I'm a huge fan of Mayors Against Illegal Guns, although here in Tête de Hergé, we have no gun violence. None.Yes, there are hunters, but it is as much of a "sport" as possible, and all animals killed must be used, nose to tail -- part of what makes our cuisine so interesting! You hear lots of excited inquiries at dinner tables in our land -- "What the hell is that?" is pretty common.
When Tête de Hergéens hunt, they have to physically capture the animal -- no guns, arrows, not even fishing gear. That probably explains the popularity of small family dairy and chicken farms... Even in the abattoir, however, we are somewhat different. Death must come painlessly, and be witnessed, and the animal looked lovingly in the eye. The job of Slaughterer is rotated, as it is psychologically demanding, and even requires pre-screening examinations.
Ah, yes. Well what I logged on to write about were those nice Mayors Against Illegal Guns. Having lived in many large cities, and even a few small towns, I admire mayors. It is where, as they say, the rubber meets the road, and the bullets enter the bodies. Not to knock Oakland, but when I resided in that fair city, gun violence was a daily concern.
Somehow, these nice Mayors Against Illegal Guns have all my contact information and are about to drive moi batty with contact -- emails, telephone calls, miniature submarine surprise visits... And you know how much I love the telephone!
One of the emails for today, though, cracked me up. And here's my deal to the good Mayors and their ardent supporters: we will give you your own miniature submarine slot in the miniature submarine mooring marina at Marlinspike Hall's moat. In addition, we'll issue them free Algae Warnings so as not to muck up the fine cogs and electronics of their mini sub. We should probably do that for everyone but Fred and I, in strict coordination with Captain Haddock, sometimes strategically choose NOT to warn every miniature submarine heading our way about possible algae muck-up -- given some of the potential familial visitations that we... Well, that we would move Heaven and Hell and the Lone Alp to avoid.
Right... what we want from MAIG -- these cute little Chicken Signs! Think of all the wonderful protest rallies for which they'd make the perfect annotation. Think, even, of the occasional domestic uses! Fred, for example, has an inexplicable fear of my green bentwood Amish rocker. It would calm my soul were I able to wave the Chicken Sign from time to time. It's a rocker, for God's sake.
And should I encounter a lost USAmerican politician wandering on Haddock land? The joy of being able to pull out a Chicken Sign would be so satisfying. No need to shout, no need to say a word.
Of course, I have never much considered why we consider chickens to be such scaredy-cats...
When Tête de Hergéens hunt, they have to physically capture the animal -- no guns, arrows, not even fishing gear. That probably explains the popularity of small family dairy and chicken farms... Even in the abattoir, however, we are somewhat different. Death must come painlessly, and be witnessed, and the animal looked lovingly in the eye. The job of Slaughterer is rotated, as it is psychologically demanding, and even requires pre-screening examinations.
Ah, yes. Well what I logged on to write about were those nice Mayors Against Illegal Guns. Having lived in many large cities, and even a few small towns, I admire mayors. It is where, as they say, the rubber meets the road, and the bullets enter the bodies. Not to knock Oakland, but when I resided in that fair city, gun violence was a daily concern.
Somehow, these nice Mayors Against Illegal Guns have all my contact information and are about to drive moi batty with contact -- emails, telephone calls, miniature submarine surprise visits... And you know how much I love the telephone!
One of the emails for today, though, cracked me up. And here's my deal to the good Mayors and their ardent supporters: we will give you your own miniature submarine slot in the miniature submarine mooring marina at Marlinspike Hall's moat. In addition, we'll issue them free Algae Warnings so as not to muck up the fine cogs and electronics of their mini sub. We should probably do that for everyone but Fred and I, in strict coordination with Captain Haddock, sometimes strategically choose NOT to warn every miniature submarine heading our way about possible algae muck-up -- given some of the potential familial visitations that we... Well, that we would move Heaven and Hell and the Lone Alp to avoid.
Right... what we want from MAIG -- these cute little Chicken Signs! Think of all the wonderful protest rallies for which they'd make the perfect annotation. Think, even, of the occasional domestic uses! Fred, for example, has an inexplicable fear of my green bentwood Amish rocker. It would calm my soul were I able to wave the Chicken Sign from time to time. It's a rocker, for God's sake.
And should I encounter a lost USAmerican politician wandering on Haddock land? The joy of being able to pull out a Chicken Sign would be so satisfying. No need to shout, no need to say a word.
Of course, I have never much considered why we consider chickens to be such scaredy-cats...
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| A North Carolina woman protesting Sen. Burr's anti-reform vote on gun background checks |
DEMAND ACTION: JOIN WITH THE MAYORS AGAINST ILLEGAL GUNS INTELLIGENCE MOVEMENT! CLICK HERE!
