Bush pushes for ban on gay boy bands

Satire

Following a report in People magazine that former ‘NSync member Lance Bass is gay, President Bush has called for a Constitutional amendment banning homosexuals in boy bands.

“Boy bands are built upon the union of its boy members and its teenage girl fans, not boys and boy fans,” said the president. “Activist judges have sought to change the definition of boy band. This is a direct violation of the principals on which this foundation of the country was founded.”

Senator Rick Santorum, campaigning to retain his Senate seat, pledged his support of the amendment. “If you allow homosexuals in boy bands, that will lead to bestial bands, and girls will be hanging posters of goats and bulls in their rooms and staring at farms longingly,” said Senator Santorum.

“Citing quote-unquote activist judges is a true red herring,” said Harmon Colsworth a legal expert who specializes in boy bands. “No judge has made any decision on any case debating the validity of a boy band with gay members. It has been a non-issue thus far, and, may I dare say, a misguided attempt to divert attention from the Middle East.”

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Requiem for Peep

It’s not as easy as one might think to name a woodpecker, especially an injured one riding in a box in the backseat while headed to the closest wildlife animal clinic thirty minutes away. That’s exactly where the Missus Jazz and I found ourselves on Saturday morning.

I woke up early on Saturday to water the newly seeded lawn, and decided to tackle the growing weed problem, as well. I walked tensely to the shed because I am always expecting to be surprised by one of the many garter snakes that like to visit our yard. As I walked closer to the shed I heard a loud ruffling noise and jumped. Then I saw it at the foot of the maple tree (which needs pruning): a woodpecker trying to fly and not getting off the ground.

After digging up the weeds, the woodpecker was still there. I went inside and woke up the Missus Jazz. We tried contacting Mass Audubon and eventually she got the number for the Tufts Wildlife Clinic in North Grafton, MA. The Missus had to leave a message.

In the meantime, our nameless injured woodpecker was hobbling along our back fence. I thought at one point he might have gone under it, but he was just hiding in a bush. When Tufts called back (very promptly), they advised us to drop a towel over the woodpecker to protect ourselves, put it in a box and bring it to them. The Missus Jazz performed the towel trick quite admirably, and now we had one boxed woodpecker who feasted on at least two flies that had wandered into the box.

To get the box into the car, we dropped a sheet over it (again advised by Tufts to do so), and we drove talking to the bird and trying to take turns slowly.

Then we got the idea to name him. “Woody” was too obvious. Besides this was not that type of woodpecker (pileated). “Peckerhead” was the workings of the thirteen-year-old boy in me. I suggested “Peep” because, before I took him to the car, he would emit a “peep” in his box: a “peep” which said “Get me the hell out of this thing!”


Peep peeps

“Peep” stuck for our brief car ride. Then “Peep” started peeping about ten minutes before we got to the clinic. He wanted out of that crazy box and this crazy nauseating movement.

The veterinary students who took “Peep” in told us that he was a “flicker” type woodpecker. They also asked if we would like to release him back in our yard once he was better. Of course we would. The idea of releasing “Peep” or “Flicker” as we alternately called him was very appealing: we could see the happy conclusion of our act of kindness that ate up our Saturday morning. To celebrate, we stopped at a farm near the Tufts Veterinary campus and bought strawberry jam.

Throughout Saturday and Sunday, the Missus Jazz and I would wonder about “Peep.” Was he lonely? Scared? How badly was he hurt? When would we be releasing him back into our yard to find his woodpecker family and friends.

The Missus Jazz called today to check on him. He had two fractures, as well as infections. Tufts had to put “Peep” to sleep. “At least he is no longer in pain,” I said. In the Hollywood ending, we would have taken “Peep” back to be released into the wild, and maybe he would stop by our yard to eat ants (45% of the Northern Flickers diet according to one bird guide). But, of course this is not Hollywood and good deeds are rewarded with the sadness of losing a creature that we felt deserved a name.

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