The Savage Nation: Saving America from the Liberal Assault on Our Borders, Language and Culture

Chapter 6 ; ;Trickle-Down Immorality ; ;When I was seventeen, I had a job as a busboy at a hotel up in the Catskill Mountains of New York. I'd work there every summer to pay for college. The hours were grueling. We'd work from five in the morning until midnight. You had to get up at five to prep the breakfast. Then you worked the early bird, then you worked the breakfast. You weren't out of the dining room until ten. You were sweaty and dirty. ; ;Then you had to be back at 11:30 for the pigs to come in for lunch. And you had to smile at them. They'd usually rip a bill in half and say to you, "Hey kid, my name is George Mosco. Let me tell ya something. See this twenty-dollar bill? Me and my family are gonna be here for two weeks. Take this half of the bill-" I promise, this really happened. He'd say, "Give us good service, I'll give you the other half." ; ;I mean these guys were something else. ; ;Anyway, then you'd work the lunch rush. You'd clean up only to get ready to serve dinner. You wouldn't get out of there until nine and be back at midnight for the "snack." That's the way it worked. It was something out of Dickens. You know, I was fascinated by kitchens and how they worked-how they could serve so many different meals so quickly. I loved to see the guys carrying the trays and the guys screaming at them from the back. "Watch out, moron!" It was awesome-the running, the hustling, the bustling, and all the yelling. ; ;I remember in the kitchen there was a guy we called Fat Al. He was the breakfast and lunch cook. A fat Italian guy, maybe four hundred pounds of blubber. Underneath the blubber was solid iron. He had a neck on him like a tree stump. He'd wear a bandanna around his neck and on top of his head, and he'd sit with a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth as he cooked. I don't know how old he was. Could have been thirty-eight. To me, he looked ninety. ; ;One day, old Fat Al called me over. He said, "Hey kid, come here. I'll show you how to make the tuna." As I watched, his cigarette dangled from his mouth over the bowl. I'll never forget how Fat Al didn't use a Cuisinart to mix things. You know, with the stainless-steel blades that all the fancy chefs use today. No. Fat Al mixed stuff with his big mitt. He'd be up to his armpit in the tureen, mixing the tuna and seasonings, his arm going around and around in the bowl. ; ;At one point he says, "All right, kid, throw in the mayo." So I'm throwing in the jars of mayo. He keeps mixing it with his hairy arm in the bowl. I'm saying to myself, Some of the hair's gotta be in the tuna! Of course, his cigarette ashes were falling from his mouth. So I decided to take my chances and say something. ; ;I said, "Excuse me, Al. What about the ashes getting in there?" ; ;He said, "Never mind. It gives it flavor." ; ;I tell you that story for a reason. Just as Fat Al's cigarette ash laced the tuna, our culture has been laced with toxic liberal thought for forty years. Little by little, the pollutants of liberalism have been mixed into the cultural diet that we've been forced to consume since the sixties. ; ;These lies of liberalism-the sexual free-for-all, the experimental drugs, the easy divorce, the banishment of Judeo-Christian anything from schools, the flood of immigrants, and the so-called abortion rights movement-fall from the libs' lips so frequently, we've come to accept the distinctively acidic taste. ; ;But when, like finding hair in our food, we question the presence of these left-wing contaminates, we are told: "Shut up. Suck it down. It's good for you." ;Michael Savage is the author of 'The Savage Nation: Saving America from the Liberal Assault on Our Borders, Language and Culture' with ISBN 9780785263531 and ISBN 0785263535.