Harrison
Name:Harrison Location:United States

The Original Lovable Little Fuzzball

Here's the straight stuff.


The adventures of Harrison are true.
Try a few of his Crunchy Bites for a taste.
--Alpha Human Mom





Thursday, September 30, 2004


Scoop From the Kerry Litter Pan!

J & T's kinky bedroom secrets revealed.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 12:57 AM

13 comments


Wednesday, September 29, 2004


Kibbles 'n Bits®

The Smell of Fear (or Terrorists of a Different Stripe)

"TRAVERSE CITY, Mich. - Skunks have invaded a downtown neighborhood, and the city has agreed to spend $2,500 to get rid of them.

"In a letter to City Hall, residents said nearly 30 skunks had been spotted in the area. They've ransacked bird feeders and trash bins, sprayed pets, crawled under houses and even strolled along the streets at midmorning.

"It sounds humorous, but it really isn't," Bob Sniff [sic], whose dog has been sprayed three times, told the Traverse City Record-Eagle for a story Tuesday. "It's been pretty unbearable."

Michigan seems to be the location of choice for all sorts of invading skunks.

UPDATE: More smelly stuff from Michigan.

"Members of Detroit's Latino, Asian and Arab communities demanded a public apology from the City Council on Tuesday, denouncing the body for embracing an economic development plan that would exclusively benefit black business owners.

"During a protest rally, leaders of the various ethnic communities said they want the council to rescind the resolutions it passed supporting the plan, and they want to meet with the council to correct what they say is offensive rhetoric in a report that forms the basis of the council's plan to create a black business district to be known as African Town. The plan also would create a loan fund only for blacks…

"They took issue with some of the language in the report [which] refers to Dearborn as Arabtown, and says Hispanics, Asians and Arabs are classified as whites so they enjoy benefits denied blacks."


Calling the Pied Piper and Puss 'n Boots Español se requiere.

"MONTERREY, Mexico (AP) - Health authorities in the northern state of Chihuahua said Tuesday they are recruiting hundreds of cats to fight hundreds of thousands of rats. Chihuahua state officials say they hope to collect as many as 700 felines and send them to Atascaderos, an isolated farm village in the rugged Tarahumara mountains, a region where officials estimate there are about a half-million rats."

Solve two problems for the price of one: give a free kitten to every illegal caught crossing our border and point them toward Chihuahua.


Token Tennessee Potshot

"A Head Start teacher in Nashville was surprised when a 4-year-old brought a baggie of marijuana with him to preschool, Metro police said in a statement. The youngster said it came from his mother…

"She told police she would test positive if given a drug test and admitted to using marijuana earlier this month, but she denied either giving pot to her son or letting him have access to it, police said. [The mother] was charged with child abuse and was being held last night with bail set at $5,000."

It's Tennessee--'nuf said.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:37 AM

0 comments


Tuesday, September 28, 2004


Channel Surfing

Cosmo at NRO's The Corner dug up this story:

"Psychic dogs smell Bush victory

"Psychic dogs belonging to actor Sylvester Stallone's mother have projected President George Bush the winner in November, the Los Angeles Times said Monday. The paper said the dogs foresee the president will beat Democratic challenger John Kerry by 15 percent…

"Jackie Stallone has said her dogs channel messages from the spirit world and send them to her telepathically.

Now I'm not gonna' say anything bad about Sylvester Stallone's mother (well--would you?) but there does seem to be a bit of static on those channels. And it says a lot about the Los Angeles Times for printing the story. Does it count as their token "pro-Bush" story of the week or somethin'?

Then again, this psychic, channel the dog--or fe-lying for that matter (although why you'd want to I haven't a clue)--business is, well, big business. Can't figure why AHM hasn't cashed in on it yet. Guess it's too hard to channel anything when you're laughin' that much.

"A couple of weeks ago, my cat Fritz began talking to me. After a lifetime of silence, his comments were surprisingly ordinary: among other things, he mentioned that he’s not very fond of the kibble he eats on a regular basis and would prefer to be on a more nutritious diet. He also said that he would appreciate it if I got him a better scratching post, one that he could really stretch out his back on."

Doesn't that just figure? The idiot fe-lyin' gets the chance to share his deepest thoughts and what does he do--starts demandin' things. Typical welfare pussy. Bet his human votes Demo-CAT.

"For $100 an hour, [animal communicator Maleah] Jacobs will "check in" with a pet to see how it's feeling, what it's thinking about, and help it work through any special behavioral issues it might be dealing with--all over the phone.

Feelin'? Thinkin' about? Special behavioral issues? Get a life, lady. I'm horny, hungry, or sleepin', and if you call me on the phone during two out of three of those, you will definitely pick up an XXX-rated channel! Oh, and I charged $300 for 30 minutes, pups guaranteed.

