STEVE BANNON WEEK: Bannon Banned My Babies
I’ve been sitting in Sky Harbor for three days now. I’m waiting for a new family member — my future son-in-law. All his papers are in order, but that doesn’t matter. He has been detained, kept in a small cage, and will likely be sent back before my baby girl gets to meet him. Arranged marriages are common with my girl’s type (to keep the lines healthy). She certainly seemed to like his picture: bright green eyes, round face, smooshed nose, manly whiskers, and long, flowing, gray fur.
He is a cat.
A handsome cat. A brave cat. A kind cat. But, right now, none of that matters because he is also…
A PERSIAN CAT.
Our family is incomplete and our country is torn asunder. But I know why. And it shakes me to my core.
Trump administration chief strategist Steve Bannon doesn’t want to lose the 11th annual Yuma Fancy Cat Show for the fourth year in a row. Like all fancy cat breeders, I agree with Bannon on the core issue. Cats with pure bloodlines are essential to prevent people of taste and means from having to get one of those free, mongoloid cats from a shelter. This is just common sense.
But that’s where our agreements end. Bannon is an extremist who denies the existence of kill shelters, demanding better proof than photographs and eye-witness accounts. He claims strays are scurrying over our borders instead of being a homegrown problem. Bannon’s lunatic fringe theories, bankrolled by shadowy pet-store cabals, have made him quite unpopular with decent people on the feline beauty contest circuit.
Over the last few years, he’s gone from obnoxious nutjob to dangerous threat. More and more people are being converted to his fringe ideas, driven to madness by internet conspiracy websites and fly-by-night, Russian-operated cat grooming news websites.
I fear for my life: because, readership — this hurricane of madness has a source, and it is me. You see, I’ve spent the last decade dominating Bannon on the Cat Beauty circuit, and he, quite simply, cannot take a loss in stride. He is cruel and ambitious, if nothing else.
Every year, my pedigreed Persians and superior Somalis beat out his American Shorthairs across the board. At first he attacked me personally, saying that my fur-babies were “stealing trophies from American cats.” I was puzzled, because all my cats are either born in the U.S. or mated to a cat born here. I did not understand the depths of his vindictiveness.
But I would learn. Bannon’s madness spread out like a black ooze. He started writing extensive diatribes against all the “foreign-bred cats.” Himalayans, Siamese, and Balinese were all “too oriental.” Bombay cats “too black.” Chartreuxs were deemed “uptight and continental, an enemy to the down-home spirit that should live in the heart of every cat.” Acquaintances would tell me about Bannon’s 20-minute gin-fueled diatribes about “the filth of the Japanese Bobtails and their freakish, unnaturally tiny tails.”
Stranger yet, even a quintessentially American cat, the Maine Coon, drew his ire from time to time. His madness is clear and apparent — to all who are not consumed in the thrall of his feline nationalism.
From the day that the Mayflower landed to the fateful moment when sailors discovered the mouse trap, American shores have welcomed cats of all colors, shapes, religions, creeds, and sexual orientations. It’s inimical to the ideas on which our country was founded. However, since his embarrassing showing on the Cat Beauty circuit in 2015, disgusting, rage-filled chants of “America for Ameri-cats,” “America Furrst,” and “Make America Purrrrrrreat Again” have spilled from Bannon’s mouth, accented by his creepily high voice and laced with, like, a damn liter of spittle and phlegm dislodging from his lungs.
On Friday, the day before my new cat would arrive, that talentless hack Bannon performatively motioned to ban my breeds, the babies I have loved and kept dear for all my adult life. Banning the immigration of Somalis and Persians? My staple breeds? Take my word — those other five countries are a smokescreen to hide his true intentions. You’ll notice that for all his pro-American rhetoric, he’ll never say a bad thing about Russian Blues. Coincidence? I suspect not. You have to wonder who is funding his operation.
Sad, sad, sad, Steve! I could feel sorry for you, but I only feel bad for the less fortunate breeders who might have to rely on their spouse’s CFO income to keep their cat-breeding businesses going. I remember the campaign pledges about bringing jobs to America, but this ban would do irreparable damage to our exotic cat industry, which brings in nearly $200,000 a year to the country’s gross domestic product. Disgusting.
He thinks he will win, but Bannon’s got another thing coming. I won’t be defeated by this attack on liberty. I have a stable full of beautiful babies. On any given Saturday my worst cat could beat his best — even William Chat-ner, my little goofy floofy-poof. I refuse to be be the loser in this mess! The real loser here is Upurrah, my girl cat who’s in heat, wailing in my garage as we speak. If her handsome stud feline is being arbitrarily locked out of the country, who’s going to do the deed?
Will it be you, Steve? Will you have sex with my cat? I’m sure you will be able to — your dick is so small that it will only fit into that kind of pussy anyway. Good day, SIR.
