Lunatic Policies?

The Wolf moon brought with it a crystal clear mass of arctic air that howled at the gates of our region. The friendly warm winds from the southern hemisphere skittered back to their equatorial latitudes. The weather forecasters made jokes about politicians being so cold that they had their hands in their own pockets. Har dee har.

I was in the cobb house, sitting at my desk, glad to have attained management status, and not required to work outdoors. My crew were just coming in to spend their coffee breaks - huddling around the Franklin Stove which I had cranked up with dry birch chunks. The sides of the cast iron stove glowed cherry red.

As usual, George was first through the door. He likes to lead and Bill doesn't touch door knobs so in they came, winding down on some argument they had been having outside. The gist of it seemed to be about the new Bush immigration policy.
"Rewarding the crimaliens! What is the message here! Fucking Bush should be impeached!" George threw his hat down to emphasize his point, and sat close to the stove, rubbing his hands to bring the blood back to the surface.
"It's not enough," insisted Bill "We need these people to do the jobs no one here wants to do. They are the bullwark of our economy, for chrisakes!"
Rajjid, the new guy, was scratching his head. "This is not a good thing." He knew that he was the most vulnerable worker on the staff. "Last in first out" is not just our motto, it's our philosophy too. Rajjid was safe, but I didn't want to give him a reason to get too content. I paid him in Canadian dollars, so he was well under the minimum hourly wage that would be demanded by the former illegal aliens.
Lardass had also come in from the cold. He blew his nose in a filthy rag of a hankercheif and put it back in his hip pocket. "So when are we gonna get some illegal aliens in here to do the jobs that no one wants to do?"
The question hung in the air like the stink of sewer gas.