"The popularity of Animal Planet’s “The Pet Psychic,” starring Sonya Fitzpatrick, which debuted in 2002, is just the tip of the iceberg. A quick Google search turns up a bevy of Web sites offering psychic phone consultations for animals and their owners. Got a passive aggressive Pekinese who won’t stop going to the bathroom on the living-room rug? How about an angry parrot that screeches obscenities at every guest who enters the house? Or what about a crazed retriever that attacks fellow canines at the dog park? Maybe a chat with a pet psychic will do the trick…"

Diaper the Peke, cover the parrot, and muzzle the retriever. That will be $300 please. Oh, and pay more attention to your pet! (That's free.)

"Like most pet psychics, Jacobs makes very few house calls. Instead, these telepathic consultations usually take place with Jacobs lying on her bed at home where she says she can work better. "When I'm alone on the phone, I'm much more centered and grounded and can get the information clearer and quicker."

Well--finally something I agree with. My "consultations" always took place lyin' on the bed at home, too. I got really centered and grounded, but I took my time so my clients got their money's worth.

Hey Ms. Jacobs! I can channel William Shakespeare. "Lord, what fools these mortals be!"


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:47 PM

2 comments


Monday, September 27, 2004


Kerry Family Reunion

This lady got a bit off course, but I hear Kerry already has his people checkin' out her financial status.

"WOODS HOLE - A massive great white shark trapped for days in a saltwater pond near Woods Hole had not found its way out by yesterday afternoon, a day after marine biologists tried unsuccessfully to herd it toward open water.

"Anxious to guard the 14-foot, 1,700-pound female shark from gawkers and trophy fishermen, state officials on Thursday enacted an emergency regulation that forbids the attempted taking of a great white shark in Massachusetts waters.

"State environmental police have also been patrolling the Elizabeth Islands day and night to ward off sightseers attracted to the spectacular scene near Naushon Island, which is private land owned by relatives of Democratic presidential candidate Sen. John F. Kerry."

He might want to ask her to join his campaign. She's drawin' more of a crowd than Kerry usually does. 'Course the collective intelligence level doesn't seem to be much higher…

"[The] nearly 1-ton shark, similar to the great white in the movie "Jaws," swam to within 10 feet of one of Cape Cod's Elizabeth Islands yesterday, drawing curiosity-seekers and boaters -- including one brazen kayaker who had to be shooed away."

Geeze--that Dan Rather will do anything for a pro-Kerry/Edwards story…

Then there are the well-trained Massachusetts Demo-cats always ready to take as much money as possible from a gullible public.

"Matt Lundberg, a captain with the Woods Hole-based R&R Marines charter fishing company, was ferrying groups of six passengers in his 22-foot Boston Whaler yesterday to the bay where the shark cruised. The cost to each group for the trip: $100 an hour.

[…]

"[Greg] Skomal, [a shark specialist with the Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries] said the shark has remained docile since it was first spotted Tuesday by a local skipper. Skomal said the shark is probably disoriented, explaining how it ended up in the shallow waters near Woods Hole…"

Anyone checked Hillary's Senate office recently?


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 9:52 PM

1 comments



Pet Friendly Disaster Shelters

Got this in my email today. Considerin' we had our own hurricane last year and floods from the remnants of another one a few weeks ago, this is something I know about. I'd like to encourage people to check out the petition askin' the Red Cross to have pet-friendly shelters available during any kind of disaster. The hurricane season isn't over until the end of November so something should be done ASAP.

"Keep Pets Safe During Disasters - Ask Red Cross to Adopt National Program - The Petition Site

"The reason The Red Cross has given for not permitting people to bring their animals with them is that they don't want animals where they are preparing food. This doesn't make much sense to me because I don't envision the animals being in the kitchen area. And the rest of us eat with our pets all the time (well, most of the time anyway).

"In Jacksonville [FL] we are hoping that our City Council will designate a few of the shelters as pet friendly, so that people and families can bring their dogs, cats, ferrets, birds, lizards, whatever with them - as long as they have crates or pens to house them. I can't image anything more horrible than having to leave [a] home which is unsafe for humans...and leaving your pets inside without food, water, or any supervision. A home unsafe for us is, by definition, unsafe for our pets as well.

"Many times the homes are in areas which are cordoned off for days and the owners are not allowed to return. And the Animal Shelters in south Florida where the…hurricanes have hit are overflowing with animals which were/are running loose after the storm passes. At least the animals with their families in shelters would return home with the family. They would not be running loose - causing a danger to themselves and others.

"We also think that the children (adults, too, actually) in families which bring their pets will be less anxious. The pets will provide comfort and entertainment for the children and adults. Designated potty areas can be provided the dogs like they do at indoor dog shows - sawdust and shavings to designated areas.

"There have been reports of many many people refusing to leave their homes because they cannot take their pets with them. During Hurricane Charley at least one man was found dead in his mobile home, clutching his dead dog. He would not leave his dog behind. They died together.

"We don't see any reason why a few of the shelters can't be pet-friendly, but it will take public outcry to get the job done. In fact, we predict that the pet-friendly family shelters will be cleaner and in better order after the disaster than the shelters without pets.

