Hunting the Lummox

"Mr. President, is it true that you're thinking of lifting the ban on hunting lummox?"

"True, Binky. It's as good as done."

"But why, sir? As your adviser, I have to ask."

"My kid likes to kill 'em, stuff 'em, hang their heads on the wall, and make necklaces out of their teeth."

"But sir." Binky wriggled uncomfortably. "Everyone likes the lummox hunting ban."

"Not lummox hunters," the President pointed out reasonably. "Not my kid. He likes to kill em, stuff 'em, hang their heads ..."

"Um, yes, you did say that," Binky interjected. "But just about everyone except lummox hunters."

"Some Easterners think lummox balls are an aphrodisiac," added the President. "Profitable trade in that."

Binky squirmed again. "Well, yes again," he said, "but the lummox is a highly endangered species ..."

"So what? Who needs 'em?" the President cut in.

"You're son, apparently. Doesn't he like to stuff them ... and all that?"

"Well, sure," admitted the President, "but they'll last a couple more years or so, and by then, he'll be on to something else. I never could deny that boy anything."

"As your adviser," Binky said carefully, "I have to advise against this. Almost everyone supports the lummox hunting ban. Except for ... noted ... your kid and impotent old Easterners."

"Hmph." The President snorted out his blow hole.

"The lummox is ... kind of the signature species of that little blue-green planet, sir." Binky pointed a tentacle towards the little planetary system on the star map. "Everyone ... that is, almost everyone ... thinks they're kind of ... cute. You know, toddling around on two legs, waving those spindly arm thingies ... How adorable is that? Right? Hunting them is like ... drowning little baby furry wigworts."

"Ah, fuck 'em," snorted the President again. "Plenty more creepy-crawlies where they come from."