Illegal Aliens by Andy Wilkinson

            “Hey, Mohammed?”

            “Yes, Bubba.”

            “You know I don’t keep up with the news much, but yesterday I was scrollin’ through the dial lookin’ for a station on the radio and came across the tail end of a story sayin’ we got twelve million illegal aliens in this country. Reckon that’s true?”

            “Yes, that is true.”

            “But shoot, you’d think somebody woulda seen one of them space ships a long time before that many of ’em got to earth.”

            “They’re not space aliens, Bubba. You watch too much TV.”

            “I thought that’s the only kind there was.”

            “No,” Mohammed said, “These are humans—Mexicans—sneaking across our borders at night.”

            “Oh, those guys. Yeah, Grandpa was tellin’ about them last week.” Bubba said, “Way he had it figured is about five hunderd years ago the white folks came over here, took over the land, and ran the brown people off. And now the brown people are comin’ to get it back."

            Mohammed grinned at him. “Some of my people are brown, too, you know.”

            Bubba looked back at him with a suspicious eye. “Mohammed … are you one of them illegals?”

            “Certainly not. I’ve been here for ten years, and during that time I’ve received my citizenship and earned a degree in English from the University of West Florida.”

            “I see. Well, that explains why you talk funny. I thought it’s just ’cause you was from another country.”

            Mohammed lowered his head, exasperated, and said, “Bubba, you are such a redneck.”

            Bubba put his hand on Mohammed’s shoulder. “And proud of it,” he said. “Now lets go slam a few beers and solve some world problems.”

            “How many times do I have to tell you Muslims don’t drink?”

            “Right. Sorry. I keep forgettin’ about that. Okay, you have a Coke and I’ll drink enough beer for both of us.”

            “One day you‘re going to hurt yourself doing that, Bubba.”