"Please feel free to pass this request on to your neighbors, family, and friends who are also pet lovers. The more signatures we can get on the petition, the better. And, if you have the opportunity to talk with your city officials, put in a plug for pet-friendly shelters. This isn't just a Florida issue."


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 8:59 PM

2 comments



General Sherman was a Redhead

At least that what the guy on TV said. He was a Yankee too--a general when the north and south parts of the country were fightin' each other. Guess he must have been pretty bad 'cause if you talk about him here in the south, people start screechin' like a scalded fe-lyin'. That north-south business never did get finished--not so you can tell, anyway--even though those northern Yankees gave back most everything they won from the south. 'Course that Alpha General Sherman Yankee redhead person chewed it up pretty good along the way, so maybe that's the trouble.

Anyway, after bein' here for a while, I can sorta' figure out why the southern humans lost just by lookin' around. See, there are bunches of these native southern males, lower than Omegas, pretending they're Alphas, and dumber than dirt. Dumber than fe-lyings, even, which is goin' some. AHM's a Yankee too, so she calls 'em "good ole' boys" when she's in front of her students and somethin' I can't write down here when she's alone.

The way I figure it, there were way too many of those "good ole' boy" types in the southern army and way too few of the Robert E. Lee types--the ones with enough brains to let them walk and chew tobacco at the same time. That's why the south lost. The Robert E. Lee types must have all been killed off durin' that war too, 'cause it's the other ones that have multiplied thicker than cat fleas.

Two of those types were supposed to be workin' on AHM's car. She has an old VW beetle and the guy who used to repair it retired so these two good ole' boys were startin' up a shop to take his place. I only saw 'em a couple of time but they sure didn't smell right--kinda' like the water smells when the sewer backs up into the storm drain.

Well, they gave AHM a list of parts and stuff they said it needed which added up to over $1,000. (Musta' had the whole clan barefoot and countin' to get that high.) AHM gave 'em money to fix the engine, then more to buy parts they had to order somewhere special. They said it would be done by the end of April. Except--at the end of April they said the guy who fixed the engine did somethin' wrong so it would be another month. Except--at the end of May it was somethin' else. And at the end of June somethin' else and by July the person who fixed the engine did somethin' wrong again… Uh oh. If you're gonna' lie you gotta' have one hell of a memory so you don't screw up and recycle the same lie.

Now while all this fe-lyin' is goin' on, they're askin' for more money, tryin' to get AHM to give 'em back the list of parts they'd typed up, and even tellin' her she had to bring the registration and insurance papers to them so they can "inspect" the car. Heard her tellin' a friend about all this stuff. Made me wonder what sort of plans those two really had in mind if she had showed up. Made AHM wonder too.

I'll tell ya', those good ole' boys shoulda' paid attention in school when they were studyin' that north-south war. They might have learned it wasn't too smart to keep messin' with a red-haired Yankee--male or female. AHM's reeeeaaall patient (too patient I think, 'cause I woulda' had their balls for breakfast by now) but she'll only take so much before she starts marchin' toward the sea, so to speak.

First she got them investigated by the revenuers--and you know how much backcountry southern boys love meetin' up with revenuers. Amazin' how fast they said they'd bring the car to AHM's regular mechanic for inspection. They dropped it off and skedaddled real fast. They had a good skedaddlin' reason too, 'cause nothin' had been done on the car! They took the money and did zero--zip--nada.

Soon as she heard that, AHM called the revenuers again and sent them off to those boys' daddy who she knew was runnin' his own little repair business on the sly. Tomorrow we're visitin' the police to show 'em those papers the good ole' boys were so hot to get back, along with other stuff. Maybe by tomorrow evenin' those weeds of the Confederacy will get to sit in a human cage for a while since there's a law down here called "larceny" or somethin'.

Problem is, the car still needs to be fixed, AHM is out well over $1,000--more if she has to keep rentin' cars to get around, and she has to cough up another bunch of money for the same repairs. (Our dog treats piggybank is history that's for sure.) We all know there's lots of needs out there, but if you feel like you can help out, we’d really appreciate you hittin' the donation button up there on the left. Pleeeeeze… (You can't see me but I'm sittin' up and beggin' real nicely--I'm no Andrew Sullivan but I bet I have more cute tricks than he does.) AHM has to get her car fixed so she can get back to work full time or the next thing that's history will be our whole house.

I'll let ya' know what happens to the good ole' boys. Even if they don't get jail time they'll probably think twice before makin' another red-haired Yankee mad--especially one with PMS.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 12:05 AM

0 comments


Saturday, September 25, 2004


The Nose Knows

This is no surprise to me. We canines always know what's up with our humans--with all humans to tell the truth. Ya' probably don't realize it, but we can smell the difference in gender and ethnicity. (We could give a damn about sexual orientation, religious preference, and country of origin, though.)

"It has long been suspected that man's best friend has a special ability to sense when something is wrong with us. Now the first experiment to verify that scientifically has demonstrated that dogs are able to smell cancer."

