How Bad Could They Be?

by thoughtsonthedead


“Helen, all I’m saying is that we don’t know what’s being let into the country.”

“They’re religious refugees, Bob.”

“They dress weird!”

“They think we dress weird.”

“They only have one god! And, quite frankly, he seems like a dick.”

“Well, they’re here and we should welcome them. How bad could they be?”

“They have no interest in learning our language.”

“In their defense, our language is very difficult.”

“And now we have to have dinner with them?!”

“One meal. Some turkey, some corn–”

“We call it maize.”

“–and some apple pie.”

“No apples trees in North America in 1621, Helen.”

“You get my point. We’ll break bread with them and then we’ll be friends. They seem like lovely people.”

“They’ll be lovelier after none of them survive the winter.”

“Stop it. Be nice.”

“Can I hit one of them in the face with a tomahawk?”

“Wampanoag don’t have tomahawks, dear.”

“What about a big rock, Helen? Do Wampanoag have big rocks?”

“We will have one friendly meal with the English. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’m going to remember you said that.”

“Good for you, Bob.”