Canine Al-Qaeda: Panama

Now, I'm not saying that this dog is a member of Al-Qaeda, but certainly it terrorizes Americans trying to protect freedom from the air-conditioned comfort of Chevrolet Cavaliers. For two nights, on the way to our beloved Panama psychiatry mentors house, our friend Lisa and her unfortunate passangers have been victim to dog terrorism. Somewhere between Costa Del Este and the Texaco Gas Station and Correador Sur, there waits a slack-jawed vessel of auto-destruction.

Friday night while traveling 25mph in Lisa's car:
"Oh yeah, Panama is great. I certainly love all that Panama has to offer, Lisa. You are so lucky to have found suitable employment here in this fine country...Hey, fellow Americans, what is that yonder? It appears to be a rather slack-jawed young dog. Is he walking toward the road? Get out the road! AHH!!!" Add the terrified screams of innocent young Texans as the car swerves to avoid a joyful suicidal terrorist dog running for the front right tires, intent on destroying American freedom. Furthermore, add the staccato halt of Chevrolet's over-active anti-lock brakes.

"Did we hit the dog? Where's the dog? Everyone alright?" Our sweat-moistened brows glowed in the reflection of the high-beam light off of the mongrel's freedom-hating Al-Qaeda coat of a terrorist perro. "Wow, fellow Americans, that was close. Did that dog actively run in front of the tire?" Add the very concerned all-American faces of apple-pie and open spaces.

Monday night while traveling 25mph in Lisa's car on the same street:
"Oh, yeah Panama is still great. I'm certainly still impressed with all that this great country has to offer, Lisa. Hey, fellow Americans, is that the same dog as that previous horrific evening? Hey. HEY! Its doing it again!" Add the terrified screems of innocent young Texans as the car swerves to avoid a joyful suicidal terrorist dog running for the front right tires intent on destroying American freedom. Add, again, the increasingly scary staccato halt of Chevrolet's over-active anti-lock brakes.

"We've better hit that damn suicidal dog." Our sweat moistened brows glowed with anger in the reflection of high-beam light off of the mongrel's freedom-hating Al-Qaeda coat of a terrorist perro. "Wow, fellow Americans, that was close." Add the very concerned all-American faces of apple-pie and open spaces.

Three things. First, we are obliged to call Homeland Security to protect Amurica. Certainly, if we must fan the flames of Iraq, toy with Iran, and chastized North Korea despite only an Afghanistan role in September 11th, surely we can use some of those billions to spend on protection from Panamanian terrorist dogs. Second, in Catholic country, do suicidal dogs go to heaven? At the very least its not evolutionarily beneficial. Third, there is no way that this dog survives the week should Lisa be accosted by its flapping tongue, and death wanton eyes, on the pavement again. There would be minor fender damage, traces of dog hair, and American pride for protecting Freedom.

America: These colors don't run. They run over.