Rather than bore you this week with a featured news story, I thought it might be more fun if I told you a little fable instead. Enjoy!
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful grassy field stretching as far as the eye could see. On each side of the field was a pristinely maintained white picket fence. Inside lived hundreds of happy cows who spent their days eating grass and mooing their cares away. These weren't just any cows... they were special cows. These cows could talk.
On the North edge of the field sat a beautiful red barn, home to nine of the world's best farmers who managed the field hands who looked after the cows. Each day the field hands would ask each cow whether or not it wanted to be milked. Some said, "no," in which case they were left to milk themselves, bottle the milk, and sell it to make a living. No easy task. Some said, "yes," in which case the field hands milked them and took away the responsibilities that went into caring for one's own milk. It went on like this for years and years.
Then one day, one of the old, kind farmers passed away right as the farm was being sold to a new landlord. A majority of the cows agreed that the new landlord should hire the new farmer, but a weasel who lived on the farm insisted that the old landlord do the hiring. So, the old landlord hired a woman who had only been a farmer for three years to sit alongside the other eight experienced farmers.
Only a year or so later, five of the farmers agreed that the field hands could decide whether or not they would milk a cow that wanted to be milked. Approximately 70% of the cows were outraged by this decision.
"But what if I'm too young to care for my own milk?" asked Bessie.
"But what if Brett the farmer force-fed me some water earlier but I didn't want to produce any milk at all?" asked Sally.
All good points, but it only seemed right to let the farmers decide on how the cows should be treated rather than allowing the special cows (who could talk, bottle milk, understand the buying-and-selling associated with a capitalistic economy, and presumably do some basic accounting) to make their own choices.
Just as the cows were preparing to march in protest in front of the barn, Justice Samuel Alito arrived, bought the farm, razed the barn, slaughtered all the cows, paved the land, and built a catholic church with a banner that said, "Your body, my choice."
The End.
It might have been difficult to see through all the metaphors, but the lesson here is that Supreme Court Justices are wealthier than farmers, so they can take their land.
