Christine, it's high noon in Calipatria. You're the "goodie," multiculturalism varmint and I'm the "oldie" gunslinger and we're going to settle our dispute here and now.
I'm going to make you give the right answer to all those politically correct questions you asked in your last letter to the editor.
I challenge you to "name that tune." Here are the clues. It's a song of praise for a beautiful country that lies between two shining seas, has "spacious skies," purple mountains and a "fruited plane" covered with "amber waves of grain."
When you were a second- or third-grade student, a little girl with a missing front tooth that put a hole in your varmint smile and gave your pointy little tongue a place to play where it didn't bother anyone, you probably sang this song.