Green Jello is the food of my people

Rep. John Pappageorge
Michigan House of Representatives

Dear Rep. Pappageorge,

I have to tell you that your comments about suppressing the brown people vote got me so excited that my little soldier overcame his "confidence problem," stood up on his own volition for the first time a decade, poked his head out of my briefs, and spat his joy all over the cat. There just aren't that many leaders around anymore who have the guts to tell the world that maybe old Jim Crow wasn't such a bad guy after all--at least not since Trent Lott was silenced.

Electorally enfranchised brown people are irreversibly changing this country. That change affects us all. It's darn near destroyed my cultural heritage.

I was born and raised a Mormon in the heart of Zion, the Bear River Valley of Northern Utah. I think it was Horace Greeley who called Mormons a "peculiar people." We took his words to heart and created or own cultural identity--an identity based on traditional biblical values like the belief that marriage is between a man and a half-a-dozen women.

Every five years or so, my parents, brothers, and sisters and their families all get together back in Zion to celebrate this culture we share. It's been a real comfort to those of us who've had to make our way in the gentile world of the blue states--places where high paying jobs are more available only because the sinful gentiles refuse to enact God's right to work laws.

Sundays are the best. We spend the mornings attending the twenty-odd church meetings required of every member in good standing. Then, we're off to the old homestead to feast on the traditional meal of our people, red punch, hamburger helper, and green jello with carrots chopped up inside of it. After that, we spend a few hours talking about how Democrats, gentiles, and Tammy Wynette are all going to Hell and how we think the Lamanites (gentiles call them Indians) in the local church look much whiter and more "delightsome" this year, just as Our Prophet, Spencer W. Kimball, prophesied they would. We end the day by watching an old 8mm film of an installation of a very tricky milking system my father put together in Paris, Idaho (not the French one) back in the early Seventies. It's a mighty engineering feat, much like the building of the ancient pyramids only on a smaller scale.

That changed last year when my mother allowed my nephew's new brown wife to prepare the meal. She served us foreign, alien foods instead of red punch, hamburger helper, and green Jello with carrots cut up inside of it. They were strange dishes with French names like souvlaki, moussaka, and baklava. The bread was flat and the cheese all crumbly and not from a can.

The rest of the day was ruined. Everything was out of sync. My older brother, LaVere, noted that the Lamanites at church were browner and more "dismaysome." My younger brother, LaDell, said that we should think about forgiving Tammy Wynette now that she's dead. My sister, Leila, said she was going to get a job outside of the home. And my dad's milking machine film got caught in the projector and melted. I think it was a sign from God.

I blame it all on the ability of brown people to vote without fear. It's made them equal to us. It's also put their food, music, and culture on a parity with our own. Now, no one bats an eye when falafels are served with hot dogs. It's just not right.

Thank God you are doing something about it by working hard to suppress the brown people vote. Please keep it up. I'm sure that Bull Conner is looking down from heaven at you and smiling.

Heterosexually yours,

Gen. JC Christian, patriot