Thanksgiving dinner got me thinking about zoos, among other things. The topic came up as we gorged ourselves on the breast of a mass produced turkey. My friends were talking about places to take a couple 10-year-old kids during their Christmas vacation in San Francisco and I mentioned a hidden safari tucked away deep in the remote regions of Santa Rosa. "Is it like a nature preserve, or a zoo?" they asked. I didn't know. I've never been to the place. "I didn't think you were the kind of person that would condone the zoo." And then I knew it was too late. All of the pent up liberal scorn and seething upset that had been bubbling up without an outlet had suddenly found one. It no longer mattered that I was anti-Trump, or that I consider myself a left-leaning progressive. The only thing that mattered was that I believed in the inhumane incarceration of animals. Animal abuse.
My comrades informed me that I was a monster for defending the existence of such a cruel and unusual institution. I was told that the zoo, or as they liked to call it - animal jail - was a barbaric and disgusting practice that I was subsequently shamed and shunned for supporting. I use the term "support" loosely, because it's been perhaps 20 years since I've visited a zoo. I told them that the last time I was there the animals seemed well-fed, exercised, protected, that it needn't be viewed as a terrible experience from the animal's perspective, necessarily. Zoos give kids the chance to see an animal that they would otherwise never see, it's educational. Isn't that a liberal value? But they would hear none of it. One person suddenly screamed, "you probably support SeaWorld, too, don't you?!" I didn't, I said. "Well, you support zoos, so you support Shamu, too." Again, I said I didn't. But it didn't matter. To them there was no difference between feeding, protecting and preserving animals and forcing an animal to perform humiliating party tricks on command. They told me it's cruel to limit an animal that would otherwise roam free to the meager confines of a cell inside a zoo. But you guys have two cats, and just recently had a dog, I said. "That was different," they explained. Then, a woman who'd had enough of my shit smashed a cup of nog onto the floor and yelled out, "you believe in enslaving animals; do you support slavery, too?!" Emboldened by the woman's cry, a man stood up and, pointing, said "I heard his family owned a plantation!" I looked toward my mother to dispel these false allegations but she turned away from me in disgust. Things were getting out of control, fast. Caught off guard, I stuttered, and fought back a little chuckle at the absurdity of the claim. "Look, he's laughing! So now you think slavery is funny!" No, I said, I think...
"Shut your racist mouth, faggot," another friend said to me, interrupting.
That's when my first amendment rights were revoked. And on Thanksgiving, of all days! I stood up to excuse myself, thinking that a bathroom break might ease some of the tension, but as soon as I stood up, the back of my leg bumped the chair and sent it crashing to the ground with a loud smack. A teething baby, uttering his first words, said, "mamma, he's got a gun!" Women were shrieking, the men had bashed their beer bottles off the edge of the table, turning them into sharp rings of glass shark teeth. Whoa, everybody, let's just be calm. The turkey had gotten up and used its half devoured body to shield the wailing baby. Stuffing fell in wet clumps out from its anus as it trembled. Listen, I said, please, let's be civil about this. "This is America," my friends told me, "we don't tolerate your godless hatred here, you goddamned terrorist!" I knew I should have shaved my beard. What do you guys want, I asked. "We want your guns," they demanded.
First they came for my first amendment rights, and I did not speak out.
Once more I told them I didn't have a weapon. They told me they didn't believe me, that they needed to make sure. Someone blindsided me and mashed a pumpkin pie into my face while the others grabbed me and held me down. They riffled through my pockets and pants and underwear as they fondled my limp wattle.
When they came for my fourth amendment rights...
Some of them had a bright future with the TSA, for sure. Slowly suffocating from the pumpkin pie caked into my nostrils and mouth, I began to lose consciousness. The last thing I remember was someone aggressively stroking my snood while they continued to search for weapons exclusively around my groin and anus region.
...and I was thankful for that.
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