Anyone who would choose to position herself like this, even though there's plenty of room to lie down like a regular dog instead of a stranded Zeppelin with its cargo hatch stuck open, is too big for her own, or society's, good—especially those segments of society that happen to live in an 18-foot camper. And yet, because half of Americans have decided, under the wise auspices of the Cracker and Tea Party, to put an end to science (other than research into higher-velocity muskrat ammunition than is currently available over-the-counter to unwed minors in Alabama, a scientific deficiency that the Deep State has been underfunding for decades out of pure malice, according to Fox News), chances are slimmer than ever that the gene editing necessary to develop a breed of dog capable of fitting comfortably in their allotted space will be funded. We will all have to let go of our hopes for a matchbox-sized dog.
Unless you're a Trump supporter. If you are, you've almost certainly been contacted by the teams of political scientists and theoretical physicists investigating the remote corner of the multiverse you were taken to when you were abducted by UFOs to save you from inhaling contrail gas while you were investigating the crop circle where Jesus conducted rifle practice on brontosaurs when He wasn't too busy giving the brown children who took the garbage out at his payday lending store bone cancer. There, alternate science facts work just as predictably as the bothersome math-ruled physics afflicting the rest of us down here. In the Altiverse™, a Deluxe Trump™ Presidential™ Property, the validity of any scientific, political or economic theory is dependent on how easily it can be reduced to a few easily comprehensible words. The combination of that alternate reality and my shattered dream of seeing a litter of Great Danes whelped in a saucer, reminds me of the ancient Paradox of the Alligator. For those of you who don't remember this essential teaching from your First Grade philosophy class, it goes like this:
How do you catch an alligator? Look at it through the wrong end of a telescope, then pick it up with a pair of tweezers and place it in a matchbox. Voila—you have your alligator.
Sixty million Americans are staring through the wrong end of the telescope and convinced that the petty reptilian they see is actually a great man.