I’ve never been too keen on Australians. They’re not quite European enough, and their accents aren't effeminitely homosexual enough for them to be compltely trustworthy in my book. But my right wing, Bible-thumping niece was a huge fan of Steve Irwin, and would take the news of his brutal murder especially hard. So I made it a point to really rub it in.
“Haw Haw!” I gloated. “The Alligator Hunter is DEAD! Neener neener neener!”
“You mean the Crocodile Hunter,” she corrected me.
“Whatever! He’s dead! Dead! Dead! Dead! He's so dead, it isn't even funny! But I'll laugh anyway - HAW HAW!"
"I'm surprised you're so happy about it," she said. "He was an environmentalist, like you claim to be."
"Environmentalist?" I snorted with derision. "What part of 'Alligator HUNTER' don't you understand? Granted, he didn't exactly kill any animals, but he certainly made them wish they were dead. Think about all those poor alligators he harassed and humiliated for your amusement. What is it your "Bible" says about that?”
“And God made man in His own image, and let him have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every thing that –“
“DON’T FORCE YOUR RELIGIOUS BELIEFS ON ME!” I screeched, abruptly cutting her sermon short. I was doing her parents a favor by driving her to soccer practice, the least the little brat could do was show some respect for the Constitutional Wall Between Church and My Car.
“Sorry,” she apologized glumly.
“Apology accepted,” I relented. “Actually, it’s funny you should mention it, because in a way your antiquated religious beliefs are partially to blame for the Alligator Hunter’s excruciatingly painful death.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that the stingray was an Evangelical Christian.”
“No, little miss smarty pants," I replied. "But the Shrub is.”
She sighed and stared out the window, watching the trees flash by.
“I don’t want to talk politics with you, Uncle Larry,” she said. “The last time we talked politics, you dumped me off on the turnpike in the pouring rain. I caught the flu and missed a week of school.”
Pooberty. It makes kids all crazy.
“Nonsense,” I snapped, dismissing her negativity. “As a progressive whose politcal philosophy is firmly rooted in logic, I’m not afraid to be subjected to opposing viewpoints, as ignorant and primitive as they may be.”
She eyed me suspiciously.
“And as your Uncle, I feel it’s my responsibility to purge your mind of all the useless propaganda your parents have filled it with, and replace it with cold, hard facts that I've completely made up to back my political ideas. And one of those facts is that Bush's destructive environmental policies are little more than a plot to bring about Armageddon, so Jesus will return and throw everyone who enjoys casual sex into the Lake of Fire.”
“Heyyy! We passed the soccer field!” she whined, dodging the subject.
“Oh come now,” I prodded her. “Surely a fan of George Gershwin knows something about global warming and it’s effect on the ecosystem. Just look at the news. A grizzly bear mauled a woman in Canada last week. A pack of wild squirrels attacked and devoured and entire Boy Scout troop only a few days ago. Now stingrays, which are normally docile creatures, are impaling obnoxious Aussies in their natural habitat. The entire animal kingdom has gone completely wild since Bush refused to ratify Kyoto and force businesses to cut greenhouse gas emissions."
She let that sink in for a moment, then began to belch GOP talking points as if possessed by Rush Limbaugh.
“Well wouldn’t businesses have to slow production down in order to cut greenhouse gas emissions?”
“They might,” I answered, turning the car down a lonely dirt road. “But what’s wrong with a little clean air? Don’t you like to breathe clean air? I sure do.”
“And wouldn't less production mean they‘d have to lay people off in order to stay in business?” she nagged.
“They wouldn’t have to,” I replied, “but they probably would anyway just to protect their precious bottom line. Luckily we have plenty of progressive programs to help working families who are no longer working continue doing so in relative ease and comfort.”
“And who pays for those programs?” she persisted. Goddess…she was so dumb it made MY brain hurt just to listen to her. What had my brother done this poor girl?
“The rich people pay for them, of course,” I assured her. “Once Bush’s tax cuts for the wealthiest one percent are repealed, they'll be required to pay their Fair Share of everything.”
“But if you put them out of business, they won’t be rich anymore. Then they can't pay your taxes.”
I pulled the car over.
“Well, this is your stop.”
“We’re miles from town!” she cried.
“Then it’ll be the perfect opportunity for you to commune with nature and learn a thing or two about the animal kingdom. I’m sure Frank Gorshin would approve.”
“Daddy said he’d kill you if you ditched me again!” the little fascist threatened me.
“Well, then that’ll be TWO of your idols that your neocon PNAC masters have murdered, won’t it?”
As I left her there choking on my dust, I saw something all too familiar in her beady little reich-wing eyes: pure, unbridled HATE.
Yup. She’ll make a damn good Republican someday.