A priest on TV just compared Terri Schiavo’s request to not be kept on life support to a teenager wanting to commit suicide. “Why don’t we call a suicide hotline for her?!”
You know, I think if I employed the media tactics of the Schiavo Family — such as taking 14 hours of videotape and showing 30 seconds of it — I could convince the world that Coco does, in fact, know how to fetch, shake hands and play dead. Or at least that he knows his own name.
Poor creature. CNN is showing a video of them blaring some horrible 1920s flapper music hoping to get a reaction out of her. If it was me I’d spring out of bed and karate chop those niggahs for playing such garbage at my bedside. Of course it ain’t me, and she can’t karate chop. Or spring. Or “out of bed.” She can basically only defecate out of rage. Or confusion, or boredom, or playfulness. That’s my professional opinion, as a neurologist. Or a blogger, whatever.
I feel as though the only intelligent thing I can contribute that will actually further the debate, that will actually get us past this legal quagmire, help us realize the value of life and the sanctity of the human spirit, is this which was sent to me on AOL:
Or my own thought provoking Halloween 2k3 costume: