(His friends were concerned he might be taking the whole ‘spirit of the lion’ thing a tad far, but really, he was just looking for an excuse to nom on a zebra corpse.)

Be vewy vewy quiet. We’re hunting douchebags. Astute reader Mif alerted me to this little fashion innovation hipster monkeys are calling Spirit Hoods, and thought I might be able to dissect some live human trash for the entertainment of civilized folk. Spirit Hoods are hats you usually see on red faced, crying babies in forced winter-pastoral family photographs, upset because their parents are aiming the scary flashing box at them instead of attending to their itchy soiled diapers – only they’re for 20-somethings with loft apartments in Williamsburg and a post-colonial soft spot where their concept of spirituality ought to be. There’s a real festival-going culture revolving around these faux-fur costume pieces your 9 year-old would call “a little gay” if you suggested he wear it for halloween, and they even have a blog that – - well, here, check it out:

In a bubble of collective excitement and passion our Sasquatch festival tribe duly named, “Sasq-whaaat?!” set out for the epic 3-day journey ahead.  Our tribe consisted of two Pandas, a Polar Bear, and a Zebra.  I rocked the Panda with my best friend Kristina and together, we became the Sasquatch “Panda Girls” to other festivalgoers that captured our wild moments throughout the days.

How fun! Watch out Zebra, we’re gonna eat you! Haha jay-kay! Somebody needs to throw an enema party after this! I swear, there is not enough ecstasy in the world to justify this shit. Unless there’s some fashion minority using these things as gateway articles for the furry curious, but when those freaks come around all I see is an extended sentence for hate crime in my future. But, these are the people we’re dealing with here. If you have a couple hundos just laying around not going to your favorite charity (you’ve got enough pot to last you into early August), are .05 Native American with no concept of their culture outside of scalping and peace pipes – and if the phrase “hand wash cold air dry only” gives you a huge chubby – maybe the Spirit Hood is for you. If that’s not incentive enough, each hood has its own spiritual profile, so you’ll know you’re picking the dismembered pate of the animal that best suits your personality. Or your leggings.* Whatever.

Red Wolf: Loyal » Social » Teacher

“Those with a wolf spirit are fiercely loyal creatures. They are team players and work well in groups. The wolf is a social animal and a great communicator, often teaching those around it.”

I’ll bet this little wolf works well in groups. In fact, I think I saw this chick in a gang bang video a couple weeks ago. It’s easy to be a team player when your adorable little asshole is getting perpetual tongue baths from people too paralyzed by your subjective shtuppability to tell you you’re a condescending little twat that’s never had an original idea in her life. The fortune cookie spiritual profile sort of falls apart when you realize the company’s main customer base will be frumpy chicks with horn rimmed glasses that never developed social skills beyond squealing about kitties – if not full-on level ten half-orc shamans that want to add a bit of realism to their mothers’ finished basement, but I’m willing to run with it. That face looks like they just threatened to cancel Grey’s Anatomy, or whatever the idiots of your gender watch now. If your perfect, hairless curves don’t convince them to keep it on the air, the addition of the impossibly colored head of a dangerous predator might convince them you are just crazy enough to do something about it. “This wolf head is stained bright red with the blood of the bitch that married Edward Cullen instead of me! Cross me and feel my ambiguously sexy wrath!” This product should come with a massive disclaimer: “It’s not the hat that’s giving you the erection, it’s the megababe we got to wear it. This product will only serve to make your awkward, mousy little girlfriend look like she has the mind of a 2 year-old. Go rent a porno and try to get her to do some of the freaky stuff. That will work out better for everyone.”

The male wolf is notoriously indiscriminate with spray tan, and refuses to apologize for that.

Leopard: Intelligent » Free Spirited » Leader

“The Leopard Spirit is able to blend in to many different circumstances with ease. People with this spirit find comfort in many different social situations yet also appreciate being alone. Often territorial and protective the Leopard naturally commands respect, without needing to demand it.”

