Archie Bunker’s Take on “Illegals”: Lock the Door, Don’t Throw Away the Key

Awright, lemme tell ya somethin’, Edith — and don’t go lookin’ at me like that neither — these days you can’t swing a dead cat without hittin’ somebody who ain’t supposed to be here. Now I ain’t talkin’ about my grandpop comin’ over from the old country with a sack of potatoes and a dream — no, I’m talkin’ about folks slippin’ in under the fence like it’s a two‑for‑one sale at the A&P.

See, back in my day, a man came here, he stood in line, he took a number, he got stamped, poked, prodded, and they wrote his name down right, even if it had more vowels than a bingo hall. Then he went out and worked — he didn’t sit around expectin’ Uncle Sam to hand him a steak dinner. But now? You got people sneakin’ in, and everybody says, “Oh, let’s just look the other way, poor things!” Poor things, my foot! If I gotta follow the rules, why don’t they?

And don’t get me started on these politicians — everybody’s so busy bein’ nice they forgot how to lock the door. You try walkin’ into somebody’s house uninvited and see how fast you get chased out with a broom. But the whole country? “Oh no, come on in, here’s your free lunch, here’s your driver’s license, would you like a pillow for your head?”

Now don’t get me wrong, I ain’t against people wantin’ a better life. That’s how America got built — brick by brick, back by back, sweat by sweat. But there’s a way to do it, and sneakin’ in the back door ain’t it. You want in? Stand in line like everybody else, say please and thank you, and maybe learn a little English while you’re at it. Is that too much to ask?

There, I said it. Now go ahead, call me old‑fashioned. I’ll be sittin’ in my chair with a cigar, watchin’ the ball game, thank you very much.