So the ever-unhinged Michelle Malkin has taken to cold-cocking the Washington Post over a story on illegal immigration. She shows a photo of one of the deportees with gangland tattoos, and smugly declares "OMG, th3y’r3 4ll t3h fscking 3vil MS-13!!!!!!!!!1111!!!1!1!!!!!!!11!1!"
Update: I forgot to mention that Malkin complained that the Post was "downplaying of the violent nature of the crimes committed by nearly half of those on the plane." Keep in mind that this is what Malkin calls "downplaying the violent nature" of the crimes committed by some of the deportees:
Those who are deported often come to the attention of immigration officials only because they commit a crime.
Watching over them were 16 marshals, who had reason to be wary. About 45 percent of the deportees had been convicted of violent crimes.
And stretching a long leg into the aisle from seat 9C was Oscar Barilla, 25, whose chest and back were tattooed with the gothic letters and fearsome symbols of his gang, Mara Salvatrucha, or MS-13. Barilla consented to be photographed for this article, but, like the other 15 gang members aboard, he refused to be interviewed.
Assuming the 16 MS-13 members (15 plus Mr. Barilla) comprised the whole of the violent gang contingent on the flight, that means that only 15.24% of the deportees on the flight were members of a notorious gang (16 is 15.24% of 105), which represents only a third of all violent offenders being deported on that one flight. That’s not very significant. I guess in Malkin’s batshit crazy world, journalists must have every other sentence be "A significant percentage of deportees are violent criminals, most of whom are members of the notorious MS-13 gang" in order to qualify as "fair and balanced" journalism, even when it’s not the case.
So in "honor" of Malkin’s blatant racism, I present the lyrics to The Highwaymen’s cover of the Woody Guthrie protest song "Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos)", because apparently, not following proper protocol to come here automatically makes one a good-for-nothing thug out to defile our precious bodily fluids and worthy only of death.
Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos)
The crops are all in and the peaches are rotten,
The oranges are packed in the creosote dumps.
They’re flyin’ them back to the Mexican border,
To save all their money then wade back again.
My father’s own father, he waded that river:
Others before him had done just the same.
They died in the hills and they died in the valleys;
Some went to heaven without any name.
CHORUS:
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita;
Adios mi amigo; Jesus y Maria.
You won’t have a name when you ride the big airplane.
All they will call you, will be: "Deportee".
Some of us are illegal and others not wanted;
Our work contract’s out and we have to move on.
Six hundred miles to the Mexican border.
They chase us like rustlers, like outlaws, like thieves.
REPEAT CHORUS
The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos canyon;
A fireball of thunder, it shook all the hills.
Who are all of these dear friends, scattered like dry leaves?
The radio said they were just ‘Deportees’.
REPEAT CHORUS 2x
