Crocodile Tears and Open Borders: Sob Stories That Won’t Buy You a Visa or a Pizza

Yet another heart-wrenching media montage of “poor kids” getting deported, complete with slow-motion footage of tear-streaked faces and parents clutching American flags they bought yesterday at Walmart. “They’re only seeking a better life!” the anchors sob, as if every engineer fairy tale hasn’t already collapsed harder than a house of cards in a Category 5 guilt trip. Spare me. If selective empathy were an Olympic sport, these people would win gold while flipping off the rest of the planet.

Off the top of my head I can name five billion sob stories that deserve equal airtime. Starving kids in war zones? Tragic. Flood victims in places that flood every monsoon? Sad. That guy in Portland whose truck won’t start? Devastating. But here’s the cold, hilarious truth: I don’t care. Not because I’m a monster, but because caring about all of them is mathematically impossible unless you’re God with an infinite budget and zero self-respect. And guess what? If the tables turned and I showed up broke and uninvited on their doorstep, they wouldn’t give a cat’s dick about me either. Reciprocity is a hell of a concept the open-border crowd conveniently forgets.

The Constitution, that dusty old document these same people treat like toilet paper when it suits them, does not contain a single clause titled “Sob Stories Shall Grant Visas and Free Pizza Parties.” It’s not a global welfare application. It’s a rulebook for this country, written by people who understood that unlimited pity leads to unlimited problems.

So cry harder, cameras. Post your hashtags. Meanwhile, the rest of us will remember a simple life lesson: Teach a man to fish and he eats for a day. Hand him a sob story and an EBT card and suddenly the whole village shows up demanding sushi. Enough with the performative tears. Deportation isn’t cruelty—it’s consequences with better PR than most charities.