That old sayin' about "smellin' fear" is right, too, so you know human inside stuff must change their outside scent, dependin' upon what's physically happenin' to them. Dad used to tell us the story of the day Silly Human Female and AHM were walkin' over to visit some neighbors. They were crossin' the lawn as a shortcut, and SHF was nervous about their big ole' German Shepherd Butch bein' loose. See, Butch really hated SHF for some reason no one could figure out. (Butch wasn't talkin' and, from what I gather, he wasn't someone you pushed for explanations. But, as it turned out, Butch was right and all of us were wrong. He had SHF thoroughly sniffed out and she must have smelled putrid!)

So there they were, strollin' along while Dad and Grand Dam watched from behind the porch gate. AHM had already given SHF the "don't-run-'cause-he'll-think-you're-prey" speech, but SHF was still kinda' laggin' behind. They were almost to the front door when the Butch Express came barrellin' down track one, motorin' like a supercharged V-8--straight for AHM.

Dad claims he was ready to go over the gate to the rescue (well, that's what he said) when Butch roared straight past AHM without so much as a glance, and nailed SHF. Okay, he really didn't nail her--just parked right in front of her, blockin' her way, and took a teeny little nip. Naturally SHF was wailin' and blubberin' like she'd been ripped limb from limb until AHM came back, took Butch in hand and hauled him away. (AHM says now she shoulda' let Butch do his thing, but that's another story.)

Anyway, we canines are able to uncover things you'd never think we could, so be glad we can't speak English 'cause our "tell all" books would make Kittylitter Kelley's scribblin's look like nursery rhymes.

"Perhaps the most intriguing finding, though, was in a comparison patient whose urine was used during the training phase. All the dogs unequivocally identified that urine as a cancer case, even though screening tests before the experiment had shown no cancer. Doctors conducted more detailed tests on the patient and found a life-threatening tumor in the right kidney."

See. We know everything. Ignore us at your peril.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 7:15 PM

1 comments


Thursday, September 23, 2004


Lost in Tenneessee--and NC and SC and Georgia and…

Ya' know how Glenn Reynolds is always braggin' about how everyone eventually ends up in Knoxville? Well, geeze! As if they have a choice. Half the Interstates on the east coast funnel through Knoxville--and out the other side just as fast. (It is in Tennessee, remember?)

Now here's proof some people [bugme@not.com/PW: goaway] go waaay out of their way to avoid shoppin' in or even comin' back to Tennessee. Either that or this guy is one of those Omega human males who a) can't read a map and b) refuse to let anyone else read a map and give them directions.

"Three Unicoi County [Tennessee] residents taking a leisurely shopping trip to a department store in Asheville, N.C., Saturday morning became confused and lost and ended up driving from Erwin to Marietta, Ga., before getting help, Unicoi County Sheriff Kent Harris said Tuesday.

"Sixteen hundred miles and nearly 60 hours later, they were safely back in Unicoi County after a supposedly short trip that turned into a frightening nightmare.

"Floyd Edwards, 78, his friend Ruth Stancil, 62…and Edwards’ son, Clifford, left from Edwards’ home…Saturday at 11 a.m. in Edwards’ silver Nissan Maxima to eat lunch and shop at Rose’s, Harris said.

"William “Brushy” Lewis, Unicoi County Sheriff’s Department administrative assistant, said the three “routinely cash their government checks the first of every month and drive over to Asheville, Elizabethton, Weaverville (N.C.) or Mars Hill (N.C.) to shop and eat. Their family became obviously concerned because they hadn’t spoken to them or seen them for some time. It’s just not like them not to call.”…

"Harris said Edwards apparently received wrong directions then became confused and afraid to stop as the miles clicked off…

"Stancil said she was especially scared going through metropolitan Atlanta on Labor Day weekend with its eight-lane highway. “I knew I couldn’t take much more ... the blowing of horns and the cars racing by. Floyd (who was driving) was doing the best he could,” she said."


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:29 PM

0 comments



Feathers and Furries and Frogs, Oh My!

Sometimes life is great! There's nothin' I love more (besides takin' care of terrorist fe-lyings) than watchin' other canines act silly.

Maury was visitin' last week, but he was real subdued since I last wrote about him--for the most part, that is…

Maybe it's because the season is changin' or maybe they know there's another hurricane wanderin' in our general direction, but whatever the reason, critters started findin' their way into the house. Well, not into the whole house--just the sunroom which is our room. (It's all vinyl and wrought iron so accidents don't matter quite so much, and AHM keeps the door ajar so we can go in and out. Doggie doors don't always work with geriatric, visually impaired oldersters.)

It started with The Bird--a little one who obviously mistook all the plant stuff inside for the plant stuff outside. AHM has a drill for when that happens which involves rushin' around slammin' doors to keep the idiot flapper in the sunroom. Mostly we just sit around and watch the show, but this time Maury was here.

