I’m generally a pretty tolerant, live-and-let-live kinda’ fella. Don’t step on my Happy Shoes, I’ll try not to step on yours, and we’ll get along just fine. There are any number of social, political and religious groups/movements I vehemently disagree with, but usually after they’ve said their piece I can find some way to deal with them; some common ground, some point of “let’s agree to disagree”. I’m always willing to have a beer and a sit-down with ‘pert near anyone; there are precious few groups of people that I dislike almost instantly.
Members of the group People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) are one of the few. I honestly wish I could say, “…my buddy Moonbeam, he’s a PETA member. I don’t always agree with him, but he’s a reasonable guy, albeit a tad over-zealous about his convictions at times.” But that’ll never happen; as soon as I find out someone’s a PETA person, the tiny voice of my ‘inner cynical prick’ whispers in my ear, “Oh fuck. Not another one of these…”
Yesterday, me and Missus Jettboy are taking our 5-year-old to the circus; the big, bright, neon-covered Barnum & Bailey Greatest Show on Earth circus. As we’re slowly meandering through the crowd to the main entrance, who should appear at my left elbow but some scrawny PETA goober; handing out literature about how badly treated circus animals are, along with the implication that anyone who attends said circus is a morally bankrupt savage out to torment our furred, finned and feathered friends.
My perpetually ‘interested in anything and everything’ boyo stood for a split second examining the PETA dingus, who took the opportunity to hand him a pamphlet along with a slow, sad “no-no” head shake, A finger-waggle and a whispered, “…don’t go in there.”
That sort of shit really, really pisses me off. The presence of zillions of children, including my own little one, forced me to stifle my urge to shout, “Hey Fuckhead! What exactly do you think your’e doing? Come near my kid again and you’ll catch my free-range boot against your ass!” So instead I just took the pamphlet, crumpled it up, and handed it back. The wife just glared at the fucker.
“He’s a little young for propaganda, don’t you think? He can’t even read yet.”
“You’re never to young to hear the truth, man,” PETA guy replied.
As I puffed up and choked back my most vulgar possible curses, including some unique ones that were developed on the spot, my boyo came to the rescue.
“C’mon, Daddy,” he said, tugging at my hand, “the circus is 'bout to start!”
We went on our merry way and had a fantastic time. The show was terrific, and my son’s memories of his first circus ever weren’t derailed by some pale, scrawny twit in organic hemp pants trying to ram his asinine viewpoint down our collective throat and say we’re ‘bad’ people, a ‘cruel’ people, because we won’t swallow it.
Man, I fucking hate PETA.