Crops Rotting In Georgia Since Illegal Alien Farm Workers Fled State

Well, the law worked. They wanted the illegals to go away and they did.

Oh you know all those teabagger farmer types now upset with no one to do the work, the irony is rich.

I wonder if Georgia's also facing a revolt of their wealthiest citizens for the loss of their maids and nannies.

That is some goddam forward thinking here. We need to sandbag ourselves a redoubt in the North and leave these extra chromosome fucktards to their fate. It won't be very long at all until we can reclaim the land, sans idiots.

And when the crops rot and the ag businesses lose money, it will be all the Messicans' fault.

Now's about time for Georgia teens to nut up and take back the jobs those heinous messicans stole, right? Or something…

Honestly tho, can you imagine bratty High School graduates laboring away in fields and orchards? Half the time would be spent whining and Twatting.and daydreaming about landing a lux job at Taco Bell.

Having worked briefly and unhappily for the independent, non-governmental American Farm Bureau in Washington, I can assure you that this slap in their face will still not be enough for them to encourage their membership to vote Democratic.

a little tangential, probably too long, and will probably break Wonkette.com, but:

The little farmers watched debt creep up on them like the tide. They sprayed the trees and sold no crop, they pruned and grafted and could not pick the crop. And the men of knowledge have worked, have considered, and the fruit is rotting on the ground, and the decaying mash in the wine vats is poisoning the air. And taste the wine–no grape flavor at all, just sulphor and tannic acid and alcohol.

This little orchard will be part of a great holding next year, for the debt will have choked the owner.

This vineyard will belong to the bank. Only the great owners can survive, for they won the canneries too. And four pears peeled and cut in half, cooked and canned, still cost fifteen cents. And the canned pears do not spoil. They will last for years.

The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who can graft the trees and make the seed fertile and big can find no way to let the hungry people eat their produce. men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten. and the failure hangs over the State like a great sorrow.

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people come from miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosine on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit–and kerosine sprayed over the golden mountains.

And the smell of rot fills the country.

Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putresence drip down into the earth.

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificates–died of malnutrition–because the food must rot, must be forced to rot.

The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quicklime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is a failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

Let me guess. He was against minimum wage increases before he was for them? Grraaaar! Get gubbermint outta my life! Oh wait, i'm poor as balls? GIMME A RAISE! Life is unfair!

It's amazing how quickly political beliefs can change when you're the one hurting. Take my dad for instance. Glenn Beck-loving, church going, gay hating (worked for prop 8 -_-), and yet, once he gets Diabetes, guess who's gung-ho for Stem Cell research? I love him, but I always wonder if he'd be for research if he didn't have that…

I suppose we're all selfish/blind in our own ways.

Ugh, too serious. Scrote. There we go.

Are there no workhouses?

Actually, there's a simple solution: convert all these fields to grow pot instead of food. Come harvest time, people will flock to Georgia to help, like they do here in Cali, for the price of a little kind bud and a nice spot in the yard to pitch their tents and hold nightly drum circles. Problem solved.

At least the fools don't grow the Medical Marijuana supply.