When I see topless simulated fellatio on child’s candy, I think respect. The kind of respect commanded – but certainly not demanded – by future dead-eyed housewives that regularly fall down the stairs or bang their heads on doors. The kind of woman that should have t-shirts made that say, ‘He respects me so much that he couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t correct me for getting all mouthy. I really do get mouthy. It’s my own fault,” for the amount of times it comes out of her mouth. I would commend you for recognizing the subtle difference between ‘command’ and ‘demand,’ but I just realized you put your hat on before your shirt, and that’s something only retards and strippers do.

If the leopard easily blends into any circumstances and social situations, why does this guy on the right look like he is constipated with regret that this picture can not be untaken? His facial expression just screams, “I just lost my last bet, because I am going to commit some serious suicide when this is over.” It’s probably for the best man, but take off the Spirit Hood first. The only thing a mom likes less than finding their kid hanging from the curtain rod, dead from asphyxiation in a masturbatory experiment gone awry, is finding out her son is gay.

Zebra: Strength » Balance » Individuality

“The Zebra‘s spirit is unbridled and free. A social animal, the Zebra thrives in groups, able to blend in without losing its individuality. Individuals with the Zebra spirit are often the protectors of loved ones and tribe members.”

Nothing says inconspicuous like a hot chick in a stupid hat. Remember when James Bond wore all that makeup so he would look Asian, and nothing in the world could have made him more of an unbelievably honky candidate for a bamboo manicure? That’s you. That’s you blending in. I wouldn’t worry about it too much, though. I’ve watched the Discovery channel. Your ass is destined for a mauling by your girlfriend, the one who took too much acid and will soon be howling “The Circul uv Live” with her mouth full of your toned, tanned rump. I bet you feel like kind of a dick telling your “loved ones and tribe members” to count on you for some kind of protection when your only role in life is to be part of a striped buffet on the Serengeti.

Black Cat: Luck » Independence » Wisdom

“The Black Cat spirit is one of mystery and intrigue. Some say a Black Cat can bring good luck. Others say the Black Cat brings mischief – you decide! One with the Black Cat spirit might seem unpredictable to others, but in reality they know exactly what they are up to.” [That last sentence beat my brain senseless with 700 stupid sticks]

No. No, I think I’d like to know beforehand whether the outward expression of my spirit animal is going to bring myself and others good luck, or if its going to result in finding myself raped and beaten in a filthy gutter. If you could just throw a clarification bone to your product description, because I don’t want to show up at Sarah’s Halloween party in lingerie and cat ears only to get some kind of STD. The bunny ears I got last year must have been the chlamydia kind, and I don’t want to get burned again.

Seriously though, I’m worried about this chick. Either someone just turned on the vacuum, or the cat magic didn’t work, and the photographers are subjecting her to vuvuzela torture. Maybe she’s being haunted by the spirit of the zebra she killed to make that skirt, but she looks like she’s in some serious pain. Eh, that’s unpleasant to think about. Let’s just all assume she’s in heat, and start poking her bajingo with Q-Tips.

Brown Bear: Brave » Curious » Gentle

“The brown bear spirit represents bravery and strength. People with this spirit tend be curious and playful creatures. Although very affectionate, they won’t hesitate to protect their own.”

“Um, excuse me, that’s fabulous bravery and strength. Rowr! I’m going to eat your picnic food, you silly campers. You should have strung them up in a tree like they teach you in Cub Scouts. Oooo, I made a pun, how fun!” Jesus, these Spirit Hoods might replace assless chaps as the new “lifestyle choice” garment. I mean, do what you want, just realize that when you click the ‘check out’ button, you are making a statement. I bet if we saw a picture of this model anywhere else, he would look like a first string lumberjack pussy pounder. He doesn’t even wax his chest, which is rare in the sissified world of modern male fashion iconography. But wearing that hat? It makes me think you’re taking the secret language of the homosexual scene just a tad literally.

