As I See It: The Coming Invasion

Concerned readers will be relieved to know that I was recently granted an interview with a group calling itself The Proudly Paranoid. Ensconced in a secret, undisclosed location, they track world events for signs of nefarious conspiracies. Conspiracy theorists, listen up. This is the story they told me.

A villainous plot is being hatched on the southern side of our southern border, right under our (well, to be accurate, under Mexican) noses. The object worthy of our collective concern is no larger than a grain of rice. So why worry? Because, although sometimes a cigar may just be a cigar, a grain of rice in the shoe of a steadfast conspiracy afficionado is proof of the global podiatrist conspiracy. Ignore such insight at your own peril.

So, when Mexican authorities volunteered to have little rice-like devices implanted not in their shoes but in their arms, the color-coded conspiracy alert system that lives inside the heads of true believers instantly went rojo.

Originally, this device was designed for livestock and wildlife tracking. Then wayward pets were implanted; no more catting around for old Fluffy, one of my hosts said mournfully. Wayward husbands have so far escaped, but it’s only a matter of time. Human trials are under way in Mexico, and the subjects are not the usual desperate prisoners who volunteer for experimental procedures in order to escape the amorous attentions of Bubbalito. Oh, no. The volunteers in question, 160 of them, came from the office of Mexico’s attorney general. Well, as even a junior conspiracy enthusiast knows, when government officials volunteer for anything, much less to become medical guinea pigs, something is rotten in Chihuahua.

We have it on good authority, they told me, that the little arm pellets were delivered by black helicopters with tinted windows, flown at night by black pilots wearing dark glasses. And the entire operation was financed by the worldwide cabal of Jewish bankers, looking to make a quick buck. Proof, I asked? Well, they said, each rice-sized chip cost Mexican taxpayers $150, and everybody knows you can get a whole box of Uncle Ben’s for a lot less than that.

They first came across the story on Salon, reported by Will Weissert, so they were naturally skeptical. Here are the facts, to the degree that we can know them, they told me, given that they were reported by the left-wing liberal media. Inside the headquarters that house the attorney general and his staff, there are restricted areas–in particular, a new federal anti-crime information center. Now, why, they asked me, would the attorney general want to restrict his crime fighting minions from accessing anti-crime information? In a word: corrupcion. “The biggest security problem for Mexican law enforcement has been corruption by officials themselves,” they said, pointing to Weissert’s article. So rather than hand out keys or access cards or, Dios forbid, getting rid of the people who can’t be trusted, the attorney general opted to have 160 of his closest friends implanted with these miniature security devices. The implants supposedly control access–letting the good guys in, while keeping the corrupt from getting information on the activities of their fellow corruptees.

But here’s what gave the plotters away, my hosts said. The thing is made of glass, so that it will break and be rendered useless if someone tries to remove it. Aha! That’s how we knew it was a conspiracy with a darker agenda, they cried, with increased agitation. Look, they said, assuming the pro-crime forces wanted access to the anti-crime archive, all they previously had to do was lift a key. Now they’re going to have to cut somebody’s arm off and hold it next to a scanner to get in. “Here, hold this arm, Diego, while I search these secret files.”

They laughed scornfully, but I must have looked unconvinced. You tell me, they challenged: What rational person would risk his arm to prevent already corrupt officials from discovering there’s corruption in Mexico?

They had a point.

But wait, there’s more, they said. Over 1,000 other Mexicans have been implanted “for medical reasons,” according to this Weissert fellow. Oh, sure, they scoffed. Our own Food and Drug Administration has yet to recognize implanted microchips as appropriate medical devices for Americans. Are we to believe Mexico is more medicamente avanzado than the U.S. of A.? Only a member of the vast left-wing America-hating liberal media conspiracy would suggest such a thing.

And, if that’s not enough to convince you, they added, rumor has it that President Vicente Fox, El Jefe himself, may soon become “of the body,” and will allow himself, selected members of his administration, and high-ranking military officials to be implanted. (Notice, they told me, that the president uses the anglicized version of his name, as in the FOX News Network. Coincidence? They think not. He should be “Vicente Zorro,” they said, but the Zorro News Network just doesn’t sound right–proof positive, according to my sources, that “Senor Zorro” intends to nationalize the beloved voice of our government when he takes over.)

And, get this, they said: this guy Weissert reports that “global positioning chips have become common accouterments on jewelry or clothing in Mexico.” Authorities want us to believe that people bug their clothing and jewelry because the national sport in Mexico is kidnapping, but the rash of body snatching was probably staged to misdirect our attention from the real purpose of the implant craze, which by now should be pretty darned clear even to you.

I must have looked confused, because they continued.

No doubt, the GPS feature, communication capabilities, and other secret options have already been added to the attorney general’s implants and those of other government officials. Slowly, using such disingenuous covers as providing security, capturing medical history, and locating people who were stolen along with their clothing, the entire national elite of Mexico will be implanted with silicon Rice Crispies.

And why will they do that? I asked.

So they can come for our white collar jobs, they concluded proudly.

Before I could object, one of the group continued. Imagine a Borg-like army of Hispanic intelligentsia able to transmit thoughts through invisible devices planted in their arms, all connected to the Internet and each other, able to open restricted doors at will, and with an unfair labor advantage of being able to speak fluent Spanish. Why, they could find work here. Who needs a transplanted Austrian to run California when you can actually get somebody who speaks the language? Well, they had a point there, too.

So there you have it, a conspiracy against our ruling class has been unearthed. We’ll know it has succeeded, my sources told me, when an excessive amount of Mexican food is being ordered in the Senate cafeteria, Wal-Mart officially changes its name to Pared-Mart, and Sam Palmisano comes to work wearing a sombrero. Stay alert. Look for the signs. Eternal vigilance is the price of paranoia.

In the mean time, fellow conspiracy buffs–dare I say “amigos”–don’t wait for the parting of the waters of the Rio Grande. Put on your Viva Zapata T-shirt and make your way to your favorite Mexican bistro, where you can practice the four words of Spanish that will help you weather the coming invasion.

Mas cerveza, por favor.