Guess he thought AHM had ordered up fresh food for breakfast (we don't call him Maury the Mouth, aka the Eatin' Machine, for nothin') or else he was practicin' for the Olympic springboard diving medal. When that bird zoomed across the room, Maruy went up in the air, jaws snappin', did a couple of twists and even threw in a half-gainer before landin' in the big metal water bowl. You'd be surprised how fast even the hard-of-seein' can find the outside door when faced with a flailin', flyin' Jack Russell and a water bowl tidal wave.

AHM yelled, Maury tried to retreat, which involved much slidin' on wet linoleum with four legs goin' in four separate directions, a couple of belly flops, and a sloppy dive out the door into the outside water bowl. The Bird just sat on the top of the roller shade and laughed. Okay, it chirpped, but it sounded like laughin'. Eventually it came down to sit on the window ledge and let AHM pick 'em up. (She does that kind of stuff all the time--little wild things always let her pick them up and carry them around. Suppose it's a lesser-of-two-evils thing--her or us.)

Lots of nasty words later, AHM had all the water mopped up, and things went back to normal. Maury hid in the dog bed in the farthest corner of the bedroom and my kid Hem would occasionally wander over to taunt him. When that got borin', Hem went outside and found another playmate--a shrew.

We all learned long ago not to bring our dead trophies home for AHM to have stuffed and mounted 'cause she doesn't ever do that--just tosses the critter into the trash bin as if our hard work was nothin'. So now we bring 'em back alive. She's not pleased with that either, even tho' it's much harder to do. So there was Hem playin' on the floor--the shrew would scurry one way, then another, then forward, then back--and Hem would herd him around until the thing was runnin' in circles. (Little Girl thought she'd join in until it headed toward her and she retreated under the bed. She's larger than any of us and is the biggest coward.)

Naturally AHM eventually discovered the unexpected guest and went through the pick-'em-up-put-'em-out routine again (the shrew was staggerin' around like he was on a three-day drunk, so it wasn't hard) and gave us the usual lecture. We all sit politely and listen, of course, but Hem was obviously not pleased. He went back to harassing' Maury and chased him outside.

Everyone sorta' behaved for the rest of the day--AHM had to go to work in the afternoon and while I know she'll always come back, some of the others wonder so they're reeeeal good just in case. We made it through dinner without one fight--even Maury figured out it wouldn't be a good idea to irritate AHM any more--and settled down for the evenin'.

Most of us settled down. Maury, on the other hand, was in and out, in and out constantly, givin' us the antsies with the endless back and forth. Then he came back inside, hoppin'. Yeah, that's right. He was hopping.

AHM was workin' on the computer with Hem and me sittin' close by hopin' she'd let us do some surfin' when Maury hopped into the room. Kinda' hopped, really, 'cause we have polished, hard-wood floors and his paws kept slidin' out in front. So it was more like a hop-slip-thunk into the room.

We all just sat and stared for a few seconds, tryin' to figure out what the hell he was up to this time. Then Maury hopped onto the white sheepskin sleep pad--and shoved his nose right up a frog's butt! Yep--a big ole' frog was now leapin' around the room. AHM almost threw the keyboard.

More shoutin', more Maury skiddin' on the wood and linoleum to get out of the way, and one last wild thing for AHM to gather up while mutterin' somethin' about Noah and the Ark.

But I gotta' tell ya', the show was almost better than my fantasy of seein' the Rockettes Christmas extravaganza at Rockefeller Center.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 1:19 PM

3 comments


Monday, September 20, 2004


No Pajamas, None of the Time

Have to confess it's my fault Harrison hasn't been able to post for a while. He has a bunch of comments to make, but…he just won't wear the PJs I bought him!--AHM

[Help, help!!!--Harrison]


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 1:02 PM

1 comments


Tuesday, September 14, 2004


Kibbles 'n Bits®

Best description of the conservative blogosphere from Whitedog:

PJDogBloggerVast Right-Wing Pajama Party.

[That's not me--God forbid--but you can find clothes for your bloggin' dog here.]

More fe-lying terrorist activity:

"The long arm of the law is doing a lot of scratching in San Francisco's Bayview district these days. It's all on account of a dozen or so feral cats that have taken up residence in the police station parking lot.

"The cats have been increasing in number for several months, ever since kind-hearted officers began leaving bowls of cat food behind a Dumpster and erected a small plastic cat house--the kind for cats.
[…]
"They were all over the fax machine and the computer,'' said [Aura] Horton, who lifted her pant legs to reveal three flea bites on her ankles.

"The cops called in an exterminator, who sprayed a few spots and left flea traps but said more spraying would be pointless unless something was done about the cats, too. But Bruce likes cats, and he likes his officers to be happy. "It's actually a great morale booster to have animals at a police station, '' he said. "I'm in favor of the cats. Not the fleas.''

Lie down with Demo-cats, get up with fleas. By the way, has anyone told this cathole that fleas were what carried the Black Plague across Medieval Europe? Oh wait--this is in San Francisco--never mind.