Despite the fact that these spiritual profiles as a whole contain like five facts total, pulled randomly out of a hat and mixed and matched, you have to admit they probably fit pretty well with the kind of people that would buy these things. Just once, though, I want somebody to have the balls to take this all the way. I’m envisioning Spirit Game Preserve. Can you picture it? You pay a hundred bucks to get in, and you can have the bloody scalp of anything you can kill. The hunting knife is extra, but you get a neat rubber key chain made in China as a souvenir. You can even sell the scalps of the visitors the lions and leopards got the best of, right there in the gift shop. They deserved it anyway, for thinking they could wear the skin of an animal without earning it. Faux fur is stupid, because it suggests some kind of decadence that isn’t really there. I say, let’s make real fur politically correct again, but you can only wear it if you killed it with a blade, and ate its heart to absorb its courage and honor, Michel de Montaigne stylee. In the hizzouse. Nerdy white kids can have that now, right? You brothas are done with it? Aight, cool.

... acceptable.

*Ladies, leggings are not pants. Maybe with some knee length boots and a really long t-shirt,  you can get away with it without looking like your brain had a big, sloppy wet-fart when you were getting dressed that morning. I’m not opposed to showing some thigh. In any other circumstances, however, I will assume you have given up on life, are on your way to jump off something really high, and your stereo is up for grabs.

(Hey gurl, you know I wanna eat you, but first you gotta show me that cloaca.*)

Remember those rumors back in the day that postulated Billy Bob Thornton only ate orange food? Not just like carrots and papayas and healthy shit like that, but like orange TicTacs and Skittles and shit? Well, that wasn’t true, but this even nuttier thing in The Sun is:

ODDBALL actor NICOLAS CAGE has revealed that he will only eat meat from animals if he likes the way they have SEX. The Hollywood star, 46, says he won’t touch pork because pigs do not romp in a “dignified” way.

I know the feeling. I still won’t eat Hungry Man dinners because a salisbury steak wrote a bunch of bad checks once. You have to take an ethical stance with these bastards, or before you know it, our kids will be hitting up livestock for cigarettes and forties. I once saw apple slices involved in an improvised abortion involving honey and maggots, but that’s debatable, because, I mean if the state provided better reproductive care maybe the produce section wouldn’t be considered the wrong side of the supermarket. I wonder how Hostess Honey Buns get it on. I imagine there is a good deal of R. Kelly and boxed wine. Those are some classy assed snack cakes. Not like that Twinkie the Kid whore. What about you, Nic?

Instead, he scoffs poultry and fish because he finds their love lives more tasteful. Wacky Cage, who won an Oscar for Leaving Las Vegas, said: “I love all animals. I think fish are very dignified with sex. So are birds. But pigs, not so much. So I don’t eat pig meat or things like that. I eat fish and fowl.”

He’s so wacky, all eatin’ fish and chicken. Reminds me of another wacky kind of people I know… can’t put my finger on it. I mean, I just have to concentrate. They should invent camps, where all you do is concentrate. We could call them – - oh, that’s it! Anyway, The Sun was kind enough to provide a handy chart letting us know how these animals get it on. Let’s see…

So, according to this, fish go for the old external spurt; we’ll call that the Adirondack Garden Hose.

And chickens, well, they do it in the butt, feathery protests be damned. A Swiss Mailman, if you will.  So far we’ve got scaly bukake and ass rape, this is turning out to be quite the dinner party, Mr. Cage…

And pigs like to cuddle, and take their time to make sure the woman is satisfied? I bet they also like to becomes doctors, and they love their moms, but not too much. Those evil little… no wonder they’re not kosher.  Welp, looks like that costume isn’t going to work after all, little buddy.

The article in the sun reveals that Nicolas Cage has an interesting history with all animals, a real fascination with what he calls “sentient life,” which includes anything from whales to insects. Also, he bought a two headed snake while filming Bad Lieutenant. “‘I met the snake and said, ‘Maybe this will be my bodyguard in New Orleans’.’ He later gave it to a zoo.” Why didn’t you just eat it? Is it because you caught it in a three-way with John Malkovich and an unscrupulous flamingo? You know, for a guy that is so fascinated with how animals bump cloacas, he seriously missed the romantic potential for a beast with two dislocating lower jaws and a body that’s one big throat.

*Click that there link for one of the coolest new blogs out there. Badass stuff.

