"After all, I'm handsome and personable," he said. "And besides, chasing stick just isn't as fulfilling as it used to be."
So Rex hit the campaign trail, speaking to voters and smelling their assholes in big cities and small towns everywhere. Unfortunately, Rex didn't have a defining message, one that would separate him from the rest of the pack. He, like nearly every other candidate, was against rolled up newspapers and baths. Just as predictably, he was a fervent believer in unlimited Snausages, the right to lick one's own genitals and the death penalty for cats. With time running out and his campaign struggling, Rex came to the conclusion that to win he would have to find an issue he could own. That he could champion.
At the same time, it would have to be one that wouldn't alienate any voting blocs or breeds.
His research staff informed him that toy and small dogs rarely turned out at the polls. So, tailoring his appeal to larger breeds, he began speaking out on hip dysplasia. "I have seen the toll HD has taken on the average working dog," he told the crowds, "and I believe we as a species should do everything in our power to convince humans to eradicate it in our lifetime."
This issue, it turned out, was a home run for Rex. Since no one could expect Rex -- a dog, after all, just like them -- to find a cure, he could be morally indignant, condemning the inaction of others without having to take any action himself. By the time his opponents picked up on it, it was too late. Come election day, Rex won in a landslide.
Seven months (four dog years) later, with no change in domesticated animal violence rates, Snausage consumption levels or bathing intervals, with cats still flaunting their catness with impunity and hip dysplasia still uncured, the whole process was repeated. Rex was re-elected.
Moral: Dogs might be idiots, but they've streamlined the process.
The Clever Tuna
Late one morning, four fishermen were hauling in their nets. About half way into the task, they brought an enormous school of tuna on board. As the crew began extricating the fish from the net with hooked poles, one of the tuna, quite unexpectedly, spoke to them. "Wait, fishermen," she said, "if you return me and my companions to the sea, I will answer any questions you may have to your complete satisfaction."
"Very well, Tuna. What is the meaning of life?," asked one. And she told him.
"Is Certs a breath mint or a candy mint?," asked another. And she told him.
"Who killed JonBenet Ramsey?," the third inquired. And she told him.
"What's with those Old Navy commercials?," the last fisherman wanted to know.
Moral: Tuna, $7.99 a pound.
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