Tubular Gerbil Insurance

Are you one of those people who think snakes are fun? One of those people who think snakes are cool, and make great pets? You are? Did you know you are bat-scrabbling insane?

I've always been afraid of snakes. And I don't mean "always" in the traditional sense, the cute, endearing, "oh, he'll grow out of it" way. I'm talking about something primal, something genetic. When I was still a tiny little humor-column-writing mitochondria, I caught a glimpse of my double helix and ran away, in a cute, not-yet-having-developed-legs kind of way, burbling "SNAKES!"

So my fears formed long ago; so long ago, in fact, that when a pre-natal scan of my humor-column-writing fetus disclosed that I was afraid of snakes, there were only 28 million Americans without health insurance. Way, way back.

When it comes to snake-o-phobia, I've got it bad. In the delivery room, at the moment of my birth, I hid behind my mother's lungs and tried to kill my own umbilical cord with a hoe.

Historical Sidebar: at the moment of my birth, there were only 44 million Americans without health insurance.

Psychoanalysis aside, I come by my phobia honestly. At age 12, I was a proud Boy Scout in an America that had only 92 million uninsured citizens. One bright weekend morning, our troop was dutifully collecting roadside litter and dirty jokes, jokes that inevitably involved that versatile verb-slash-noun, "poot."

As I clawed into the rough brush for another handful of roadside refuse, a conscientious snake, obviously concerned about the growing problem of uninsured Americans, leapt at my face in an apparent effort to reduce the national tally by one. My face responded by planting itself about 9 inches deep in the thigh of the nearest fellow Scout, who was, by my reckoning, some 14 feet to the east. It was, truly, a leap for the record books.

That day, I made it home alive. I was older, wiser, and badly in need of some Boy Scout-approved hiking shorts cleaning fluid.

Time passed, and I entered the Age Of Orthodontics, that privileged period of puberty marked by the appearance of a wicked, white-coated stranger, straight out of the Spanish Inquisition, who actually got paid by my parents to fill my mouth with sharp metal rings and evil tightening screws.

Historical Sidebar: during the Spanish Inquisition, there were only 6 Americans without health insurance. Of course, without the comfort and surety of government-run health care, they all died. Eventually.

So, one day, when there were only 148 million uninsured Americans, my mother and I were preparing to visit the Ortho-demon. Spry, young, and immortal, I popped out the back door, hopped over the wrought-iron railing, and nimbly landed on the floor of the garage...right next to a coiled copperhead snake.

As there were no nearby Boy Scout thighs, I opted for a Ringling Brothers-style leap, flat-footed, from the garage floor to the hood of my mom's car. The snake actually applauded. I, playing it safe, accepted the duties of family sedan hood ornament, where I remained until my parents agreed to park somewhere else.

I haven't been back home since. For all I know, the snake is still in the garage.

And then yesterday, I heard two disturbing stories on the news. Firstly, Florida wildlife officials are concerned that escaped pet African Rock Pythons and escaped pet Burmese Pythons may be mating in the wild, after drinking too much at Escaped Pet Happy Hour, destined to create some kind of escaped pet Super Snake. PETA has already filed a suit, demanding mutant snake health insurance.

Historical Sidebar: if you don't think there's such a thing as Escaped Pet Happy Hour, then you obviously don't know much about Florida...

And secondly, I heard that there are now more uninsured Americans than there are Americans. Apparently, some of them are so pitifully uninsured that we're counting them twice.

But in the spirit of creative marketing, as exhibited by government statistics on uninsured Americans, let's give the snakes a break. Going forward, let's not call them snakes. Let's go with something less threatening, something more marketing-friendly. Let's call them tubular gerbils.

If you're interested, contact Florida wildlife management. Contact them before happy hour.

But buy one now, while you're still insured.