Ant Farmer's Almanac

Cajun Christmas Cuisine

Forget about turducken, the hot new holiday meal for 2010 is Blackened Swan!

 

China Repossesses U.S. Pandas

High-Scoring Math Students May be Next, Economists Warn

BEIJING, CHINA (Ant Farmer's Almanac NewsWire) In what some fear could be the first of many such actions, the People's Republic of China —  to whom the United States owes an estimated $800 billion — today repossessed two pandas from American zoos.

"We're up to our eyeballs in debt to the Chinese," says economist Kay Seurat, "I mean, they already took back Hong Kong. God only knows what they'll want next... pasta, fireworks, P.F. Chang's?"

"This is only the beginning," Seurat continued gravely, "It's only a matter of time before we start getting those annoying phone calls at dinner time."

Amid a crowd of loudly protesting demonstrators, the two pandas, Mei Lan from the Atlanta zoo and Tai Shan from the National Zoo in Washington, DC, were loaded onto a specially outfitted Federal Express plane for the long trip to their new home at the Chengdu Panda Breeding Research Center in the southwestern Chinese province of Sichuan.

Economic concerns however, were not the biggest issue with protesters.

"It's an outrage that two of God's most adorable creatures are being sent into life-long captivity in a communistic country," insisted the group's spokesperson Esther Rickles, "For all we know, they'll be adopted by atheistic, legally married same-sex Chinese couples!"

Assurances that the pandas will be encouraged to breed served only to further inflame the crowd, which now added "sex slaves" to the list of things being shouted and scrawled on banners.

In Other News: Celebrity cougar Demi Moore responded to the news that her much-younger husband Ashton Kutcher "hates Valentine's Day," saying, "Not as much as he's gonna hate the day after Valentine's Day."

Checkers Speaks

When the novel Me Cheetah, a purported autobiography “written” by the chimpanzee co-star from the Tarzan movies of the 1930s and 1940s, got nominated for a Booker Prize – Britain’s most prestigious  literary award — it set off an unprecedented flood of books by and about celebrity animals.

Chief among them is the memoir of Richard Nixon’s cocker spaniel, Checkers, whose very presence in the Nixon household nearly cost him the vice presidential spot with Dwight Eisenhower in 1952.

That it was filmmaker Oliver Stone who secured the movie rights to the Checkers’ story has stirred up controversy; not because of Stone’s political views, but because he seems to have completed the script and began principal photography on his film adaptation before having received or read the transcription.

The Ant Farmer’s Almanac has obtained an early draft of the screenplay, but could not verify its authenticity, as Mr. Stone’s office would not return our phone calls, emails and repeated shouts from across the street.

CHECKERS SPEAKS

(by Oliver Stone)

EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD. NOON.

Slo-Mo: a brightly patterned toy ball appears at the corner of the frame and moves across the screen, all in the faded colors of a vintage 8mm home movie from the 1950s.

INT. PET SHOP. WASHINGTON, DC. AFTERNOON.

The pet shop clerk reaches into the window display and picks up a cocker spaniel puppy, then hands it to a man wearing a suit, tie and hat.

MONTAGE. EARLY 1950s:

Clouds moving across sky in fast motion, wet newspaper on floor, fire hydrant, Washington Monument, Rin Tin Tin, teenagers at sock hop, U.S. soldiers in Korea, Harry Truman, Milton Berle in drag, people holding “I Like Ike” placards.

INT. RESIDENTIAL DEN. EVENING.

Richard Nixon sits at a desk, pen in hand, but not writing. 

His wife, Pat, enters.

PAT

(concerned)

How’s it going, Dick?

NIXON

Lousy, Buddy. I don’t know what to say in this damned TV speech. Ike’ll drop me from the ticket in a heartbeat if I can’t convince people that I’m honest. (Looking at the floor and gesturing toward Checkers, who is lying nearby.) Hell, they’d make me give back the godamm dog, if they had their way.

PAT

(alarmed)

You wouldn’t let them, would you, Dick?

