On that fateful day, The Big Ape® arrived on Earth, Washington D.C. to be specific. His mission was simple and true. Make peace with the humans or kill trying. He descended slowly in a beam of bright yellow light. He held up his hands brandishing peace signs with his grossly large fingers. His posture made him look like President Richard Nixon®. Many people instinctively ducked in fear of having feces flung at them. The watching world wanted to know one thing: What the hell was this?
Brickhouse® was about to be walloped hard in the kisser by his nemesis, The Clobber Meister®, in the form of a classic wind-up Sunday punch, rapidly approaching and since this was Jupiter’s gravity, the impact would be immeasurable, as in devastating. Typically, this would be no big whup, but Brickhouse® was clearly distracted. As we all know, his strength, in this case, invulnerability, requires complete concentration.
The dog was asked a question. It looked up and all around with an empty gaze, more so than usual. Behind the eyes, a void of unforgivable ignorance. It looked very tired, haggard even. Rightfully so, it was old. It was an unhealthy specimen. Overweight. Discolored. Mange on top of its head. Barely alive.
The ass took a deep breath and got a good whiff of its own stench. It was visibly displeased, yet at the same time, indifferent, very much like today’s Republicans. After all, if it stinks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, blame it on socialism.