Please only bounce the waffle iron off my forehead a couple of times as I tentatively mock and scoff and taunt one of the liberals’ most sacred of all cows.

Which is kind of a joke, although there’s no reason you would know that yet.

But before I launch into my superfluous onslaught, let me say that even though I don’t agree with most of their missions or goals, I’m glad the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals are there.

Just like Michael Moore is the hefty lefty answer to Rush Limbaugh, PETA acts as a wacky counter balance to the National Rifle Association in terms of embarrassing the two major parties on a fair and equal basis.

[Political comic Will Durst admits to a bit of prejudice in that all four of his major food groups are cheeseburgers. Greasy meat slabs inside of wheat foam covered in congealed bovine juice.]

All us commie, pinko, yellow, rat bastards laugh-laugh-laugh during those silly legislative seasons when the NRA gets its knickers in a knot arguing how assault weapons can be used as legitimate hunting rifles.

Okay, sure, right, yeah, I can buy that argument; I mean you can also use a chain saw to cut butter.

Just going to get a little messy around muffin time is all I’m saying. And a hand grenade will signal the end of recess. And they look like idiots. And it’s good. 

But then you read about a new PETA program where they make field trips to elementary schools dressed in giant fish suits encouraging kids not to eat fish because fish have feelings too and you just want to hide behind one of those giant Red Lobster menus and moan a little.

Then during the calamari appetizer a small giggle escapes. But the moan returns. Because we look like idiots. And it’s not good.

The worst part is knowing the hysterical laughter being laughed by the far right wing- nut flippo- units on their anybody-who-doesn’t-agree-with-us hates-America radio talk shows is a brush being used to paint all liberals.

I always considered it a little cheap and easy to slam PETA. It’s like making fun of the longhaired blond girl in the peasant skirt spinning and twirling out of time at the front of the stage, while the jazz trio is on break.

She ain’t hurting nobody. Leave her alone.

But now, that girl is pointing at me yelling: “fish murderer.”

Lady, we’re talking fish! We can’t eat fish, because we might hurt their feelings? The hell are we supposed to eat? Fruit? Vegetables?

What’s next: be solicitous of the head of broccoli’s self esteem?

I get the beef and veal deals: they can’t move their little heads, and appreciate the true meaning of "Free Range Chicken" is fancier packaging and 60 percent markup.

But now I’m wondering if PETA isn’t just trying to make up for the backsliding on the anti-fur campaign which is losing ground fast due to the sheer numbers of ex-hippies getting rich and old and cold.

C’mon guys, they’re fish. Have you ever heard the phrase; "Smart as a fish?" Probably a reason for that.

And where do fish sticks stack up on your feelings chart? Behind the grouper and ahead of the sea sponge?

Even if you enlist Flipper or Nemo as spokesfish, you got a public relations vacuum here. As my lovely wife Debi Ann says when making out the bills while Annie the cat pads around on top of them: "There’s helping and there’s hindering."

This is what you call your hindering.

Mmm. It’s what’s for dinner.