You'd Better Get Movin' When PETA Takes Offense with thanks to Old Bull Lee

Abstract

A little orange plastic dog just ran into my ear and the little bugger won't come out.I even offered him some beef jerky but he says he only eats mosquito paste so I've been sittin' around smashing up mosquitoes to coax this dog out of my ear and when I've finally got enough of this mosquito-mush mixed up the dog says he changed his mind about it and now he just wants some smack.I don't have any l tell him and he starts biting the inside of my ear and I'm afraid the little bastard's gonna make me go deaf 'cause he's barking too, so -I don't like to do it -but I go in after him with a Q-tip.He comes out looking like a little ball of earwax, but I can still make out the tail.When I was young I had a dog that died and I never got to bury him so I take the Q-tip and wipe the little orange ball with a tail off onto a Kleenex and put the Kleenex in a shoebox and bury the shoebox in the backyard .Then I stand over the burial mound and play "Taps" on my grandfather's old accordion.Then some motherfucker animal rights activist who is very well known for her hunger strikes to stop the extermination of cockroaches, and who was acquitted when she went on trial for killing a Terminex man with a flamethrower, gets wind of my method of little plastic dog removal and calls the ASPCA and PETA which both promptly send agents out to my apartment to flush me out using mustard gas.I don't know where they got the mustard gas -it was explicitly banned after WWI-but they had it and they used it and next thing I know I'm on my way to the PETA Animal Rights Violators' Concentration Camp where, if I don't cough up my lungs in big chunks from the mustard gas, I am slated to be hanged and then burned at the stake when they're through drawing and quartering me.Fortunately enough, I wasn't exposed to the gas long enough for it to be fatal, but I do have some pretty severe respiratory problems as I write this.And since the gas didn't kill me, the animal-friendlies sure wanted to.They had exhumed the little ball of plastic orange with a tail from my backyard grave as proof that I was a barbaric torturer of beings unable to defend themselves.They also got a testimony from the neighbors that I had played "Taps" on an accordion, a blatant mockery of the seriousness of the plastic dog's death.They were gonna string me up at high noon, cut me to pieces and start the fire by five after.Well, I ruined their little plans and here's how: My detainment quarters were swarming with ants.I just took a couple of real big ones with me to my execution.You have no idea what sort of negotiating tool a big ant between