John Boston | I’d Like to Buy a Vowel, and, uh, Greenland?

John Boston
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I like the idea of Greenland as a 51st state, protectorate, territory or even as a leper colony. Dear me. It’s 2019. The closest thing we have to a leper colony today is San Francisco. Recently, our good president, Donald J. Trump, a fine, decent, innovative, kind, accepting, brilliant, honest human being and best chief executive in American history, suggested looking into the purchase.

(POST IT: The above superlatives in reference to the president were added only for the sheer pleasure of watching certain letters to the editor writers writhe and moan, like flying Wizard of Oz monkeys scalded by holy water.)

Greenland is a series of gigantismo to itty-bitty islands northeast of Canada. Total, they add up to about a million square miles. That’s nearly twice as big as Glendale. For the past 1,000 years, the Greenies have been both an autonomous region of Denmark and their leaking garage freezer. Greenland is famous for making ice cubes, snow cones, frozen peas and ice farts. Their national dish is a soup called “suaasat,” which may also account for why Greenland leads the entire world in per capita suicides. “Suaasat” is made from whale blubber, reindeer, mulch, permafrost, Wooly mammoths (when they’re in season) and more ice cubes. An efficient people, Greenlanders have found a way to combine dinner with a powerful laxative because, after all, who wants to waste time digesting meals? “Suaasat” is also the reason why there are no swimming pools or bathtubs in Greenland.

My dear wonderful, smart and handsome President Trump recently has been kicking the tires of Greenland. The Danes, who eat nothing but salted fish and Danish pastries, do not want to sell their grand duchy to America.

Owning this vast frozen wasteland is good economics. It’s basically a giant piggy bank of gems, minerals and natural resources, just waiting to be turned upside down, shaken and emptied. Then, I could collect my rightful reparations. You see, back in 1155, Denmark attacked my relatives in Poland in the 13-Year War. Granted. We beat their numbskull Lego-chewing rear ends. But that’s not the point. Denmark owes me. As reparation payment, I’d accept a large pouch of diamonds, rubies and a snow mule. I’d take a hearty bowl of “suaasat,” which I’d plop into a Mason jar, place it on my kitchen windowsill and watch it bubble in the sunlight and mutate into a whale/reindeer monster, or, what the French call, “bouillabaisse.”

And what’s with the Chinese?

They WANT us to think they’ll build missile silos. Actually, they’re conniving to store their excess Top Ramen inventory. That’s an ecological disaster waiting to happen. If the ice sheet melts and hits the Top Ramen, the oceans would shrink by several hundred feet. Plus, if the Chinese were to mix their hot-and-sour soup with Greenland’s “suaasat,” no one’s intestinal tract would be safe. Talk about conspiracy. That’s Joe Biden’s entire presidential campaign — safe intestinal tracts.

For illegal aliens.

There’s historical precedent for buying Greenland. Right after the Civil War, Secretary of State William Seward was behind the move to buy Alaska from the Russians at 2 cents an acre, or, $7.2 million. Interestingly, Seward originally wanted to purchase Greenland. The Danes weren’t interested.

Another cool historical tidbit? (And I ain’t making this up): President Trump’s grandfather, Frederick Trump, struck it rich in the Alaska Gold Rush, then moved his fortune to New York City. I’m guessing our brilliant visionary president, El Donaldo, learned many a valuable lesson from Grandpapa Fred.

Greenland’s harsh and wide-open spaces would be a great boon to America today. With a total of 58,000 souls there, Earth’s largest island is the least densely populated territory in the world. About a third of the population lives in one city, the capital, Nuuk, which is not to be confused with one-third of Three Stooges’ Curly Joe’s trademark: “Gnyuck-gnyuck-gnyuck.”

Acquiring Greenland would help us solve both our homeless and criminal problems. We could build giant trebuchets. You know. Those medieval catapults? Except they’d be the size of 17 city blocks. Using stun guns and giant butterfly nets, we’d capture the dazed, drug-addicted, confused, criminal element and, of course, the Democrats and get them off the streets. We’d duct-tape them into giant meatball-sized artillery. Plop them into a basket at the end of a 1,800-yard-long catapult arm. Count “Three… two… one …!” and pop the clutch. I’d stick fireworks into inappropriate areas for the night shoots so that here in the states we can enjoy our own, personal Aurora Borealis.

Is that wrong?

Granted. Such a transfer of the underbelly of American culture would make quite the smudge, hitting the ice at 1,600 mph. But, Greenlanders are a can-do people. Using their abundance of a natural resource — snow shovels — the Greenlanders could harvest the flattened projectiles and add them to their “suaasat” stew.

Mind you, we’re Americans. We’re civilized. Legislation would be passed to ensure this new recipe would only be sold to the Danes and the Chinese and certainly not the Polish…

No Democrats, Inuits, Danes, Chinese or useless middle management bureaucrats were harmed in the production of this column. John Boston is the most prolific satirist in world history and wanders about, unsupervised, in the Santa Clarita Valley.

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