The Moonbat In Its Natural Habitat

Bill From INDC puts on his pith helmet and cranks the theme from National Geographic as he studies the rituals and rites of moonbats in the wild.

Well, on the Great Lawn in DC. Which is one of their only three known habitats. Another habitat is Wall Street, fucking up traffic. The last habitat is of course a Rage Against the Machine concert (with special guest Phish).

There are some real you-are-there danger moments, too:

The chittering is deafening, their howling ... and the smell ... overwhelming, pungent, both their natural odor and the exogenously applied patchouli. Their gooey drapings and clothing are rubbing moistly against bare patches of my skin as I'm buffeted in their midst ... the various frequencies of their giggles and yowls make for a confused, oh, wait ... wait ... I'm being challenged, must communicate and blend in ...

"ah yes, yes, uh, uh ... yee! yee! ooohh ooohh! Chimpy bushitler fuckenalliburton! Right, right, goodfellow! Give 'em whatfor, the fucking fascists! Hitler!"

See, dude, you fucked up. You should have brought a tambourine. These people love tambourines. The moment one of them begins hooting and going into threat-displays against you, you start tapping out the percussion line of Sunshine Superman and lower your head into a submissive posture, and then they welcome you into their group (or "stank," as in "a stank of protestors").

Hell, a lot of times you can even get laid.

posted by Ace at 12:30 AM

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