PETA Is A-1 In My Book |
For reasons I have yet to discover, I am on the mailing list of the folks at "PETA". "PETA", for the uninitiated, is the acronym for "People For The Ethical Treatment Of Animals". Yes, you're right, the proper acronym should be "PFTETOA", but that's hard to say without spitting on the person in front of you. So, "PETA" it is. "PETA" is a collection of characters that see themselves in the forefront of the "Animal Rights Movement". The term "Animal Rights" can be safely translated to "we don't care if your children die for lack of proper medical treatment, but don't you dare harm one hair on that bunny". Somehow, someway, somewhere, my name has been given to the souls at "PETA" as being a likely contributor to their organization. I don't think so. It doesn't bother me or anger me that I am on their begging list. Actually, I'm glad that they see fit to waste their money on me. Perhaps the money they don't get from me to further their wingnut cause will enable research to continue and eventually lead to a cure for cancer. I'm proud to do my part. I have to admit that I look forward to opening my mailbox and seeing that cheesy looking letter from my penpals at "PETA". A groveling letter from "PETA" offers a great source for merriment and glee here at "El Rancho Wordkraft". Mail from "PETA" is, ounce for ounce, my best entertainment value. When my letter from "PETA" arrives I eagerly rip it open to see what new heartwrenching ploy will be used to separate me from my money. Will it be how the cosmetics industry runs amok through the animal kingdom cruelly giving makeovers to monkeys? There is always an accompanying photo of some small simian looking, in my opinion, pretty sharp and ready to party. Some months there is a horror story about the evil meat industry and how they provide this nation with the best overall nutrition and health in the world, curse them. Then my eyes are directed to the color photo of a sad looking cow. Or it could be a color photo of a happy looking cow. It is hard to tell the difference, after all. I usually go out for a Whopper after reading that. Whatever the specific "atrocity" that my chums at "PETA" are whining about it can be, invariably, summed up in the words, "Animals are noble and humans are evil and a blight upon the Earth". A little armchair psychology tells me that over at the "PETA" offices there are a bunch of folks who are into some pretty serious self-hatred. What a shame, because they really put together some very nifty mailers. Where are the self-esteem police when you need them? After going through all of the professionally done artwork and photographs I find myself staring at the donation form and the postage paid return envelope. Oh, whatever should I do? How much should I send them? Should it be cash or a check made from recycled KFC cartons? Being socially and politically responsible is such a hard thing to do these days. After much soul searching and the cultivation of a proper amount of "species guilt", I do the only thing that I can do and still sleep at night. I sit down at my dining room table after a fine carnivorous dinner and I send something to my friends at "PETA". Actually, I send them everything. I send them everything that I can squeeze into their prepaid envelope. A wide point indelible marker makes a very obvious line across the photographs. They'll never send those snapshots out again. I like to take crayons and scribble little messages on top of the black typing in the "gimme" letters. Nothing obscene of course, just friendly hints for future pitches, such as, "please include some cat recipes in your next letter". Being a longtime stockholder in McDonald's I get coupons from them all the time. I like to include a few of those in my response envelope. I care, I really do. After defacing and inserting all of their propaganda, including the original mailer envelope, I check to see if there is any "extra space" left. If there is I make every effort to create a nicely filled gift envelope ... "So round, so firm, so fully packed", to resurrect a phrase from a cigarette ad popular in my youth. I find that "PETA" envelopes come in handy when I need to empty my ashtrays. One day, when I was in a particularly generous mood, I interrupted my lunch to answer their plea for money to save the varmints. I did a very "California" thing. I shared. I shared my lunch with the folks at "PETA". I deprived myself to help others less tightly wrapped. I sent them a perfectly good slice of Safeway brand pickle-pimento loaf lunchmeat. This act of altruism made me feel good about myself all day. It made me want to pin some colored ribbons on my shirt, just to show the world that, "I care, dammit!". Now, I don't propose that you do the same as I if you get a "PETA" solicitation in your mailbox. No, go where your heart leads you. Don't send them pickle-pimento loaf. That's my thing. Maybe you're more the smashed chicken nuggets with the barbecue sauce kind of person. Perhaps it would do your heart good just to fill the return envelope with oh, you don't need my help on this. Do your own thing. Be your own best friend. Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite. Have fun and laugh at those things that merit laughter. And, above all, recognize idiocy and point it out at every opportunity. |
