Now that two women reporters I could throw over a fence have chased Pres. Donald Trump out of a press conference, I guess we understand why older white American men need so many guns. You never know when your intellect is going to get mugged by some small Asian-looking woman who wears a size 4 dress.
"Ask China," Trump said. What, does he think if you're Asian-looking, you call China every night? I suppose we're lucky Trump didn't ask her if she could bring him an order of sweet and sour chicken, maybe ask if her parents are in the laundry business.
He's old, is what it is, and he's always been some kind of boss, so he's always been able to say what he wants and somebody else would clean up the mess, pay off the porn star and keep the Latina maids from joining a union. Trump is 1963 walking around in a suit.
If, by some stroke of magic, I were able to control the entire White House Press Corps, the day after Trump went all dragon lady on the reporter, I would have held a meeting of every television network, every big paper and every wire service that covers White House press conferences. I'd have laid it out schoolyard simple.
"I don't want to see too many white men covering Trump's press conferences," I would have said. "Not for a couple of months, not unless the reporter is a drag queen wearing a ball gown.
"Diversity freaks this guy," I would have said.
I would have told those editors and publishers and television executives to get out their personnel list and start looking for names.
"Call your bureaus all over the country," I would have said. "We're gonna need black women."
I'd have had editors everywhere combing through their reporters for Korean American female reporters, reporters who wear the burka, reporters who use wheelchairs, female reporters with a noticeable stutter.
"You want to send a male reporter, he needs to be wearing a turban or a yarmulke," I'd say. "You send a Christian white guy, you make sure he's only got one arm."
Sikhs. Black female reporters from small papers in Ohio.
"Get me some Samoans," I'd say. "Some of your companies own television stations in Samoa.
"If you're going to send a Mexican-American reporter, you better send one with a slight Spanish accent. Same with Puerto Ricans.
"I don't want too many reporters who were born here, either," I would have said. "Get me a bunch of naturalized citizen reporters. That ought to scare the hell out of the old man.
"Also, when the reporters are talking among themselves before the press conference, I want to hear a lot of languages. French. Tagalog. Yiddish. Maybe some Cape Verdean Creole. Mix it up."
And the next American morning, as the sun shone down on Washington, D.C., the scared old white guy we elected president would look out at a sea of nearly all women, and some men, all of them gabbling away in the tongue of another place, most of them darker than a glass of milk.
You know what that would look like? It would look like America as she has been since the beginning, where you can come from anywhere, and worship any way you want, and dress any way you want, and still be anything you want.
To find out more about Marc Munroe Dion and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his best columns, is called "Devil's Elbow: Dancing in the Ashes of America." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle, GooglePlay and iBooks.