NIXON

(Looking back up at Pat)

Of course not — the girls love him so, (leans down to pet Checkers) don’t they, boy (Checkers wags his tail).

INT. RESIDENTIAL DEN. LATE EVENING.

Checkers sitting at Pat’s feet. The only light is the blueish flicker of a black and white television from which Nixon’s voice can be heard

NIXON

(V.O. from TV)

. . . the only thing anyone ever gave me was my little dog, a cocker spaniel that my daughters named Checkers . . .

BACK TO EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD.

Ball falls from the air as camera swirls to follow it as it hits the ground, bouncing once and revealing a lawn ringed by trees.

MONTAGE. MID-1950s:

Joseph McCarthy, Lassie, Ralph Kramden glowers at Alice, opening day at Disneyland, young Jack and Jackie Kennedy, POV from underneath dinner table as child’s hand pushes bit of food toward camera. . .

INT. BLAIR HOUSE. WINTER EVENING.

A cocktail party after the 1956 presidential elections. Pat and RN mingle with the guests, mostly congressmen and senators and their wives. Among them is Texas senator Lyndon Baines Johnson (note: get Randy Quaid?).

Checkers slips into the living room from the kitchen and heads toward Nixon, briskly moving past a crowd of guests’ ankles.

Johnson, who is talking to Nixon, notices Checkers.

LBJ

(grinning widely)

Well now, Here’s that little fella got you elected veep the first time, heh, heh!

 NIXON

(smiling, but clearly annoyed, both at the dog’s presence 

and Johnson’s remark)

Yes, ah, heh, heh.

LBJ

(deliberately speaking too loudly now, and crouching down to pet the dog, which draws the attention of other guests)

He’s a cutey, all right. Ya know, mah boys — the beagles, I mean — they jes love it when ah pick ‘em up by the ears (reaching his hands out toward Checkers who instinctively recoils). They yelp like all get-out, but they like it!

NIXON

(stepping between LBJ and Checkers)

Now, Lyndon, I won’t have that sort of thing here...

LBJ

(somewhat petulant, but mostly annoyed)

Well now, Dick, I wouldn’t have thought you were soft on dogs.

BACK TO EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD.

The colorful ball bounces and rolls into distance. Checkers, as a puppy, runs by in determined pursuit.

MONTAGE. LATE-ISH 1950s:

Cars with huge tailfiins rotating on showroom platforms, Elvis Presley swiveling his hips, a rolled up newspaper being swatted directly at lens, Lucille Ball on candy factory assembly line, Huckleberry Hound, Eisenhower grinning...

EXT. WHITE HOUSE ROSE GARDEN. AFTERNOON.

President Eishenhower (note: get Robert Duvall? Patrick Stewart? That bald guy from “Night Court”?) in golf clothes is on the lawn, lining up his putt toward a pin some twenty feet away. An aide holds the flag marking the hole.

Nixon enters from behind Ike, with Checkers on a leash, just as Ike makes his shot.

CUT TO:

Ball as it rolls toward cup.

CUT TO:

Checkers as he bolts and pulls away from Nixon, yanking the leash from Nixon’s hand.

CUT TO:

Nixons’ face contorted with horror and anger and mouthing the word “No-o-o-o-o!”

CUT TO:

POV from behind the pin in the golf hole as the flag is pulled from it, revealing the ball coming in fast as Checkers approaches it, with Nixon in pursuit and Ike gesturing angrily in background. Checkers picks up the golf ball in his mouth just before it rolls into the hole and runs off.

CUT TO:

Shot from above and pulling away from Rose Garden as Secret Service agents chase Checkers around lawn in a chaotic ballet as Ike swings his putter at Nixon.

INT. BLAIR HOUSE. THAT EVENING.

Nixon family around dinner table, everyone is a little tense.

NIXON

(almost to himself)

The old man’s really steamed this time. He’s gonna give it to me good, too. 

I’ll bet he sends me someplace god-awful. 

Goddam dog.

