Meating People

I’m not sure if it’s that my refrigerator has gotten smaller or my gut has gotten bigger, but it seems that I must venture out among the living a lot more often these days than I prefer.  I never had to sneak out of my cage when I was a young primate, primarily because my parents kept my kibble dish topped off, and our CB radio tuned to the titillating teachings of truck drivers at the local Motel 6.  Now my wife cruelly leaves me alone without nary a paw-massage or flea picking for almost 8 hours every day; so what choice does a rabid werewolf have other than to eat strange meat and meet strange people, but usually NOT at the same time. 

I instinctively know that it is hypocritical for me to be irritated that others are out getting in the way of MY world when I try to go to a food market in the afternoon or during ‘off-hours’. Can I help it if I wonder why  these people aren’t at home doing something productive like watching TV, thinking about ironing, or better yet DYING OFF? At Wally Mart, can’t a simple Scrooge try to anonymously purchase a lot of guns and a little butter  after midnight without 20 carts commandeered by the slow, wrinkled, and soon to be so, multiplying and converging around his space like ‘chips’ from a Buffalo?

Hey I get it, times are tough and a few more folks are out of work. Anyway people are living longer now so they need to STRETCH, but can’t they find anyplace better than where I’m at – like let’s say, a GYM! I am not really a sourpuss by nature and would tolerate meeting new people more if they would simply get on with their business efficiently, shuffle out of my way without leaving any discernible trail, and could only raise their voice while completely contained within a vacuum. 

Of course there is another alternative which might provide just the right incentive and social conditioning I need to become more tolerant of my fellow man. What if society simply agrees to individually wrap and license everyone when away from home,  so they look and smell exactly like bacon? Finally,  just the positive motivator I need to MEAT n’ greet my greasy brethren between the Beano and Halloween candy clearance aisles, without having to explain away my damp n’ deathless drooling.