This past Tuesday, President Barack Obama was giving a television interview while being persistently bugged by a buzzing fly. The obnoxious insect landed on the President’s official arm and the Commander in Chief proceeded to swat and kill it. The media ate up the story of the ninja-like reactions of Obama, but all were not impressed. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) officials expressed outrage at the President’s action.
“It was one of the cruelest, most inhumane acts I’ve ever witnessed,” said Daniel Wurtkingle, a PETA activist in Washington, D.C., “Obama flat-out murdered that defenseless, innocent housefly in cold blood.” As Mr. Wurtkingle’s eyes filled with tears, a cockroach scampered across his left arm. He looked on, nonplussed.
“That fly may have been a father, grandfather or even great grandfather. Or, it could have been a female. We’ll never know, will we? It’s dead,” Mr. Wurtkingle said, “and I don’t believe it got a proper burial service. I think it was simply wadded up in a Kleenex and thrown in the trash. No coffin, no protective vault, no tombstone. Just indignant cruel and unjustified death at the hands of a global superpower,” Mr. Wurtkingle began sobbing as four mosquitos landed on his face and began sipping his lifeblood.
Mr. Wurtkingle dabbed at his tears being careful not to upset the mosquitos as they ate. Three large rats entered the room and began chewing on the flesh of Mr. Wurtkingle’s left leg. He looked down and sighed heavily. “I just don’t know why the President had to murder that poor, poor fly.”
A vulture landed on Mr. Wurtkingle’s shoulder and began to dine on him. He smiled, sadly. “Could I get an Excedrin here, maybe?”
That bastard, Obama. Instead of invading countries and killing PEOPLE who can defend themselves, he sits in his fancy schmancy White House and murders defenseless insects.
Who does he think he is? Well said, Mr. Wurkingle. A pandemic of insectitude upon him!
Son, we live in a world that has flies, and those flies have to be swatted by men with swatters. Whose gonna do it? You? You, Sean Hannity? You, Newt? I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You curse the fly-swatters. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the fly’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me swatting, you need me swatting. We swatters use words like honor, code, loyalty, and splatt! We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very fly-free freedom that I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way, Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a rolled up magazine, and stand a post.
Wow, such a brilliant post, I am in awe.
Terrific. Well done. Brilliant!
Now, then, how about THE TRUTH?!