Boycotting Arizona Is Easier Than Uno, Dos, Tres!

Welcome, America to the newest member of the Wild, Wild West, everyone’s favorite Mexican’ hatin’, trashy wasteland of parched desert, crumbling business, and misguided legislation, the lighter, purer, swastika peppered land of Aryanzona! Yay!

But just in case you’re one of those hoity-toity, arugula eating liberals who just hates it when dumb, sparsely populated states (nobody usually gives two minutes of thought) enacts terrible racist legislation targeting half the population who works in said hellhole of dry heat, John McCain, and hibernating old retirees, fear not my friends, because there is something you can do while all nice ‘n cozy in your elitist Blue state where the Constitution actually means something other than grab your guns to drive out dem stinkin’ brown people!

So, you’re feeling a little like San Francisco (minus the gay and Asiany parts), and would too like to protest Arizona’s stupid, hastily-written Gestapo immigration law by boycotting the whole racist, refried-bean state of Barry Goldwater and the entire McCain family, including traitor daughter Meg, who now lives a life of sin in NYC, and doesn’t even support discriminating against illegals and/or non-illegals who look like they might be terrible illegals (gasp!).

Well, if you can live without P.F. Chang’s, Sky Mall, GoDaddy, or any other of the other consumer blights on American society operating out of the white supremacist state of Arizona, then you are luckier than a Mexican who happens to be carrying his birth certificate when indiscriminately pulled over and harassed by the local posse of gun-totin’ law enforcers while attempting to do everyday activities like walk outside.

No, this shouldn’t be too bad at all. After all, most of the nation has been boycotting Arizona for years (without even knowing it), since no one other than fat, retired, white people wearing Cubs hats even thinks about moving there anyway, and most of the “big-name” businesses there do nothing but reinforce the nation’s reputation as a red, white, ‘n blue, foul-mouthed, materialistic, money-obsessed nation of heart attack victims to be.

Like seriously people, a Marshmallow Shooter?? I mean what does it say about a nation whose inhabitants are willing to spend actual money (not even chickens!) to buy a device solely for the purpose of shooting “sweet, edible miniature marshmallows 30 ft in the air?”

Perhaps someone had one too many mini bottles of Absolut Citron during their last, cramped cross-country, economy class voyage 30,000 ft above sea level?

But either way, if you can live without Danica Patrick’s lightly veiled porno/domain-name registration site, GoDaddy, or the idea that freezing your dead carcass will somehow make you magically come back to life once unthawed, a la Alcor Life Extension Foundation, you should be able to put the Kibosh on the Nazi regime currently running Arizona, with relative ease.

Of course, there is the slight problem of that one world-famous national park called the Grand Canyon, which shouldn’t have to suffer all because it happens to be eternally stuck in the terrifying Wingnut land of Aryanzona.

But how in the name of sweet Jesus can one still enjoy this breathtaking geological wonder without dropping a dime in dingbat Arizona?

Well, that’s simple enough!

You want to see a timeless geological wonder, billions of years in the making, a living fossil , formed, shaped, and pounded by forces beyond its control, weathered by the elements carving away at its structure, succumbing to the ravages of pressure and time over millions of years, to form the craggy, rough, precipitous, worn-down link to the ancient world and awe-inspiring testament to our planet’s violent, fiery past??

Just pay a quick visit to any one of the 218 Republicans currently serving in Congress.

It’s basically the same dizzying, age-defying experience.

Or if you’re feeling really adventurous, you can always head to one of the lovely desert national parks in hippie dippie, Constitutional abiding California, where even the Mayor’s a terrible Mexican, everyone’s free to do whatever they want (except gay marry each other), and visiting the myriad natural wonders within its vast confines won’t automatically help send José and Jorge back to Juarez faster than you can say ¡Ay, caramba!


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