But they didn’t stop there. In my dream, the feminists built coalitions. They called the Southern Poverty Law Center and talked about how most prosecutions for dog-fighting were of poor southerners. Pretty soon, a group called “Hicks for Vick” emerged.
And they played the race card, too. With all the cockfighting in rural Mexico, the feminists were able to convince the Hispanic organizations that they could be targeted, too. Because they were concerned about racism, they started a group called “Spics for Vick.” I didn’t think you could say “spic” anymore. But these people were mostly Mexicans so the rules that applied to me didn’t apply to them.
Before long the feminists had their way and dog-fighting, cock-fighting, and all kinds of fighting was made legal – not just legal but protected under the U.S. Constitution, too. And this kept people from asking really tough questions like “Which one do you care the most about - a pit bull or a human fetus?”
And then I woke up and the terrible moral inconsistency was staring me right in the face. But it had all just been a dream. I could shut my mouth about the dream, go on with my business, and say a few bad things about Michael Vick while lots of people were standing around. That would be enough to show them how much I care about doggies and what a good person I must really be.