Please, I’m Begging You….

I don’t normally put out begging letters. However, since this is the holiday season, I thought it might be appropriate to ask a favor of all of you.

Please get your politicians and reporters spayed and neutered. Then ear-tip them so that we know it’s been done.   Microchipping might be in order, too.

We need to do something about the rapidly-growing population of these stray and feral critters. If this isn’t addressed now, or even sooner, we’ll have two entire generations of stray politicians hanging out on your doorstep, looking for food and shelter, and most likely a small clowder of reporters following them, after finding their way out of the demesnes under commuter rail bridges and empty shops next to a Starbuck’s.

Now, I know I used the word ‘strays’.  It’s my understanding that some of them are also ferals, especially the old-timers in the politician population. They’re incredibly picky about what they eat and where they stay, so you can’t just give them regular food like Arby’s or Kentucky Fried Chicken and corner in the garage with a blanket. Many of them will turn down a Quarterpounder with Cheese, even if they’ve gone without a meal since 10AM. They may be finicky, but it’s because they think they’re entitled to a little more than just regular food. Black Forest ham, for instance, makes them happier than a ham sandwich with no designated ham origin, and if the salad you give them doesn’t have the latest in food fads – Chia pet seeds, for instance – they turn up their noses and walk away. And just plain old coffee is less than satisfactory, especially if you don’t use the real fake lo-fat non-dairy powdered creamer in it. They like to have bragging rights about the source and content of everything. It should be tattooed on their tummies or ears for the entire world to see, along with their invente,d but certified, allergies and carbon-resistant tendencies.

I’m not suggesting we should be considering taking up a collection for shelters for homeless reporters or politicians. That money should go to homeless veterans, who put their time in serving their country instead of themselves.

It’s only fair, however, to make sure that in their sunset years these particularly politic feral souls will have a safe haven to go to where they can live out what time they have left before the world explodes into an ice age around them. We must also guarantee that they can’t reproduce.

The only real difference between the two species is that reporters generally tend to be sort of blondish with a fascination for glowing vid-screens, whereas politicians seem to manifest a rather dark, sometimes odd presence, as if they’re hiding something under the dinner napkins. But as you know, both species engage in flurries of untrammeled copulatory diversions, as well as concerts of loud, inane rambling public rhetoric in front of TV cameras.

The populations of both species have grown by leaps and bounds lately, so much so that to continue to allow the spread of this disorder may result in having to force them into fenced colonies, accessible only to theologians and psychiatrists.

So please, I beg you, follow the procedure to get this done. Set up the local traps with a tempting bit of bait, such as dinner wafers with feta cheese and fish eggs or pulsed zucchini in a garlic mayonnaise sauce. Once the politician or the reporter is trapped, you can call the local ferals shelter to pick them up for proper medical care, and neutering or spaying, plus the ear tipping and microchip.

They can then be released to their own colonies where they won’t be constantly begging for money from us, expecting us to listen to their long-winded rattling speeches, or asking us to pay for their expensive cars and food.

I’m begging you, with tears in my eyes, get them spayed and neutered. It’s the only way to be sure.

Category: Politics