A few days ago B came home from work with some interesting news. Apparently the Patriots were considering signing Michael Vick. And oh-ho-hoooo did I mount my high horse, throwing around words like "morally depraved" and "no class Belichick" and "motherflipping cut off sweatshirts." And then I was all "we will NOT be watching the Patriots in. This. House." And B shook his head sadly and agreed.
Then last night we were out for a few drinks with friends when someone at the table got a text message. EAGLES SIGN VICK.
WHAT? That had to be a mistake, right?
Because minutes later the news was scrolling across the bottom of the bar's television screens. Thank gah I had a beer in my hand when I heard that because I needed a drink.
What is WRONG with you, Philadelphia? And then I look over at B, and he's got that smug look on his face as I quietly slide off my high horse and hand him the reigns. Be careful with her, B. She's a wild beast.
Scanning the headlines today, a few Philadelphia columnists even had the AUDACITY to get all everyone deserves a second chance. Vick is sorry. He learned his lesson. Blah blah blah.
And yes, I am all for second chances, when you fuck up once. Like, say, you hit someone with your car or you shoot yourself in the leg or you wake up in a parking lot three days later with THUG LIFE tattooed to your inner lip.
But you DON'T take a little vacay in the state pen and suddenly realize oh my GAH all those dogs I tortured were actually living things. More likely, you clench your butt cheeks whenever you hear someone behind you and you say whatever it is you gotta say to get you out of there and get your cash monies flowing back in.
Vick didn't just hurt one dog, he hurt hundreds. For years. It wasn't one mistake. It was a lifetime of messed up thinking. Like how the quiet kid in the neighborhood who shoots beebees at stray cats is always the one to turn into the woman-hating serial killer. The dude who is depraved enough to fight dogs isn't going to turn into a tender hearted puppy lover. He's still gonna be a morally depraved dick.
I have a rescue dog, and I've seen first hand the damage that dog fighting has done to other rescue dogs. The cruelty and depravity that is involved in tying a dog's mouth shut and releasing a crazed pack on him, hanging dogs, burning them, and torturing them to make them meaner. In my opinion, there are few people lower on the scum scale than someone who could do that to a dog.
And yea, my mom is convinced that I have more compassion for dogs than I do for most people, like how on the way to the shore this year we had a little issue when we were driving through Chester and we saw three pit bull puppies trot across the street and I was all "STOP THE CAR STOP THE CAR WE HAVE TO RESCUE THE PUPPIES." And my mom was all "what is WRONG with you?" And I starting flailing around in the passenger seat because "OH MY GAAAH SOMEONE IS GOING TO GRAB THEM AND PUT THEM IN A DOG FIGHTING RING PEOPLE ARE HORRIBLE HORRIBLE HOORRRRRIBBLLEEE." And I actually started crying a little bit. And she put on her life lesson tone of voice and was all "you know, Bridget, sometimes I worry that you are more concerned with saving puppies than saving people." And I was all "you would've stopped if those were three orphan children walking across the street. You're a speciesist. Like racist. Only for species." And she didn't say anything, she just shook her head, probably because she knew I was right.
And as far as Andy Reid is concerned, you probably are more likely to err on the side of "second chances" when you're related to someone who shoves drugs up his ass in prison. Sayin'.
Shame on you, Philadelphia Eagles. I'd rather tattoo a picture of bacon across my chest than support you this season, which, apparently, is really catching on with the hipsters and what is UP with that?