I’m Running For Congress
Don’t worry, when I’m in the House, I won’t do squat
I’m Miss Piper La Grange, spinster, and I’m running for Congress. And I’ll shake your paw, lick your baby, or sniff your butt, if that’s what it takes to get your vote.
I want to represent the people of Michigan’s 1st congressional district, which covers the Upper Peninsula and the top of the Lower. What are my qualifications? I’m a ten-year-old female Border Terrier. What makes me think a ten-year-old belongs in Congress? Lauren Boebert, Matt Gaetz, and Marjorie Taylor Greene act like ten-year-olds, and they’re in Congress. These days, it doesn’t matter if someone’s fit to hold office. All that matters is if they can get elected to office. I’m absolutely electable, because I’m so darn cute!
You’ll want to know my positions on the issues of the day. Here they are. Decide for yourself if they pass the “sniff test.”
Climate change. We must get it under control. Global warming is rough on those of us who wear fur coats all the time.
Being Woke. I’m usually not. I spend the better part of each day snoozing. On my chair or sofa. On my front porch. In my back yard. On my mom’s lap. I’m only woke at breakfast time, dinner time, and tween times to go for a walk, go potty, or roughhouse with mom. Beyond that, my life is a siesta. That said, I don’t mind if you’re woke. But when you’re being woke, don’t wake me up from my nap.
LGBTQ Pride. I’m for it. But excuse me if I don’t feel proud. Not when mom humiliates me by making me wear this stupid rainbow wig. Yeah, she’s made me wear worse get-ups. On Thanksgiving, she makes me wear feathers and gobble at the neighbors. On National Star Wars Day, she dresses me up in a robe and makes me bark like Yoda. On National Talk Like A Pirate Day, she puts a tricorn hat on my head, perches a parrot on my left shoulder, and makes me go “Arrrrr” at the neighbors. By the way, don’t expect to see pictures of me in these outfits. When I learned they were on her phone, I peed on it. Think you can dry a pee-soaked phone with rice? Fuggetaboutit.
Secure the Southern Border. We’ve gotta do it. By which I mean, we’ve gotta secure my southern border. Too much funny business goes on down there. Temperature-taking. Anal gland-expressing. Hair trimming. Mom trims my southern border every week. She says it’s to keep my poop from getting tangled up on the way out. Why doesn’t she stick to trimming her’s? I sit in front of her when she dresses in the bedroom, takes a shower, and sits on the toilet. So I’ve seen her southern border, and geez, it needs pruning. When it comes to southern borders, Mom needs to secure her’s, and leave mine alone.
Vaccines. I’m in favor of them. My doctor distracts me with a stinky treat each time she pokes me. Try it. Ask your doctor to squeeze a heaping mound of cheddar-and-bacon Easy Cheese® on the exam table. While you’re bent over and licking it up, the doctor puts the needle in your booty. If the “squeeze” is cheesy and bacony enough, she could stab you with a square needle and you wouldn’t notice.
Masks. I’m against them. I sneeze high-velocity, high-volume snout-tsunamis. Especially after rooting through the dirt in the garden. A mask would trap my snoot goop against my face. Better to set it free by spraying it on mom’s bedsheets. Her pillow. The face of the guy laying in bed next to her, who she introduced to me as my latest “uncle.” The sausage and egg casserole she made him for breakfast, which I spattered while sitting on her lap at the table. Her face, when she whirled me around to scold me. My “uncle’s” face again, after she plopped me in his lap to grab a towel.
Criminal Justice Reform. It’s needed. A dog shouldn’t be put in their crate just because they rolled on mom’s bedsheets after rolling in a dead fish by the creek. Or went outside and ate grasshoppers, then came inside and yakked them up on the sofa. I get that those are crimes. But the justice system should work like this: I roll over, mom rubs my belly, and that settles my debt to society.
Juvy Offenses. Young dogs shouldn’t be sent to puppy school just because they destroyed the TV remote. Mauled Baby Jesus in the Nativity scene beside the Christmas tree. Gnawed a box of crayons (which came up later in technicolor). Chewed stuff pulled from mom’s “special” drawer in the nightstand by her bed. Yes, I ripped apart her blindfold. Tore the fuzzy stuff off her handcuffs. Ate her food-grade lube (which made my poop smell like strawberry crap for days). Covered her Lovehoney® Heart Pounder silicone dildo with teeth marks. Mangled her Magic Wand® Rechargeable vibrator. Which I’d have totaled, only I dropped it after somehow switching it on in my mouth. I also expected to get in trouble for ripping a hole in her V-cut teddy. Luckily for me, it was crotchless to begin with.
Reproductive Choices. We should have them. I’ve experienced what happens when you don’t. One day, I’m the cutest muff in the neighborhood. Boy-dogs are checkin’ out my badonkadonk and linin’ up to sniff my business. Then mom takes me to the doctor. “Just a little snip ‘n tuck to help you keep your girlish figure,” she tells me. Next thing I know, the boys aren’t coming around, and in no time I’m a spinster. Oh and boys, it can happen to you. Someone drops you off at a clinic. They promise you’ll be chasing tail in no time. But when you get home, your balls are black and blue, and licking your wiener is the last thing you want to do.
Radical Groups. We need to crack down on them. Right-wing ones like the Proud Possums and Skunk Keepers. Left-wing ones like Squirrel Lives Matter. By the way, SLM is stupid. If Squirrel Lives Matter, why do so many end up as roadkill?
Finally, Distracted Driving. Don’t drive with one hand on a cell phone. And don’t walk with your nose in a doughnut.
