I have a generally low opinion of the intelligence of my fellow countrymen, but I also have a sense of humor about it. Nothing, for example, cracks me up quite as much as far, far right-wing rhetoric plagiarized verbatim from the Third Reich. To wit: Have more babies, because the brown people are fuckin' faster than "we" are. The Nazis called it Lebensborn; today in America we call it Focus on the Family.
Among the mental giants who most often flog this argument is John Gibson, who recently got in a little bit of hot water (emphasis on "little," and the water was more tepid than hot) for telling his viewers that if they don't start doing it with their frigid, unstable spouses more frequently, the dirty Mexicans are going to outnumber white people soon. Note that Gibson implicitly understands that all of his viewers are white, and therefore he can address them directly with commands rather than framing his comments in hypotheticals. You also hear this song being sung by people like Pat Buchanan and Mark Steyn, whose America Alone: The End of the World as We Know It proved that it is possible to write a book without ever having read one.
Aside from the moral and logical issues with this argument, let's focus on a more practical flaw. I have put a good amount of serious thought into this, and for the life of me I cannot think of anything that makes me want to have sex less than John Gibson's face. I could be completely horny and ready to conceive a beautiful, pure caucasian baby. I could be in the process of actually having sex. But one look at his pompadour would have me dangling like a windsock in no time. Here. You try it:
Now try to tell me with a straight face that you are in the mood for sex. I may not have a high opinion of the Moral Majority crowd, but I find it hard to believe that they can't understand why John Gibson ordering people to have sex is unlikely to result in more sex. Then again, these are a lot of the same people who idolize Ann Coulter as a sex goddess (I usually don't picture deities looking like bulimic horses, but I digress). So carry on, Christian fearmongering soldiers. Your theory that Pat Buchanan's red, sweaty face is going to make people want to procreate probably just needs a little more time – maybe six more months.