Virgie Bell's View: Tails of the War on Terror

I didn't watch the Democrats debate the other night. I didn't have to. Other than to irritate the heck out me, it would not have created harmony at our home. Yesterday was more for reflection, not looking ahead to the political posturing. However, the newspapers were full of the debate. We all know the bill sent by Congress to President Bush for funding the troops will be vetoed. The sadness of the candidates over this tragedy was palatable. If you are as bad as I am about math, you may be familiar with this strategy.

Say Jerry gives me money to go to the grocery store. I have a list that includes 10 lbs. of hamburger meat and the check he gives me covers that amount exactly. But low and behold, when I get to the store I find that he has added 10 lb. of steak to the list, and not just any cut, he wants Filet Mignon. It gets worse. He wants the steak for himself and his buddies. No girls allowed. Worse than that, there is not enough money for steak and hamburger. One has to be eliminated. Am I to go a week without food so he can show off to his buddies? No, I would leave off the steak and buy the rest of the groceries. You get the drift.

Now, a lesson on the war on terror. Recently we had an issue with a neighbor next door. They have this big dog that they leave in the house all day while they go to work. They have a fenced backyard, so I don't understand the reasoning of that. Not my problem. But here’s mine. The man would bring the dog outside and onto the edge of our yard for his poop. Big dog, big poop. I’ve applied sound reasoning to this and nothing fits except that they are lousy neighbors. Really lousy. I had noticed it over and over again. Stepped around it and so on. I went to our mailbox and the gutter was full of water from another neighbor a couple of blocks down. While getting to my mail box at the curb, I have to sidestep the huge piles of poop. We try to keep a nice yard.

Back in the good old days, I would have grabbed the woman (she is far from being a lady) and I would have hauled her to my yard and made her get it up. Too, Jerry is a big, big man, and strong as an ox. He could have snarled at the man and had him on the run, but this is a different period in history, so instead, I called the law who then referred me to Animal Control, and it was them then, who told the neighbor officially, “NO dog poop next door.” Period. We had been attacked. A war on poop.The battlefield, our front yard. The dog has no territory; he lives with my neighbors. The police were the UN and Animal Control our weapon. Everyone better shape up in the war on doggy doo. Next time, I go to Jerry. He is big and very gentle, but you don't want him to get angry at you. I am Congress. I give him the money for steel-toed boots. The war is now in my favor, but next time it’s those steel-toed boots, size 13 ½.

This, by the way, is a true tale. How hard is that? Our troops need steel-toed boots, so give them boots you jerks, and buy your own steak. SUPPORT THE TROOPS!