Token cute dog babe picture:

"A dog just over seven inches long and weighing 27 ounces has been officially confirmed as the world's smallest living dog. Danka, a one-year-old long-haired Chihuahua, is one of 10 dogs that Igor Kvetko keeps in Revuca, eastern Slovakia."


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 11:59 AM

2 comments



Krazy (Demo) Kats*

Well, I guess it's some sort of fame to be sneered at by the Big Puppy Blender Blogger himself.

"But all fun aside, I think there are some important lessons for Big Media -- and for everyone else -- in the rise of the blogosphere. They stem from the fact that bloggers operate on the Internet, where arguments from authority are difficult since nobody knows whether you're a dog."

Just for the record--I admit I'm a dog. Better than being a fe-lyin', that's for sure.

Yeah, I know you're all wonderin' what I could know about forgery. I know a lot, actually, after listening to AHM yell at those two lit up screens for the past couple of days. Well, not about a typing forgery, of course, since I can't type. (I'm am a dog. D'uh.) But I do know a lot about the twisted minds and attitudes that lead to tryin' to forge something.

If you want all the technical stuff about how those Bush memos couldn't be real, go here for an exhaustive explanation. (And I do mean exhaustive--I think I saw AHM's eyes cross about halfway through.) If you want a little insight into how far people will go to win, read on.

My regular readers know I spent most of my life (except for the last couple of years) in show biz--dog show biz, that is, which is sorta' like a beauty contest for dogs. Definite parallels to Presidential elections. We even have our own version of the debates called sparring. "The act of sparring…allows a judge to determine which [terrier] possesses the greatest amount of poise and fire, tempered with dignity and control." (Gore and Dean need not apply.)

I hated losin'--since I usually won--but we were really in it for fun. Not to mention we got to take some killer vacations. AHM and I got to strut around the Pebble Beach Golf Club at least once a year. (Okay, before Bunker Mulligan has a stroke--not on the actual course, of course, but right next to the 18th green on the back lawn of the Lodge.) AHM still likes to brag she's "played" Pebble Beach when all she's ever done is putt on the practice green outside the pro shop. [That's playing, isn't it?--AHM Not!--Harrison]

But while we were havin' a good time, others were waaay too serious about winnin'. Ya' might not know it, but fashions change for dogs from time to time. (Even the AKC can change the breed standard after about a gazillion years.) Just like everything else in life, if one "type" of breed wins big time--or gets famous on TV, like Eddie on Fraiser--they get real popular real fast. And if a certain breed look seems to be favored by judges, well, the scramble is on to have your dog look the same.

So here come the loonies who will do anything to make their dog a winner--includin' plastic surgery and Botox injections. (Some claim the 2003 Crufts UK winner was one.) I even read somewhere you can buy fake cahones for those dogs in--ummmm--"altered" states, in case their egos are sufferin'. Never knew anyone who did that--among our crowd the forgers stuck to hair dye. Yep, you read that right--owners would actually dye the dogs' hair to make it look better--blacker, redder, whatever they thought the judges were favorin' that season.

Some judges didn't seem to notice or care. Others would show up with white gloves--like those silly Brit lady housecleaners--and you did not want to be caught black-handed, so to speak. My Dad told a story about bein' in some east coast show when a totally unexpected rainstorm blew up. Lasted long enough for at least one dog to develop serious black "stripes." Memo to that owner--Aussies aren't supposed to resemble black and rust zebras.

And the point of all this is… Desperate people do desperate things. If they're gonna' get crazy desperate enough to shell out big bucks for plastic surgery or try a home grown dye job just to win a few dog shows, what'll they do to have their guy win the Presidency? Top it off with bein' in a position to influence the judges--er--voters--just when your favorite son needs some serious Botox to collect the Best Of ribbon, well… If you're Dan Rather and CBS, I guess you're crazy desperate enough to fork out whatever shows up in the litter pan.

Come to think of it, those fake balls are somethin' Kerry Litter might wanna' look in to.


*The "Krazy Kat" cartoon strip was created by George Herriman and ran in Hearst newspapers from 1913 until 1944.

"Drifting now to a Lower Social Level,
We find `Krazy Kat' Propelled by
a Great Sense, and urge of Kuriosity
on his Way to the Enchanted Mesa,
on Whose Topside, `Joe Stork'
The Bird of Destiny, Makes his Home."

- George Herriman, April 21, 1918


Technical link dug up at Allah Pundit by way of The Discerning Texan.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 12:21 AM

2 comments


Thursday, September 09, 2004


Arms and the Canine

I was ready to post on this story--and discovered my fellow Homespun Bloggers were already on the case.

Nice to see Mr. Minority, Brain Shavings and the Weapon of Mass Distraction have all caught on to the fact canines--even a pup!--can and will defend themselves and their families. Thanks guys.

Now you know why Muslims hate us. Can you imagine a fe-lyin' pullin' the trigger on an Islamofascist?