CUT TO:

EXT. NARROW SOUTH AMERICAN STREET. AFTERNOON.

Black limousine with American flags attached to front fenders is surrounded and being rocked by an angry mob throwing rotten fruit and carrying signs saying “Yankee Go Home.”

CUT TO:

INT. SAME LIMO. SAME LOCATION.

Pat and RN, expressionless and looking straight ahead, sit in back seat as car rocks side to side and thrown fruit spatters heavily on the windows.

NIXON

(deadpan)

Goddam dog!

BACK TO EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD.

Puppy Checkers chasing ball as it rolls across expansive lawn. Catches up with it before it reaches the trees, passing it, then whirling around to pick it up and run toward camera.

MONTAGE. VERY LATE 1950s:

An Edsel, Buddy Holly, Fidel Castro, Elvis in army uniform, Laika the Russian dog that went to space.

EXT. KREMLIN, MOSCOW.

CUT TO:

INT. SHOWROOM DISPLAYING STATE OF THE ART 1959 AMERICAN KITCHEN Soviet Premiere Nikita Kruschev, Richard Nixon, with Checkers on leash, along with a translator and a slew of reporters and photographers walk through what signage claims is a "typical" American kitchen. Through a translator, Nixon and Kruschev debate the benefits of American-style consumerism versus Soviet socialism.

CUT TO:

Checkers at ankle level. Checkers sniffs at then jumps up and begins humping Kruschev’s leg. Kruschev quickly notices and leaps up, cursing.

KRUSCHEV

(poking Nixon in the chest and shouting in Russian as English subtitles appear on screen)

Son of a bitch! You arrogant Americans think you can let even your pets dry-hump Soviet peoples? You’re wrong! 

We will neuter you!

BACK TO EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD.

Puppy Checkers runs toward the camera with ball in his mouth. As he approaches and then passes it, the camera follows him as he trots triumphantly toward Nixon family — RN, Pat, Trisha and Julie, in 1951. They all clap and smile approvingly.

MONTAGE. 1960:

Presidential election, Nixon/Kennedy debate, Fidel Castro, the Jetsons' dog Astro, black protesters being fire-hosed at demonstration, Elvis leaving army, TV scoreboard showing final vote count of Kennedy’s victory over Nixon.

INT. BLAIR HOUSE. EVENING. JANUARY 1961.

RN stands by large picture window bathed in a soft, almost ethereal glow that creates a triangle of light around him in an otherwise dark room. Pat emerges from the darkness behind RN, flicks on lights to reveal the room is filled with moving boxes. Checkers follows her in and jumps up onto the wing chair that RN is standing next to.

PAT

(looking at Checkers)

Dick, we really shouldn’t let him get up on the furniture like that, we never did before.

NIXON

(turning to look in her and Checkers direction)

Let Johnson clean up the dog hair. I just hope our boy here leaves his mark on every table leg in the place. It’ll drive those goddam beagles crazy. Lyndon’ll get so aggravated he’ll probably start a war or something while Jack isn’t looking.

PAT

(putting her hand on RN’s shoulder)

Now, Dick, I know you’re upset, but don’t be bitter. We’re all disappointed, but we’ll be back in California soon; we can start over there.

NIXON

(leaning over to pet Checkers, then turning to face 

and embrace Pat)

Yeah, you’re right, Buddy, as usual.

BACK TO EXT. SUBURBAN BACKYARD.

Checkers approaches Nixon family. As he gets closer, POV changes to that of dog and colors goes to b&w w/blueish hue. Camera comes up to RN’s feet and looks up to see him leaning down with his hand outstretched.

RN takes ball from Checkers’ mouth.

CUT TO:

RN playfully winding up as if for pitch, then throwing the ball high and far out toward lawn as Checkers heads out after it.

CUT TO:

Brightly colored ball against blue sky as it moves in Slo-Mo across screen and disappears into the glare of the sun.

Fade to black.

7 Things You Didn't Know About:

LASSIE

1) Spent nearly a decade pursuing a lawsuit against gossip columnist Hedda Hopper for calling her a "bitch."

2) Early in career, worked with a voice coach to lose her Brooklyn accent.

3) Would never confirm or deny the persistent rumor that she'd had a litter of pups by Rin-Tin-Tin.

4) Was dyslexic and saw her lines as "Foow! Foow!"

5) Lied about her age, insisting that the dog to human-years ratio was only 1:4 not 1:7.

6) Her tail wagged both ways, if you know what I mean.

7) When her showbiz career ended, she retired to "a nice farm out in the country."

Bubbles Signs Book Deal

Jacko's Long-Time Animal Companion to Tell All in Forthcoming Memoir

MIAMI (AFA Newswire) After years out of the spotlight, Bubbles the chimp, Michael Jackson's long-time animal companion, has announced a book deal with Penquin Publishing for a memoir of his time and relationship with the King of Pop.

At a press conference held outside the Florida wildlife sanctuary in which Bubbles now resides with some 40 other chimpanzees and orangutans, his spokesman, Francis Aziz, told assembled reporters that, although Bubbles has enjoyed his years away from public scrutiny, he now feels, after Jackson's death, he should tell his side of the story.

Aziz, who brokered the book deal (rumored to be six figures), on behalf of Bubbles, also represents Leona Helmsley's dog, Trouble, Donald Trump's hairpiece and whatever that squeaky thing is in Paris Hilton's purse.

Asked if Bubbles would be getting any help with the book, Aziz candidly stated, "He's not a trained writer, so absolutely yes," adding, "We'll be giving typewriters to him and the other chimps. If they can stop grooming each other and retyping the complete works of Shakespeare for long enough, we could save a fortune on ghostwriters."

Due out in the summer of 2010, it is not known how the book will portray Jackson.

The pair's split was said to be amicable at the time, although Bubbles did later have to sign a non-disclosure agreement after he was overheard telling friends that Jackson was, "Six kinds of crazy."

At the very least, Aziz promised, Bubbles will address his "deep ambivalence" toward Jackson.

"It's complicated," said Azziz, "Bubbles lived an extraordinary life for a chimpanzee — the world travel, the glamour, the throwing his feces at celebrities he'd have never had in range otherwise," adding, "We should all be so lucky."

Bitten By Toxic Groundhog, New York Mayor Can Now "Do Whatever a Groundhog Can"

NEW YORK (AFA Newswire) Just hours after being bitten by a highly toxic groundhog on Staten Island, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg has developed groundhog-like abilities.

The odd turn events started at yesterday's Groundhog Day ceremony when "Chuck," Gothams' official groundhog, was coaxed out to "see" his shadow, and bit the Mayor on the left index finger.

At the time, everyone laughed off the incident.

Shortly after returning to his office in Manhattan, however, the Mayor began to display such characteristic groundhog behaviors as digging out a burrow for hibernation and feeding on insects from the lawn outside City Hall. He also sprouted the dense grey undercoat of fur and longer coat of guard hairs that provide groundhogs' distinctive "frosted" appearance.

City Hall insiders report that Bloomberg now peeks out of his office to check the length and direction of his shadow before either darting back inside or scurrying out for the day's scheduled activities.

It is unclear what effect the Mayor's new talents will have on his running New York, although he did issue a harshly worded denounciation of wolves, foxes, bobcats, bears and large hawks — all known groundhog predators — and banned them from from the city limits.

"We remain hopeful that the Mayor will use his new powers for the forces of good," City Hall spokesman Phil Connors told reporters, adding, "Although it's hard to know how that would work, exactly."

If I Ate It, How I Did It

My Dog, Roscoe, Describes How He Would Have Eaten My Socks and Got Into the Trash—If He Had.

First, let me point out — again — that I am absolutely, positively 100% not guilty. To accuse me of something you didn't actually see me do is just wrong and more than a little insulting. But, since you seem so fixated on the matter, I will indulge you and hypothesize.

I don't know how the wire-mesh trash can under your desk got knocked over or how the wax paper in it smeared with remnants of the donuts you had for "breakfast" this morning while checking your email got chewed up and strewn around the rug. A rug that is way on the other side of the room, I might add. As to the relative merits of those donuts as a morning meal, the less said the better. Tasty, yes, but not nearly as filling as you'd expect them to be and not the sort of thing you should start the day with. That's why I — if I had — would have waited until at least almost noon to tip over the trash can which, by the way, is so much easier when it's filled to overflowing, the way you routinely leave it. The thing was about to fall over by itself. The slightest breeze could have done it. All I would have needed to do — if I had done anything — would be gently nudge it with my nose and wait for the crash. Which would have been surprisingly loud. If I'd been anywhere near it at the time. Which I wasn't. 

In regards the socks, T-shirt and shorts tossed carelessly on the bedroom floor when you left for work Monday, after wearing them all weekend without showering and that gave off a potpourri of Old Spice, cigars and your scent... I cannot begin to fathom how you justify believing I had anything to do with rolling around on, then gnawing them. When you came in Monday evening I was waiting by the front door like always — you saw me there, remember? You almost fell over me — while the items in question were in the bedroom all the way at the back of the apartment! Hello! Do I have an evil twin now? Is there a dog around here that looks just like me but with a goatee? I don't see one.

This may sound like I'm trying to pass the buck, and the last thing I want to do is blame the victim, although you seem pretty quick to point fingers. We could debate all night who, exactly, is at fault here and for what. You have to admit that leaving such temptations out in the open for anyone — whomever it might have been — to get at so easily is kind of asking for it. I realize that you're still angry and don't want to talk about this anymore. Fine. Neither do I. What's done is done. Let's not dwell on the past. It isn't healthy. Let's just put this incident — unpleasant as it is — behind us and get me outside where I can pee on stuff.

For Sale: Gene Shalit Miracle Mustache Pen

Pen bearing image of "Today Show" movie reviewer's signature mustache offered in online auction to highest bidder.

You are viewing an extraordinary item! I found this pen — an ordinary Uni-Ball Deluxe Mini® with black ink — under my desk while vacuuming. 

Only when I bent down to pick it up did I notice the amazing resemblance to Gene Shalit's* mustache, AS SEEN ON TV!

   

The pen is EXACTLY AS I FOUND IT. It has not been manipulated nor has this photograph been altered or retouched in any way. THIS IS NOT A FAKE!

Some say that this MIRACLE PEN is nothing more than the predictable result of my having a dog that sheds a lot, my casual approach to housekeeping and tendency to drop things behind the desk. And, yes, while I admit that Roscoe does leave a visible trail of dog hair, does spend a lot of time under the desk and that I hadn't cleaned under there since, I dunno, last Thanksgiving, I still know a miracle when my vacuum picks one up. 

You could put 50 dogs and 50 pens under 50 desks and I bet this wouldn't happen more than eight or nine times.

While I would have preferred that this amazing item go to an appropriate and appreciative owner, such as NBC, The Museum of Television and Radio or even Mr. Shalit himself, their inexplicable lack of interest leaves the bidding open to anyone.

SERIOUS BIDDERS ONLY. HIGHEST BIDDER WINS. WINNING BIDDER IS RESPONSIBLE FOR SHIPPING. THIS IS A NO-RESERVE AUCTION. PAYPAL NOT ACCEPTED AT THIS TIME.

For an additional $12, I will provide a handsome framed box, suitable for mounting, in which to display the one-of-a-kind piece.

*People over 70 may think it more resembles Bob Hope's bug-eyed USO tour-sidekick Jerry Cologna. That's their lookout. Whomever you prefer to think it looks like has no effect on its miraculousness, the bidding process or the auction price.

The Buckshot Stops Here

Dick Cheney to Lead Task Force Aimed at Halting Avian Flu. "It's Not Over Till the Last Bird Hits the Ground," says Locked and Loaded Veep.

WASHINGTON, DC (Ant Farmer's Almanac Newswire) Vice President Dick Cheney will personally head a new government agency created to protect the United States from the threat of avian flu. Called the Avian Eradication-Reduction Operation (AERO), its mission is straightforward: kill every bird in the United States.

"We see a bird, we kill it. Period," said Mr. Cheney, "It's just that simple. With this avian flu thing, it's not hunting, it's self-defense. If even one American calls in sick to work from this, then the birds have won."

While the FDA and the Department of Agriculture will spearhead destroying commercially raised poultry, AERO, under the umbrella of Homeland Security, will take out the "free-range" variety and pretty much anything else with feathers.

Under the banner, "If It Flies, It Dies," the agency will register citizen volunteers for a nominal fee of about $12, who are then authorized to blast any bird anywhere at any time. This new project has redeemed the vice president's standing in the hunting community, where many felt his habit of shooting pen-raised quail with clipped wings was "About as sporting as dynamiting trout at a fish farm"

AERO volunteers can keep what they kill, although they probably shouldn't eat it. They get no reimbursement, and those who use firearms have to provide their own weapons and ammunition. However, anyone hunting in the same zip code as the vice president will get free Aflac insurance.

Ironically, the Aflac spokesduck was one of the first birds to die, when it was run down north of Los Angeles by an AERO volunteer who spotted him filming an ad on location there.

The program has proved surprisingly popular. New Yorkers — hardly Mr. Cheney's core constituency — went after Gotham's ubiquitous and much-loathed pigeons in what can be described only as a "merciless bloodletting."

Heavily armed Southern Californians gathered at San Juan Capistrano to protect themselves from the fabled swallows' annual return. "I've waited years for this," said one volunteer, scanning the skies as he stroked his shotgun intently.

AERO, the FDA and the Agriculture Department have jointly launched a public relations campaign promoting fear of and hatred for all things avian, and diminishing birds' importance in preparation for their disappearance.

The first wave of this PR blitz includes continuous showings of Alfred Hitchock's 1961 film The Birds on Fox's movie channel, and a series of public service announcements that portray birds negatively — poop all over the place, that damned chirping — has been rushed onto the airwaves. The campaign also offers federal grant money to any ballet company whose production of Swan Lake implies that The Dying Swan "Had it coming."

Anticipating the "Cuisine Change" that will result from a lack of poultry, the Food Network is introducing a series entitled I Can't Believe It's Not Chicken that highlights animals, minerals and vegetables suitable for use in recipes formerly featuring poultry. In the print media, a new version of the popular self-help book will be retitled Tastes Like Chicken Soup for the Soul.

Meanwhile, McDonald's has issued a press release reassuring the public that the virtual extinction of chickens will not effect the availability or flavor of McNuggets.

Cartoons Under Fire (and Brimstone)

ALEXANDRIA, VA (Ant Farmer's Almanac Newswire) A militant offshoot of Focus on the Family is broadening that organization's moral crusade against "objectionable" cartoons to include all cartoon talking animals.

Calling itself Families United for the Kibosh of Cartoon Satanism (F.U.K.C.S.), the new group seeks to eradicate all depictions of animals that possess the power of speech, whether animated, computer-generated or sock puppets.

"The only animals in the Bible that can talk are instruments of Satan," says Hugh Bonner, F.U.K.C.S.' founder and point man, "The serpent in the Garden of Eden being only the most prominent example. It logically follows, therefore, that talking animals — in cartoons, or anywhere else, for that matter — are tools of the Devil and their very existence a heresy and an abomination."

"Focus on the Family fell short when they stopped at a cartoon character's gayness or tolerance of other cartoon characters' gayness," continued Bonner, referring to the recent flap over recent questions of Spongebob Squarepants' sexual orientation, "We believe the Satanic control of cartoon animals to be a far greater danger.

"Once a child accepts the idea of animals talking, Lucifer's work is pretty much done," Bonner intoned gravely, "All that's left for him to show up in cute animal form and, whammo, the world is plunged headlong into the fiery depths," Bonner paused and shook his head in dismay, "I don't know why more people aren't worried about this."

While Bonner includes nearly the entire Disney canon, most of Hanna-Babera and Warner Bros., as well as Woody Woodpecker, Mr. Ed, Babe, Dr. Doolittle (all versions), Pogo, Mutts and even Davey and Goliath on his list of handmaidens to the damnation of mankind, Garfield the Cat gets a pass.

"Garfield doesn't actually speak, you see," explained Bonner, "Those are just his thoughts. He never talks to Odie and Jon, so it's okay," adding with a chuckle, "That cat sure does love to eat, heh, heh. He cracks me up."

New Maladies for 2004

Look for these conditions soon

Adult Onset Selective Situational Tourette's Syndrome® (AOSSTS). 

Cause: Someone pisses you off. 

Symptom: You hurl obscenities at them. 

Pet Induced Stress Disorder® (PISD). 

Cause: Having a pet. 

Symptom: If you have to ask, you don't have a dog. 

The Cat in the What?

BERKELEY, California (Ant Farmer's Almanac Newswire) A new animal rights group calling itself Animal Activists Resisting Ridiculous Fiction (AARRF) seeks to refute what it calls "Inaccurate, false, misleading and harmful misrepresentations of non-human beings whether they reside in back yards or barnyards," according to a "manifesto" issued today announcing the group's existence and aims.

Taking its cue from the religious groups that banded together to rebut faith-shaking allegations in the bestselling book The Da Vinci Code, AARRF is a loose coalition of several dozen animal rights organizations that seeks to rectify ". . .the incalculable damage done by centuries of anthropomorphizing creatures who do not and cannot talk, walk upright; wear pants, hats, glasses or shoes; surf, play poker, pool or the banjo; or drive a car, much less operate elaborate propulsive and explosive devices allowing them to catch up to and entrap other, faster animals; and — except for certain chimpanzees — smoke cigars and rollerskate."

Reached for comment by phone, Ms. Anne Thorpe, "spokesbeing" for AARRF, elaborated on the group's purpose, stating that, "Clearly, depictions of animals engaging in humanlike behavior, from Aesop to Disney, however benignly-intentioned, only encourages people to treat animals the way they treat humans and, let's face it, people treat humans like shit. Animals deserve better than that."

"Besides," said Ms. Thorpe, "As anyone who's ever cohabited with a feline companion animal can tell you" she added with a sigh, "No cat has ever willingly worn a hat."

The Passion of the Crustacean

Just Resurrect and Serve! 

A Massachusetts company says its freezing technique allows some lobsters to come back to life when thawed. 

Crocodile Tears Up Over Steve Irwin's Baby Stunt

Croc Hunter's Dangling Infant Son in Front of Hungry Croc "Just Plain Wrong" Says Hungry Croc 

QUEENSLAND, Australia (Ant Farmer's Almanac Newswire) — The latest voice in the chorus of outrage over TV personality Steve "Crocodile Hunter" Irwin's hand-feeding a hungry crocodile while holding his infant son comes from a surprising source: the hungry crocodile. 

"That was just wrong," said the 13-foot-long crocodile known as Tock, interviewed from his pond at Irwin's Australian Zoo Reptile Park. "I mean, there I am, famished, no natural prey around and the guy comes over to me holding a baby — a live one — and then he gives me a dead chicken! C'mon, that's just cruel. Irwin, of all people, should know that I, like any cold-blooded reptile, would much rather nosh a live kid than barely thawed out chicken — and it wasn't even a free-range. Ech! I can still taste the preservatives." 

Despite Irwin's numerous public apologies, Tock remains upset. "You just don't pull a trick like that on somebody and expect a simple 'Oh, sorry, mate' to make it all better," he sniffed, "It'll be a while before I completely trust him again." 

Although Irwin was unavailable for comment, when asked whether the incident would effect his future at the park, Tock said simply, "If I lose my job over this, there's gonna be a lawsuit."