Immigrants state that they play a valuable role in society, often performing the jobs regular Americans won’t do. Their opponents claim they undercut American workers and de-value the marketplace.
Of course, real-world issues are never this black and white and the truth often lies somewhere in the rich shades of grey in which we live our daily lives.
When we think of immigrants and the jobs they go to every day, we often think of them working on farms, picking beans, or perhaps bussing tables or doing the dishes in a restaurant, but this is only one side of the picture.
Immigrants are involved in many facets of the American workplace and I want to speak about one of those today. A side not brought up in the media, one that you may not have thought about before.
Would you believe that immigrants are fast becoming a force to reckon with in what has now become a 14 billion dollar industry in America?
Like I said, when you think of ‘ol Pepe or Juan jumping the fence down in Tejas, you probably say, “Well, chances are they’re not going to take my job: I’m a high-paid banker with a brand new Porsche Cayman that I consider my daily commuter, which I say with a smug laugh every time I tell someone about driving it to work.”
OK, fair enough, your banking job is probably safe. But you’re a banker, right? You’ve got a lot of cash floating around. Your wife is probably getting fat and your bastard kids drive you nuts. Your mother-in-law has been riding you for months, asking you whether you’re all coming out for Thanksgiving even though when you do, she complains about too many people being at her house and she’s a terrible fucking cook and you just want to have a nice, quiet Thanksgiving for a change and not deal with all that bullshit.
You’re stressed and you need some “relief”.
So you call up the local escort service and you answer the door, expecting the big-boobed blonde from the ad, right?
Nope. Instead, you get “Yessica”: a 23 year-old mother of sixteen from Guadalajara, whose feet are still muddy from traipsing through the shallow waters of the Rio Grande. At least you hope that’s mud.
You see, not only are foreign immigrant sex workers undercutting their American counterparts in the price department, sometimes drastically so, they are also introducing a host of new sexual services (and parasites), often heretofore unheard of on our native soil.
Think about it this way: you’re an American who picks corn for 30 bucks an hour or whatever the hell minimum wage is these days. Along comes Tito and Jesus offering farmer Ted to pick his corn under the table for 17 cents a day, which is a King’s Ransom back in Mexico.
You’re shit out of luck, right?
Well now imagine that not only will Tito and Jesus pick the corn for less than you, they’re willing to stick it in their asses while they do so. And they tell Farmer Ted it’s cool if 99 of his farmer buddies come over and throw those stringy corn husk things in their faces as they do it.
Call me old fashioned, I just long for the days of yesteryear, when you could drive over to the black side of town, pick up a normal, yet dangerously young-looking girl for some regular sex, pay her a decent, but fair amount of money and be on your way.
I also remember a time when you could “settle disputes” with these independent contractors and not have it turn into a federal hate crime case, but that’s neither here nor there.
Look, I’m not blaming the immigrants. I know that for a long time, American prostitutes have had it easy. They have been sheltered from the outside world by a society that protects and cherishes them. Within the global economy, competition is relied on to set prices. Supply and demand dictate the specifics of the situation.
The system works and I’m not one to call for restrictions placed on a free-market economy, but I’m sorry, it just makes me a little sad. I can’t help but get nostalgic when I think about the way things have changed.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good Dirty Sanchez as much as the next guy and anyone who’s gone to TJ with me knows my first stop is always the donkey show, but I guess what I’m lamenting is the fact that as much as I claim to love dehumanizing people, especially women, I can’t prevent my heart of gold from shining through.
We all know prostitutes aren’t real people. At least that’s what we tell ourselves because then it makes it easier to beat them up, but that’s because we know that no matter how close to the edge of life and death we take them, they’ve got things like health insurance and OSHA to fix them up as good as new.
When you’re knocking some bitch’s teeth out and she’s pleading with you to stop and think about her children, you keep going because you know those kids are Americans and Americans go to college. Hell, they’ll probably write their thesis on women’s studies and cite as examples all the times their whore mother got her ass kicked by some coked-out psycho who just couldn’t deal with the shame of his own erectile dysfunction to prove how women are still second-class citizens in our society. The irony is delicious!
If only these whiny liberals knew how good they have it.
In summation, I join the long line of pussies who long for a simpler time while simultaneously accepting the fact there is nothing that can be done about it. Sure, I can urge you to “buy American” but I know that the second your wallet is feeling a little light, or your tastes skew to the obscene or bizarre, your ideals will go out the window. Morals are fine but only if they don’t affect the bottom line.
And when that happens, they’ve won.
It’s sad, but we all know it’s true. In the words of W.C. Fields: “A hole is a hole is a hole.”