"A man who was trying to shoot seven puppies was shot himself when one of the dogs made the .38-caliber revolver discharge, deputies said. Jerry Allen Bradford, 37, of Pensacola, was charged with felony animal cruelty, the Escambia County Sheriff's Office said Wednesday.
[…]
"On Monday, [Bradford] was holding two puppies, one in his arms and another in his left hand, when the dog in his hand wiggled and put its paw on the trigger, making the gun discharge, the sheriff's report said."


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 9:39 PM

0 comments



Tenne(don't)see

I remember readin' on one of the Homespun Bloggers' site (sorry, I can't remember which one) about all the idiocies that seem to be centered in Tennessee--usually involvin' canine abuse or indiscriminate discharge of firearms or both at the same time.

Now I don't know much about Tennessee. Been through the state once so I probably whizzed on a tree or two, but that's it. All I know is Silly Human Female decided it was a great place to be which is enough reason to add that state to my never-go-there-even-if-dyin' list.

It's a good thing, too, 'cause they're probably runnin' out of room--especially if this guy keeps eatin'.

"When it comes to burger binges, few are in the same league as Matt Ward. The 5-foot-11-inch, 360-pound Ward holds Krystal's current world record of downing 21 of the bite-size burgers in two minutes. The Murfreesboro meat-eater is tuning up for the biggest burger battle of his life: the eight-minute Krystal Square Off World Hamburger Eating Championship, with a first-place purse of 10 thousand bucks.

''I love 'em. I'm a big beef eater, and Krystal is probably one of my favorite hamburgers to eat. They're bite size. They're cheap, not too expensive, so I like it,'' said Ward, 24, a commercial salesman at O'Reilly Auto Parts in Franklin and the married father of two young sons."

Ah ha! Franklin! That's where SHF slunk off to. She's no Slim Suzy herself, so visitors better watch their step or they'll be flattened by all the flab floppin' around.

On the other paw, I don't even want to think about this guy somehow managin' to father two kids.

''It was my wife that got me started. She told me that I should go for the $100 first prize at Smyrna and to go do it for the fun of it,'' said Ward. ''So, now I'm going to the big show in November.''

So how big is his wife? Ya' know, AHM watches our diets like a hawk just so we stay healthy. (Contrary to popular belief, most canines I know do not gorge themselves on food until they barf. That's a rumor spread by fe-lyings.) This poor kitty poop's wife has gotta' be a fe-lyin' lover to be so, well, Machiavellian. Maybe ole' Mark should check the "fatness" of the life insurance policy his Missus took out on him.

"To the International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE) — the governing body that promotes the sport, its eaters and their interests — the upcoming Super Bowl of burgers with its $17,500 purse (top prize and two runners-up) is a very big deal."

Sport? Eating is now a sport? Does the International Olympic Committee know this? And can you imagine the size of that "governing body?"

''It's the largest purse offered in the United States. For us, it's enormous, because it expands our league, the sport, and I think that the Southeast has been underrepresented,'' said IFOCE chairman George Shea."

This guy has one hell of a sense of humor. "Largest," "enormous," "expands our league." Good to know he's got his tongue in his cheek instead of wrapped around a Krystal Burger.

''The competitive eating community is highly focused, and there is enormous excitement among the eaters, who have been clamoring for a national hamburger circuit. The great eaters have already signed up: Cookie Jarvis, Badlands Booker and Sonya Thomas,'' said Shea, who puts the Krystal Square Off among the grand slam of IFOCE events. (The other three are Nathan's Famous Fourth of July Hot Dogs Contest at Coney Island, ACME Oyster Eating Contest in New Orleans and National Buffalo Wing Fest in Buffalo, N.Y.) The IFOCE will sponsor 70 events this year featuring overindulging of lobsters, watermelon, ribs, spinach, doughnuts and pizza.

I will never beg for rib bones again, I will never beg for rib bones again, I will never beg for rib bones…

"Shea estimates that eight of the major known eaters will wind up at the finals, but admits there will be dark horses in the running. ''This sport is wide open by rookies coming out of nowhere. You easily will have three or four come out of the blue and show great ability. It definitely will happen. There's plenty of talent out there that has yet to be discovered."

He should try recruitin' at the local Wal Mart, 'cause pound for pound they've got the biggest collection of rookie overeaters I've ever seen. (Explain to me why they all wear polyester stretch pants? Do none of them own mirrors? I'll tell ya', sometimes I'd like to have a terrier-cam just to video those bottoms from--er--the bottom up.)

"When Ward won at last year's Tennessee State Fair, he blew away seven competitors, eating 13 more burgers than his nearest foe."

Well, at least now we know why there are unexpected earthquakes in Tennessee.

''The money is a big part of the motivation, but the main thing for me is I love attention.''

Yeah, he's getting' attention all right. Probably has every coffin-maker in the country beatin' a path to his door.

"Meanwhile, he's training rigorously for the world championship. ''About once a week, I get a 24-pack of Krystals and go home and time myself. I also drink a lot of water, like two gallons back to back, to stretch my stomach. You have to get through the pain to win.''

