequent an Irish-themed bar whose patronage, naturally, is mostly drunken Irish guys with shaved heads, goatees and shamrock tattoos. These guys fear nothing and fight anything. Things get pretty rowdy at the bar after a few rounds. Often quarrels are settled with wagers of physical prowess. Not so often, yet once in a while, the wager involves strolling into the desert covered in steak sauce and fighting whatever wild animal the poor bastard lures. If you're lucky, fortune will bring you a pack of coyotes, which the more intimidating guys can unnerve by kicking sand in their faces. Other times, a herd of javelinas will try their luck. The secret there is to identify the pack leader and punch him in the ribs. Once he goes down, morale plummets and the herd retreats into the desert. But sometimes a mountain lion shows up looking for an easy meal. Well, the jokes on you, mountain lion. The Irish hoodlum has been sucking back whiskey most of the night. And sure enough, Liam or Sean or Tyrone -- or whoever accepted the wager this evening -- makes quick work of the wild animal. The two fuse into a whirlwind of scratches, bites and Irish uppercuts. From the dust cloud ejects one disheartened mountain lion. Off you go, little fella. Better tell all your lion buddies the next time one of you feels frisky, stalk the gay bar on 9th Street. Easy pickin's. Anyway, the point is, mountain lions aren't deadly – just wicked scary.
Once my plan squeaks through Congress and becomes law, you'll have me to thank for our impregnable borders and clean living. Also, the mountain lions will owe me a thanks, too. But I won't hold my breath. Mountain lions are ungrateful bastards.