Posts tagged ‘immigration’

September 4, 2013

“Who Are You?”


Oops, can’t ask that (unless you work at the NSA or Facebook, but then, they already know who you are).

“I woke up in a Soho doorway, a policeman knew my name.”

Cannot question the identity of someone stumbling into a voting booth (at least I couldn’t because I only speak English.).  What do you mean, who am I?  This Blockbuster membership card tells you who I am, jeez.

Cannot question someone’s national identity because they’re here to make America better, like your immigrant ancestors did after they waited for days on Ellis Island while their identity was checked.

But their lack of legal national identity will allow them to collect tax payer monies (and they’re not concerned who is paying what) to assist them in getting a driver’s license (NYC spending millions on this program), which many US citizens apparently do not have since they cuss when having to show ID at the voting booth.

“God, there’s got to be another way!”

Neither should we be able to question the identity of anyone who waves a little membership card for some stigmatized group; which is getting closer to mean anyone not white and not over 50 (did I just stigmatize old white people?).

My God, I’ve seen people get upset when they are asked to show some identification as they attempt to make a purchase on a credit card.  Never mind that it is a practice designed to protect them and never mind that that person would scream the loudest while demanding to know who charged a $1,000 on their MasterCard at a local strip club (where nobody knows anybody and no one gives a damn really).

Old jokes about not catching the name of the tramp you brought home last night have morphed into a quest for a cultural norm.

“I felt a little like a dying clown…”

However, if you are a gun owner then every liberal rag in the nation has the right to publish your name so that your neighbors know who amongst the US citizenry is concerned with their Constitutional rights – liberals are frightened by the audacity of someone they know is not a member of their little group attempting to exercise their rights.

“I stepped back and I hiccuped…”

“So, who are you, oh, who the fuck are you!?”