(“And thus did the tanks of Seaworld run red with the lifeblood of the Orca, and the Israelites were blessed by God for putting the Killer Whale to death with a season and a half of great harvest, until a Rapist Chinchilla in San Diego had its way with a toddler.” Book of Eatme 12:31)

The controversy over killer whales doing their eponymous job has gone Old Testament, and this connoisseur of the overblown is grinning like suicide bomber heaven’s millionth customer. Let’s start with how Huffington Post presented the story, then go on to the site that called the following cetacean jihad.

The American Family Association, a religious right group, is urging that Tillikum (Tilly), the killer whale that killed a trainer at SeaWorld Orlando, be put down, preferably by stoning.

Do they even make bongs big enough to give that monster an overdose? Please say yes… Oh, you mean like the deadly community circle jerk and lentil festival. Fair enough. Nothing better than a brutally slow, torturous death if one is called for. If only old Tilly had the forethought to yell “God wills it!” before mangling his bipedal friend, they might have granted him a subaqueous fiefdom. No seriously, I’m in. Haven’t been to a good stoning since I was in Haiti teaching a village what “poetic justice” meant, and out of nowhere Pat Robertson decided to visit. Remind me real quick, AFA, why are we dusting off the oldest form of execution by committee for a marine mammal, and not William Wallacing it?

“When an ox gores a man or woman to death, the ox shall be stoned, and its flesh shall not be eaten, but the owner shall not be liable.” (Exodus 21:28)

As a creative person, I get a little disappointed when a god tells me how I should kill something, when I have all these ideas floating around in my head. The god of the Hebrew Scriptures is like a grade school math teacher; it’s long division, not competitive ice carving, I’ll show your mom my “work.” No, this time I’m all about the literalistic scripture interpretation (though where whales fit into a story specifically about oxen I’ll leave the convenience scholars to decide), if only for sheer entertainment value. Sea World should sell tickets to this thing, fill those uncomfortable bleachers with sticky human spawn. Get a couple hundred devotees  of this group, and let them go to towns. They might kill the thing, but not before those pebbles bounce off the whale’s rubbery hide and piss it off enough to take at least half of them out. For all we know, old Tilly will just wait under water until they’re out of ammo, learning to spit them back at the bastards. Those plastic ponchos will sell for at least a hunsky  in those conditions.

Exodus is so helpful it even goes on to say what happens if further incidents occur: if your ox kills a second time, “the ox shall be stoned, and its owner also shall be put to death,” (Exodus 21:29) because this time he should have known his ox was a slasher film villain. But how to smite, God? You can’t hold my hand up to this point and then leave me to my own murderous devices. Take me to murder school!And how does one go about killing “Seaworld.” Does that include the guests? What about the harmless rays and fish in the naughty touch tank? Screw it, kill ‘em all, just to be sure. Not the penguins though. They’re nature’s retards, and Seaworld isn’t in Texas.

It doesn’t matter anyway because:

Chalk another death up to animal rights insanity and to the ongoing failure of the West to take counsel on practical matters from the Scripture. The Sentinel recounts that Tilly had killed a trainer back in 1991 in front of spectators…  Then in 1999 he killed a man who sneaked into SeaWorld to swim with the whales and was found the next morning draped dead across Tilly’s back. His body had been bit and the killer whale had torn off his swimming trunks [actually, it was underwear, but i know that's a dirty word in Christendom] after he had died. [How do you know that?]

Can you imagine what would have happened if those animal rights psychos had their own way from the beginning and these murderous sunzabitches were allowed to live in the wild? Then who would we stone, fags? Because that’s illegal still, right? All the fun ones are.

I see your point on the first one, though: according to Exodus the whale should have been pelted with prehistoric hand-grenades in 1991. But the dude who sneaked into Seaworld in the middle of the night to swim with a killer whale in his tighty whiteys? Tilly only removed the dude’s “trunks” to get at his genitals so the world, should he survive an Orca attack, could be free of his dumbfuck genes. Give the whale a pass, guys, it was doing us a favor.

Huffington post helpfully chimes in: “SeaWorld has no plans to execute Tilly.” Because, as the seriously misinterpreted Jesus said about stoning, “Let he who is without sin pack the first bong.” Man, is Aramaic ever hard.