Fur

I've never really had an opinion on the morality of fur: it's just not my thing baby. But I never wear fur either: it's just always smacked me as what we in the biz call tacky. With that in mind, Gwen, the Cappie, and I went out to eat the other night, and a bunch of PETA people were protesting outside of some store that sold fur. They got in our face and shoved pamphlets at us. Gwen was a little more sympathetic.

Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with a person's right to protest: it's what makes us American; but when you're annoying and in my way, I'm forced to take that right from you. I made a few phone calls, and within five minutes riot cops swept in and arrested the whole mob, smacking any kids that tried to argue with their billy clubs.

Gwen guilted me into bailing them all out the next day, and I did, but on one condition: I lectured them on the power of subtlety. You can always catch more flies with honey, no? Gwen was satisfied with that, and allowed me to accompany her to a Firefly marathon at Coolidge Corner.