Saving the Animals…So We Can Eat Their Tasty, Tasty Flesh

Recently, for one brief, shining moment, I was so proud of my wife. You see, Mrs. Donk is a huge animal lover, and so she was incensed when she found out that a major animal testing facility was preparing to open a location in our hometown. The thought of poor, defenseless animals being cruelly tortured makes her sick to her stomach (as well it should).

So, much to her credit, she did a little research and found out that an animal rights organization was planning a protest at the proposed site for the lab and told me she was going to go to it. Now, my wife is borderline agoraphobic, except where shopping and hairstyling are involved, so I thought it was just awesome that she was going to stand up for what she believed in. And it was even after a long work-day, so she wouldn’t be home until deep into the evening! Now that’s dedication.

So the day of the protest comes and Mrs. Donk and a couple of friends, homemade signs in hand, go down to the site. All that evening I sat at home, basking in glow of my wife’s new-found activism. She was my new fucking hero – a saintly savior of our furry friends. I sat expectantly on the couch, waiting for her to get home so I could hear her gritty war stories.

Finally, I heard the garage door open and raced to greet her. Exhausted, she whizzed by me before I had a chance to quiz her. It was then that I noticed a pungent, familar odor.

“Jesus Christ,” I said tenderly, as I always do, “What the hell did you do, dip your clothes in grease?”

It took her a moment to realize what I was talking about, and when she did, a sheepish look crossed her face.

“Oh, that?” She asked, batting her eyes. “Well, um, when the protest was done, we were starved…..so we went and ate some burgers.”