Whether you’ve picked up a newspaper today, or are simply an omnivorous telepath forever aware of the slightest will and whim of all humanity, or even if you’re a little bit of both, you’ve probably already read/perceived with your awesome mind reading powers about the woman in Mississippi who was mauled by a kinkajou. Now, for those of you who hail not from the land down under (not the one with Mole People, by the way, but the one with all the kangaroos and Subaru Outbacks), a kinkajou is a smallish marsupial (I am of course using the "royal" marsupial here, rather than the more common "botanical" meaning) or possibly some kind of reptile, insect, game show host, or breakfast cereal that looks kind of like a raccoon, but more like the embodiment of all the unknown terrors ever dreamt of by the fevered minds of man.

Anyway, this 82 year old woman down in Mississippi, home of great authors Mark Twain and Samuel Clemens, was getting out of her car when this wlatsome hell beast leapt down upon her from a nearby tree, gibbering and gnashing its many worpulent teeth, landed on her, wrapped its tail around her arm, and bit her on the hand. This, of course, sounds bad enough, but the kinkajou is also known, not without good reason, as the ankylosaurus of the furry arboreal mammal world. Its tail, you see, is covered with dozens of venomous death spikes, which it can shoot over half a mile away with deadly accuracy. And on the end of it, it has this big spiked ball sort of a thing that can generate enough electricity that if you were to catch a barrel of kinkajous and plug them into an electric car, you’d never have to stop and recharge until they all went mad and ate each other fifteen minutes later. So anyway, this bloodthirsty ravening kinkajou (you know, a lot of Biblical scholars think that the second beast of Satan in the Book of Revelation was really a kinkajou by the way) gets the drop on this poor old gal, starts kidney punching her with his tail, and were it not for the fact that all old ladies in Mississippi are required by law to carry harpoon guns around, she’d probably not have survived.

The article also stated that the offending kinkajou had recently escaped from someone in the neighborhood who had been keeping it as a pet/demonic sacrifice (the very word, "Kinkajou" being, after all, from the Ancient Sumerian for "Snack of The Dark One"). Which leaves us at something of an impasse, since we don’t know for sure who would keep such a vile creature around. But wait, it just so happens that I recently read in a seemingly unrelated article this very week that She Who Giveth All Skanky Ho Slut Women a bad name, Paris Hilton, did, in fact, recently buy a kinkajou of her very own.

You may of course be shaking your head at this point whilst making some derisive sound of dismissal, and I know the scenario I’m painting seems somewhat outré. But wait, there’s more to this grisly little morality play that we see unfolding before us here. For you see, Paris Hilton who, if you’ve been watching the news these past two weeks or so, has recently been set on fire by a bunch of militant Islamic rioters, recently acquired a pet kinkajou of her own, after her seventh Chihuahua perished deliciously in an unforeseeable taco-related accident. Now, I’m really way past the point where I’m even going to doubt that someone like Paris Hilton (whose very name connotes almost as much evil as that of her twin brother, Normandy Motel Six) would seek, nay, demand a creature so full of vileness and evilosity as a loathsome and repellent kinkajou. But still, the question remains, why? Now for all we know, (and I’m not assuming anything here) it could just be for something kinky (please take a moment here to let your imagination out to play for a spell), or one of those weird Scientology things where she has to run 3,000 volts through it to cleanse her aura of toxicity, but I suspect that she’s actually been collecting a bunch of kinkajous with the twisted goal in mind of using them to create a hideous, ravening, old-lady-eating army of kinkajous, each more evil than all the others combined, with which she will lay the world (and anyone else she meets along the way) to waste, establishing a dark and tyrannical slutocracy with which she shall rule o’er all the Earth, ushering in 1,000 years of darkness (or 50,000 miles, whichever comes first).

What can we do to stem this dark and skanky tide? First, write your congressbeing and tell them that if they don’t start wearing a tutu made out of bagels, you’ll vote for Nader next time around. This won’t help with Paris Hilton any, but it’ll look funny, and that never fails to improve even the most dire of situations. Then, build a giant paper mache old lady and hang it from a helicopter. Then, just fly over Paris Hilton’s Fortress of Skankitude (also known as Hollywood) and get all the kinkajous to follow you. From there it’s just a short flight out over the Pacific Ocean where the briny deep will melt the unholy kinkajou army and all their beautiful wickedness, thus saving mankind from a fate worse than death itself.

So, watch the skies, carry a harpoon gun at all times, and if you’re a little old lady, you’d better go get a baseball bat. Now.