Hello again. C.H. Dalton here. How are you enjoying the Internet today? Good. I’m glad.

I am a man of science, but as many of my students know, I am also a man of passion. Specifically, a passion for the show Cash in the Attic on BBC America. Or, in a pinch, Antiques Roadshow. That’s why I spent all last weekend going through the back of my closet*, looking for hidden treasures.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to find: some clay pipes, my old Teddy Roosevelt Bear, a stack of Mad Magazines... At one point I thought I found a 1955 double-die penny, but it turns out it was just a regular penny.

The only interesting item I came across was a commemorative plate from the 1901 Pan-American Exposition, in Buffalo, New York. If you’ll remember, the Exposition was where President William McKinley was assassinated by the foreign-sounding anarchist, Leon Czolgosz (pronounced “Shol-gosh”).

Looking over this small, chipped plate—a relic of my great-great-grandmother, Sadie Dalton, who worked at the fair’s revolutionary “Women’s Pavilion”—I was reminded of two things. First: what a grand, cosmopolitan city is Buffalo. Surely, there could have been no finer spot for an exposition that brought together the entire western hemisphere. And second, what an insidious threat we face from foreigners.

Immigration from Mexico is a popular topic of debate these days, but lost in the shuffle seems to be the dangers from Eastern European immigrants coming to this country, or, as in Czolgosz’s case, being born here.

How many more Presidents must we lose before something is done about Eastern Europeans and their descendants coming to our shores, defiling our women, and assassinating our leaders? I’m willing to bet Lee Harvey Oswald and Sirhan Sirhan had some Eastern European blood in them. John Hinckley was probably Arab (they’re notoriously bad shots).

I’d like to suggest that we curtail immigration from the rest of mainland Europe, too. And Ireland. And Wales and Scotland. Basically, everywhere but England.

Southern England.

It’s just like former Atlanta Braves pitchman John Rocker said about New York: “It's the most hectic, nerve-racking city. Imagine having to take the 7 Train to the ballpark, looking like you're riding through Beirut next to some kid with purple hair, next to some queer with AIDS, right next to some dude who just got out of jail for the fourth time, right next to some 20-year-old mom with four kids. It's depressing.” Except replace all that stuff with something about Polacks.

Well, that’s all for this week. To make your voice heard on this important issue, be sure to write your local Congressman or City Councilmember, or really anyone you know. Letter-writing campaigns are all about volume. Good day.

*That’s “closet,” singular. I can only afford one on an academic’s salary. For the last fifteen years I’ve lived in a studio apartment situated above a tire shop and neighbored on either side by a kennel and a gay nightclub.