Last nite when I got home from work my phone kept ringing off the
hook. The caller-id said "McD's Corp - Legal Div". After the fifth
call, I re-recorded my greeting (it was a simple phone number) to say
"Coopers, Jones & Smith, Attorneys at Law. We specialize in a range of
litigation and have a proven track record winning cases for individuals
against corporate giants and global conglomerates". The phone rang one
last time.
Then at 5:00 AM I heard this pounding on my front door accompanied by a
wheezing, snorting sound. It was barely light and as I opened my door, the
temporary decrease in pressure sucked in a foul-smelling stench with the
fog. I coughed and gagged. On the doorstep was standing a hideous tumorous
cow with purple and green lesions on it's face, and more spaced over the
rest of it's body (some were bleeding). He was out of breath and foaming at
the mouth (reminded me a little of Jimmy Durante). He put his right front
foot on my shoulder and gasped "Tom, you've got to help me! This little man
in a black mask and white/purple striped suit is after me...he's he's going
to kill me! I know it!" < Quickly approaching closely spaced footsteps >
"Let me in! Let me in!" the cow bellowed and then knocked me flat on my back
as it rushed past me into the foyer. As I lifted my head and looked out my
door down the path I recognized him in an instant! It was the Hamburgler!!!
I got to my feet just in time to slam the door in his evilly twisted,
thin-lipped grinning face, and bolt it sturdily shut. His beady eyes and
maniacal laugh will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I brought the cow into the kitchen, toweled it off, put an old sleeping bag
over it in the hopes it would stop shivering, and got it some alfalfa
sprouts and milk from the fridge. It was pitiful. It just stood there
sobbing and sobbing, not able to get a word out.
Finally it calmed down and was able to talk. "My name is Moortimer B.
Tripe" it said. I felt an udder flush of embarrassment as I realized by
the name that this was not a cow, but a surgically altered bull. "I have
been sent by the BAA, Bovine Amnesty Association and we need to elect a new
president". I suggested Al Gore, but he said that type of behavior violated
their bylaws.
Chuckling a little, Moortimer B. Tripe continued, "I'm here on a
dual-purpose mission. Our BSA, Bovine Security Agency, has dug a tunnel
underneath McD's Corporate Headquarters in Oakbrook, Illinois. We've
been conducting some counter-quasi-intelligence and discovered some
interesting facts. You'll initially think it's a kroc, but it's no bull.
But let me digress, we want you to be our new president because of your
courageous stand on important social issues. For instance, in the face of
skepticism, corporate propaganda, multi-million dollar advertising
campaigns, and consumer arrogance, you have chosen to support the Pentax
BRAND of photographic equipment". I asked, "But don't you know that bovinid
creatures are the source for gelatin used in making photographic films?"
"Yes", he said, "but we're happy, more than happy to support a good cause,
and we don't COWER to the likes of KODAK. We only donate our gelatin to
FUJI. At this point I felt a swelling in my chest and a lump in my throat,
and the uplifting words of the Cow Anthem started running through my head to
the tune of America the Beautiful:
-----------------
The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart;
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
-----------------
Wiping the tears from my face, I accepted the appointment and pledged from
the bottom of my rumen and reticulum to loyally support the cause.
I immediately developed an agenda. First on my list was to find out the
reasons behind the tumorous lesions on Moortimer's face and body. "Why", I
asked. Moortimer solemnly related the story. "The McD's Corporation
has found that actually slaughtering cattle is too wasteful, messy and
expensive. Instead they've adopted a practice known as 'Selective
Interstitial Harvesting and Conservation (SIHC)'. The idea is that if you
can harvest some of our meat, treat the harvested area with Bovine Growth
Hormone, and then reharvest in a short time, the expense of replacing
slaughtered cattle is reduced, you don't have to vaccinate more new cattle,
you don't need to transport us to the slaughtering yards, pay the assassins,
or transport the carcasses for disposal. So you see, they look good
statistically and are now Animal rights Activists and Conservationists". I
vowed to work to put an end this practice immediately.
"Tom", Moortimer said, "our information reconnaissance has discovered some
disturbing information. We think the company is out to get you. "Don't
worry I said", with supreme self-confidence, "I changed my voice-mail
greeting and if there's one thing an attorney doesn't like, it's another
attorney".
"Moortimer", I said, "were there any other reasons I was selected to be
president?"
"Yes", Moortimer replied, "it's also because we know you like beef".
-
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