There is a children’s program on public television called Maria Tortilla and the Melting Pot Bunch. I only know of this show because I meant to tivo the Ken Burns documentary on Victorian-era pornography, but instead I accidentally recorded Maria Tortilla. And I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong: the show is not about children being melted together in a witch’s giant melting pot. It is about foreigners coming together to run around town and annoy adults into buying them candy and surprises. The show chronicles the adventures of an obnoxious little bilingual girl and her obnoxious multi-ethnic friends. In addition to Maria, there is a little girl from Hong Kong named Suki, a little boy from Berlin named Hans, a little girl from Kenya named Amali, and a little French boy named André. And I know what you’re thinking again, and you’re correct this time: they all speak their obnoxious native languages intermixed with English in that very sneaky way that bilinguals do when they’re trying to encroach on my rights as a true American. And when I say “true American,” I don’t mean some fat soccer mom from Michigan who volunteers at the hospital and goes to church every Sunday. I mean someone who makes their own clothing out of home-grown caterpillar silk, drinks milk straight from the cat’s teat, drives a hand-made hovercraft in excess of 120 miles per hour on the highway, worships Crambin, the god of getting laid at a wedding reception, and speaks only English because the language he created himself, which is called Frumplish, is not yet recognized as the national language. I’m talking about ME. And when I see a handful of foreign minors gallivanting around town speaking in ridiculous foreign languages, I feel like climbing to the top of Mt. Rushmore and screaming, “Go back from whence you came, you freeloading mutants!” which is why Mt. Rushmore was built in the first place, as a giant soapbox for true Americans to shout their beliefs from. And it is my belief that public television should only be used to showcase pornumentaries and swimsuit calendar auditions because that’s what my tax dollars are paying to see. Not some prepubescent candy-wanting pseudo-Americans and their talking pet horse.