I Love Me Some Meese

Some people are cat people. Some people are dog people. Some people defy all logic and are bird people. Well, not like the Chicken Lady from Kids in the Hall, but these strange people prefer the company of birds--those winged shitbags of disease and filth. My neighbor back home, who was a completely contemptible douchebag, was a bird person. He had a cockatoo named Shithead. His bird's name was about this guy's only redeeming quality.

A lot of things in the universe confuse the hell out of me. The bird person is the one that confuses me most. I mean, I understand liking dogs and cats: they keep you warm at night and are sometimes excited to see you (dogs moreso than cats). I even understand fish people; if you kill fish, you flush the carcass, maybe fire off a chaser, and then go spend another $0.86 on some feeder guppies and move along with your merry life. Birds, however, are entrees. I'm sure with enough lemon pepper seasoning and some hickory chips, Shithead would have cooked up succulently.

When it comes to animals, however, I'm none of these. My favorite animal is the Moose. Yes, that's right, the Moose. Those big, lumbering, gigantic creatures of the northern woods who are constantly on the move searching for food in order to sustain their massive body weight.

No, not that kind of moose. The kind with antlers and an unhealthy obsession with flying squirrels. I'm not sure why I find the moose to be so appealing, but it certainly is. Tragically, I've never seen a live moose--not even in a zoo--but I have plenty of moose things around me. I have on right now my moose-patterned pajama pants. Even better than the moose pants (if you can believe such a thing exists), are my genuine, hand-stitched moose moccasins, fabricated from supple moose leather. Oh, moose flesh, you are buttery soft and you keep my toes so, so warm.

Apparently, moose are some of Canada's most dangerous animals, especially during the rut. I completely understand this. I mean, I know what I'm like when the desire hits. I can imagine what a 2000 pound creature will do--pretty much whatever it wants, and you'll like it, bitch. Take heart, though. I'm sure the moose would be kind enough to call you in the morning.

My favorite president of all time was Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt. Not only because he thwarted an assassin's bullet by deflecting it with his rippling pectoral muscles, not only because his diplomatic model was to "speak softly and carry a big ass stick", not only because he was an avid hunter, not only because he charged up San Juan hill, but also because he said "Fuck it all!" to the political system and broke off to join with the progressive party and called it the Bull Moose Party. Fucking awesome.

Back in my college days, the thing I longed for more than Jenn Price's big boobies was a helmet with moose antlers mounted on the temples. A football helmet or a viking helmet--I really didn't care which, so long as it had antlers. I just thought it would be badass to own something like that, to sit there drinking beer from a great chalice or a brown paper bag or a shoe I found in the hallway, wearing my antler helmet upon my head. I figure everything looks either more badass or more funny with antlers on it--especially me, drunk. That's when it struck me. The reason why I love moose so much is because they all have massive racks, and nothing makes me happier than a big rack.