Last summer a relative told me that the only way to “protect” our border would be to allow the Border Patrol to shoot to kill. This eventually resulted in my writing an essay called “Who would Jesus strafe?”
Initially, though, it resulted in disbelief and sorrow. I cried as I drove away because his heart was so hard and so bitter.
I needed to do something to cleanse myself of that kind of hatred. And that’s when I came up with my evil plan: