I am running an old "Peace Moonbeam Chronicle" story today while I attend to other matters.
This story originally ran January 13, 2006.
January 13, 2006
Undercover
I received a call from my good friend and PETA activist, Scooter. He asked me if I would help him liberate some minks from a breeding facility in the Midwest. As I'm sure you know, they make these poor little animals into clothing for rich Republicans (I've heard Dick Cheney's wife even wears mink underwear). I didn't hesitate to say yes.
Scooter and I met up in a small town close to our target and discussed the operation over dinner. Our plan was not only to free the oppressed animals, but also to do as much punitive damage as possible to the property. Scooter brought some spray paint so we could leave some dramatic slogans as a "calling card." After we finished going over our strategy, we drove to the property in my rental car, listening to some Grateful Dead and smoking several "fatties" to get into the proper state of mind.
We chose this facility because there was nobody living on-site and it was located in a fairly remote, rural area. After briefly getting lost, we finally found it in a grove of trees at the end of a long dirt driveway. Pulling up to the property, we could barely make out a low metal building, a small trailer, several old cars, and a small lean-to filled with what were probably bags of feed. It was a moonless night, black as coal, and due to Scooter's forgetfulness, we had only one small flashlight between us. Great.
We had decided that I would collect the minks while Scooter spray painted slogans and vandalized the property. He disappeared into the darkness while I took the flashlight and entered the metal building through an unlocked window. Once inside, I was taken aback by what I saw: cage after cage filled with cute, fuzzy little cooing minks. They looked into the light with expressions of desperation as if to say, "Please help us, we just want to be free. We want to live our lives in the wild and raise our children with love in peace and harmony. We beg you, please, please, help us!" Their sorrowful stares said other stuff also, but I didn't have time to interpret it. Moving quickly, I opened each cage and held a large burlap bag to the opening as the little animals scurried inside. By the time I was done, I had filled three large bags.
I came outside just as Scooter finished painting slogans on the trailer. After loading the bags into the back seat, we jumped into the car and took off. Unfortunately, our journey to freedom lasted about ten seconds, as we immediately careened into a ditch because our tires were flat. We got out, surveyed the damage, and in the dim light of the flashlight saw that not only were all four tires flat, thanks to Scooter's ice pick, but my rental car now had the word "KILLERS" spray painted in huge dripping red letters on both sides!
A couple things immediately crossed my mind: (1) Scooter is a retard (2) I should have got full coverage on the rental car. We stood there for a few minutes while Pinhead Scooter tried to explain how hard it was to distinguish between the cars in the dark, and how he had really poor night vision, etc. Finally, we decided to get back in the car and smoke a few more joints and try to figure out what to do.
In retrospect, we probably should have rolled down the windows or turned on the ventilation or something. All I know is by the time we finished the third joint, we became aware of a rustling in the back seat. Scooter reached back through the fog of smoke to check the bags and said he felt fur. They had escaped. More precisely, they had eaten their way out of the bags. Later we noticed they had also eaten most of the rear seat and both armrests.
As I fumbled for the interior light switch, Scooter started screaming. This was not an "Eek, I'm scared" type of scream, but a falsetto blood-curdling "Wild-animals-are-ripping-my-testicals-off" kind of scream. When I finally got the interior lights on, I saw Scooter violently thrashing in the passenger's seat, a snarling mink clamped on his throat, another swinging from his ear, one more hanging off his chest, and a couple ripping at his crotch! His falsetto screams mixed with the demonic snarling of the wild beasts as they tore at his flesh!
The air was filled with blood, pieces of skin, fur, sweat, and desperation! As one of the crazed rats flew over the seat and clamped itself to the side of my neck, I ripped the rearview mirror from the windshield and started flailing at the furry assassins with all my strength. Every time I dropped one, two more came flying with claws outstretched, teeth flashing, and murder in their little bloodshot eyes! We were in a battle for our very lives!
I don't know how long the melee lasted, but finally it was quiet, except for Scooter's moaning and the soft whimpering of the injured plush-rats-from-hell. The final toll was 42 minks dead or injured, two fingertips and one nipple eaten/missing from Scooter, a big hunk of skin torn off my neck, and most of the upholstery, four tires, rearview mirror, and 60 percent of the paint destroyed on the 2006 Chevrolet Impala rental car - but we were alive.
There were some positive things that came from all this, however. I had enough dead minks to make myself a rather crude but elegant housecoat, matching booties, and a warm hat for Scooter. Also, after spending almost $800.00 at the vet, I was thankfully able to save two of the little creatures. After Scooter got out of the hospital, we had a solemn ceremony where we released the two surviving minks into the wild. We watched them run onto the street and get hit by a UPS truck. Oh well.
Click retard!
