Illegal Animal Trafficking is Grrrrrreat!
Thursday, June 19th, 2008
Numerous potentially destructive items make it across the U.S.-Mexico border every day: prescription medications, illegal firearms, American college students. But there is perhaps nothing as potentially deadly as what Michelle Ashton of Calvert smuggled onto our soil and then attempted to sell in a Wal Mart parking lot.
I’ll give you a second to guess.
Nope, you were wrong. It was tigers. Unless you guessed tigers, in which case congratulations.
Ms. Ashton was caught negotiating the sale of four white and two orange Bengal tigers in first the Wal Mart, and then the Mervyn’s parking lots in Calvert. I assume she moved when she realized Wal Mart’s Bengal Tiger Family 8-Pack was undercutting her profits by a healthy margin.
If your first question is who the hell she was selling the tigers to, then you’re clearly not an eleven year old boy, fun-loving but shortsighted father, or decadent mafia crime lord.
The question you should be asking is what exactly she got arrested for. I mean, is it really illegal just to have tiger cubs? Short answer: yes. Long answer: also yes, but only because she didn’t have a license to transport them.
Which got me to wondering what kind of application you’d fill out in order to obtain a license granting you the right to transport tiger cubs in cat carriers in the back of your truck. Luckily for me, I was able to look up and/or fabricate that information online.
a. Tony
b. Mr. Whiskers
c. AAAGH! My Arm! IT RIPPED OFF MY ARM!
a. I was raised by them
b. I train them for a traveling circus
c. I saw The Jungle Book eight times
And so on. Well, at least there’s some kind of regulation. I’d hate to think that the transportation of feral jungle cats across our country’s borders wasn’t being strictly regulated.
First it’s tigers, then before you know if you’ve got Oaxacan Bobcats taking our factory jobs and Tijuana Panthers lined up outside the Home Depot at all hours of the day.
If you ask me, we should put the Minute Men on this. Primarily because I’d like to see them thrust into more situations where they square off against things with teeth the size of steak knives.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a little guy waiting for his daily raw meat taunting downstairs. I’m coming Mr. Whiskers!
When not blogging for Cracked, Michael combs Mr. Whiskers’ luxurious namesake as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!
