As a knee-jerk liberal commie Chardonnay-swilling secretly-Muslim gay-loving pro-abortion anti-gun blogger, it’s difficult not to go into a lengthy rant about the Trayvon Martin case. It’s got all of the elements that enrage me. A kid leaving a convenience store is murdered by a gun-toting clown playing Dirty Harry. The gun lobby says that the kid had it coming to him for fighting back against the much larger armed idiot who was stalking him as he walked back to his dad’s home. The Florida government says it’s not illegal because of the asinine “stand your ground law” which makes it okay to blow somebody away if you’re armed and you claim that you thought they might be menacing you, and my role model Geraldo Rivera blames it on the kid’s hoodie.
And just yesterday another gun-toting sicko murdered a bunch of nursing students in California, and the NRA’s inevitable response is that it’s the dead students’ faults for not being armed themselves, because clearly the best way to stop deranged idiots from killing people is to give guns to as many more people as possible.
Indeed, this would be consuming my brain, if it weren’t for the beating that Obamacare has recently sustained in the Supreme Court, where the fine justices seem eager to overthrow it in its entirety, leaving us back where we started. As someone — I can’t remember who — said, “the government can tax you, arrest you, imprison you, make you go to war, blow you up with a secret killer flying death robot, but it’s wrong to make you purchase health insurance?” As a cancer survivor who will for the rest of his life remain at risk for a really expensive recurrence of the disease, that’s enough to get my blood boiling to the evaporation point.
Fortunately for my poor brain, my house is presently overrun with puppies. We have seven five-week-old pointer puppies in residence, each eager to get into more trouble than the next. It’s difficult to remain truly angry at the world when you’re diving to catch a young animal who is in the process of plunging head-first to its doom off of your front porch onto bricks. Or when several enraged puppies launch a vicious attack against your computer’s surge-protector. And when you give a puppy a smooch and it cheerfully sinks all of its needle-sharp teeth deep into your schnozz, well you totally lose all interest in national affairs for a few precious moments.
I’m not recommending that everybody get himself a half-dozen puppies to help smooth out the grind of modern life — you can’t imagine how much poop those little buggers generate in a single day — and they have an annoying tendency to grow up and hog the couch — but when the world begins to drive you mad with rage, it is good to occasionally turn off the TV and go frolic with some form of nature.
Just for God’s sake don’t wear a hoodie.