Considering Chicago’s Dead Rats — An Existential Discovery
Recently, I watched a rat die naturally and it nearly broke my heart. It’s a strange feeling since I have taken the lives of so many rats before.
In our house, we refer to the summer of 2014 affectionately as the Summer of the Rat. Three out of seven days a week during that summer when I would take our dog, Eddie, out for his morning constitutional, I’d find at least one dead rat in one of the several rat traps we had set in our yard. While Eddie did his business, I tended to the business of disposing of the rat. I was always prepared to find one so I’d pick up the trap gingerly by its edges and drop it into the plastic trash bag I’d brought out with me. When Eddie was done, I’d use a smaller plastic bag to scoop up his poop and drop that into the rat bag, tie it up and walk it to the dumpster behind our apartment building.
If the Royal Family has enough sense in their inbred brains to support the arrest and subsequent punishment of the Andrew Formerly Known as Prince, then American leaders ought to have equal sense to investigate and punish the other Epstein-related offenders. Or, at the very least, admit that American Power is too insulated for true justice to ever have a chance at prevailing and own up to being a criminal enterprise. Something far worse than being inbred. (Though, probably not as bad as being married to Meghan Markle.)