Ernie and Bert had enjoyed a lazy afternoon at the local bath house, and were currently absorbed in a delicious dinner at the Backdoor Bistro when Bert received a text from one of his more “manly” friends in Dallas.
It seemed the Dallas Safari Club was offering a opportunity, an auction if you will, for a chance to kill an endangered black rhino, with the proceeds going to save the endangered black rhino.
Bert’s eyes lit up and he began to salivate.
“More Justin Bieber pics?” Ernie asked.
“No. Even better. Someone is auctioning a chance to kill a black rhino.”
The look of amusement drained from Ernie’s face.
You see, Ernie was no longer a hunter. He had given it up over a decade ago, after a Snuffleupagus hunting weekend resulted in a severe trampling, a goring, and what could only be described as “trunk rape”.
“Why do you want to go kill a rhino, Bert?”
Bert eyed Ernie over his penne pasta salad.
“Are you kidding? A chance to kill an endangered animal? A chance to kill him with a high powered rifle from a mile away, and then hang his head in our living room? It’s like God was reading my mind!”
Ernie sipped his Chardonnay and blotted his lips with a napkin.
“What are you…..high? What kind of sport is that? Killing a big stupid animal from a mile away with a rifle? Are you kidding me? Why don’t I give you a knife and you go out and try to kill it? You know, make the fight a little more fair?”
“Errr”, Bert stammered.
Ernie leaned in close to Bert.
“I’ll tell you why. Because when you tried that shit on Big Bird, he took the knife from you, cut off your penis and gave it back to you in an empty Starbucks cup. You’re just lucky you’re a Muppet and can be repaired with fabric and thread.”
“Hey” Bert said. He took a short pause while lighting his cigar. “First off, Big Bird was on crack that day, or I could have taken him. And second, this is an old rhino. We’d be thinning the herd and making things better for the younger rhinos. And besides, all the money goes to the Namibian government. ”
Ernie shook a crab leg in Bert’s face.
“But don’t you see? You can’t just hunt something because you can. Where will it end? What happens when Dick Cheney decides he wants to hunt humans? Then what? Do we let him go hunting in California?”
“Of course not! Bert said. “Georgia.”
“Look Bert. It’s just wrong. Maybe the Namibian government should issue permits to hunt poachers instead? Huh? What do you think of that?”
Bert began crying. ‘Why are you giving me a hard time? All I want to do is kill black rhinos and you yell at me. You are such a bitch!” He buried his face in his napkin and continued to sob.
“I’ll tell you what Bert. When we get back to the hotel, you can open up our 10th floor window and shoot all the pedestrians you like, ok?”
“I love you” Bert said, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.
“I love you too, sweetie.”