True Men Don't Kill Coyotes, They Crush Hopes & Destroy Dreams

Yeehaw, Cowboy!

Gun totin’, fiercely heterosexual, 100% pure all beef patty of hunky manhood, Texas Governor, slick Rick Perry rarely feels what the rest of us non-laser-sighted pistol carrying losers call fear, deep within his chiseled, manly chest.

But there are times when even a rough ‘n tumble, real Texas man like Rick Perry feels a creeping sense of dread, like, for instance, when a charming black man moves into the White House, or say, when enjoying a jog and suddenly finds himself face-to-face with a slithering, poisonous reptile-monster who just so happens to be the slimy bastard responsible for getting Adam and Eve tossed out of Eden. Wandering naked and alone, forever.

Of course, Texans, particularly male Texans, aren’t normally permitted to admit these terrible feelings of vulnerability or express gay, womany emotions of any sort, except as part of a hilariously amusing tale about how said strapping male cold shot some dumb living thing in the head and left its pathetic corpse to rot in the blazing sun and scorching heat of the acacia-dotted wasteland he calls home.

Like some stupid, evil coyote who had the misfortune of crossing paths with the Texas Terminator Governor while he was out jogging with his daughter’s dog and his loyal .380 Ruger loaded with hollow-tip bullets strapped to his leather hide belt.

“I’m enjoying the run when something catches my eye and it’s this coyote. I know he knows I’m there. He never looks at me, he is laser-locked on that dog,” Perry said.

“I holler and the coyote stopped. I holler again. By this time I had taken my weapon out and charged it. It is now staring dead at me. Either me or the dog are in imminent danger. I did the appropriate thing and sent it to where coyotes go,” he said. (The Cartoon network??)

Perry said the laser-pointer helped make a quick, clean kill.

“It was not in a lot of pain,” he said. “It pretty much went down at that particular juncture.”

That “particular junction” of course referring to the precise spot where a certain locked ‘n loaded state leader pumped rounds of hollow-tipped lead, and laid to waste an a mangy coyote hellbent on destroying dear leader Rick and his loyal canine companion.

And for what??? To satiate his natural predatory instincts and fill his belly with the blood and flesh of a famous Republican hero and his favoritest freedom-loving dog?

How dare he??

Perhaps Mr. Wile E. Coyote should have heeded Gov. Perry’s warning: “Don’t attack my dog or you might get shot…if you’re a coyote.”

Oh, so suddenly Mr. soft-on-crime over here refuses to shoot other non-Canis dog menaces like humans??

Buck up, Ricky! This is Texas, not the gay, pussy North!

“I knew there were a lot of predators out there. You’ll hear a pack of coyotes. People are losing small cats and dogs all the time out there in that community,” Perry said.

“They’re very wily creatures.”

Much like secret Muslim terrorists from Kenya masquerading as widely respected, wildly popular, progressive, half black, rock star-like Democratic Presidents. Who don’t even carry concealed weapons when they jog.

Ugh, arugula-eating liberal elitists! Don’t they just make you sick??

Good thing Laura Bush knows true men don’t kill coyotes, they destroy entire countries instead!

In the newest, very important contribution to the literary world, former first lady and soft-spoken librarian Laura Bush’s gut-wrenching memoir, Spoken From the Heart, hit shelves this week and is causing quite a stir with its juicy revelations…

Like that one time when Laura ran through a stop sign and killed her high school boyfriend, then slept through the funeral, and stopped believing in God.

Until another time, when she was a bored, lonely 30-year-old school librarian, and God suddenly reappeared in the form of a dumb, rich screw-up by the name of George W. Bush, luckily before that other time in Germany when Laura is absolutely positive someone tried to poison her and W with the common stomach flu.

Good thing God had other plans!

“Most of how I ultimately coped with the crash was by trying not to talk about it, not to think about it, to put it aside. Because there wasn’t anything I could do. Even if I tried,” she writes.

Kinda like what all of America tried to do following the eight year disaster known as her loving hubby, and divine messenger, Georgey Poo’s Presidency.

But much like scavenging desert predators, man-slaughtered former loved ones, Heaven sent Icelandic volcanoes erupting in protest of health care reform, megaton rigs exploding in the Gulf, and other oily stuff we can’t keep from destroying the planet, no matter how hard we try and forget our almost-decade-long cowboy nightmare, we just can’t shake the terrifying sense that UH OH, THERE’S NO WAY TO STOP THIS!!

Almost as if the “poison” still courses through the veins of our nation.

When The Only Cure Is…More Cowboy!

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