Now there's a whole new meaning of the "No Pain, No Gain" mantra.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 3:21 PM

1 comments


Wednesday, September 08, 2004


There's a Sucker Born Every Minute

The Mystery Guest Blogger (safe bet it isn't me) over at Meryl Yourish's site intended to reveal how cats train their humans. What MGB actually exposes is the perfect template for how Demo-cat politicians train their voters.

"Meryl and I have had an off and on discussion that I think it is high time to share with the wider world. The subject of the discussion is animal training. No, not training the animals to do what we want them to do, but vice versa. The effective training by the animals, particularly cats, of the humans they deem to allow to serve them. Anyone that owns a cat knows exactly what I'm talking about, although, except in the privacy of their own homes, and usually without witnesses or recording devices, they rarely admit it."

Now this is most revealin'. I was just visitin' an older African-American neighbor with AHM--real nice lady who lives her daily life like a conservative. She did sorta' admit it--couldn't imagine votin' for Bush and listed all the stuff the TV and papers have been sayin' about him--high unemployment (not), everything wrong in Iraq (not), millions without health care (not--which she'd know if she looked at who it was without health care, like illegals), and some other stuff. Well, AHM did her best explainin' things to her, but I could tell the lady wasn't really convinced. Poor human female was totally brainwashed.

"Two cases in point: Gracie and Tig's complete manipulation of Meryl, and the wiles of an animal that isn't even mine, Tremain, upon yours truly. Yes, Tremain isn't even my cat. He "belongs" to my sister. As if."

Sorta' like Demo-cat protesters comin' cross-country to interfere with state elections. Or how Demo-cats try to register as voters in one state when they live in another.

"While it is a well documented fact that Gracie and Tig have Ms. Yourish wrapped around their little dew claws, it's probably not the best of examples. While Meryl will go on and on about how she's trained Tig to sit up, do the NYT Crossword in pen, or some such (usually feats he only accomplishes without witnesses, btw), it's actually just a sign of the influence the little beasties are exerting upon Meryl in their day to day human behavioural maintenance program. They're teasing her with the prospect that they'll actually appear to be following her lead when she attempts to demonstrate her dominance over them to visiting humans. And however stubborn she may become about admitting it, the result usually is reminiscent of Lucy, Charlie Brown, and the Football. Yes, that would be Meryl in the sweater with the zig zag pattern, folks."

Uh huh. Can you think of a better description of how Demo-cat politicians treat their "core constituents?" The deluded will go on and on about all the stuff they'll be getting' if only a Demo-cat is elected. 'Course once the votes are in, nothin' happens--like Bubba Billy's middle-class tax cut. Or how the Demo-cats have been treatin' the African-American votin' bloc for decades. Talk about Lucy, Charlie Brown, and the Football!

"It's a daily thing in that case, and as such, not totally illustrative. The list of things that Gracie and Tig have conditioned Meryl into doing, in brutish, Pavlovian terms, is long and varied. Meryl's entire day, particularly her activities in her own home, are absolutely dominated by this conditioning. Which is why I bring up the second example, to demonstrate the absolutely Machiavellian tendencies of these completely mercenary and hedonistic creatures."

"…mercenary and hedonistic creatures." I like that. Perfect description of Demo-cat Kerry Litter and his Littermates.

"Pavlov? Machiavelli? Mercenary? Hedonisitc? How can I be so harsh? On the contrary, I'm cutting the little beasts quite a lot of slack, by large measure."

Exactly what the main stream media says whenever Republicans criticize a Demo-cat. The howls are deafening--how can Bush be so low and mean and eeeevvviilll to pick on Noble Warrior Kerry Litter? Talk about cuttin' slack--no one's even started bringin' up Kerry Litter's voting record yet. You just wait 'til Bush tries it at the debates.

"Tremain (along with Gracie, Tig, Nardo, Edloe, Oscar, and a host of others) is the epitome of what I'm talking about. Upon my arrival at my relative's house, I was greeted with suspicious observation, and the testing and evaluation began immediately. Every single action of those first few days screamed 'what can I get out of this one?' Food? Attention? My first mistake was to heed the smooth, lyrical requests for a refill of the food bowl. By putting some more into it, I might as well have tattooed "sucker" across my forehead. It just opened the door to even more demands; this appeasement, this weakening of the will, and lowering of the interspecies barrier."

Alphas, remember this story when you send your pups off to college. Right off the bat they're stuck in "appreciation" programs and "re-education classes" to teach them the proper way to think about all the liberal litter they'll be scratchin' in. Or maybe I should say the proper way not to think…

"It didn't take long, although I was willing participant. The crying at the door, the solicitations for an ear rub, the hint and overture to use the brush. They all came flooding helter skelter shortly thereafter. A master of manipulation this one - in less than two short weeks, a large portion of his devious goal was realized. I was actually paying deferential attentions to his whims. Scandalous."

Demo-cat SOP.

"It was a cathartic moment of realization, that hit me like a ton of bricks, on the day that I found myself hand feeding the little bastage chunks of my Church's Fried Chicken. No, not simply tearing off pieces and putting them on the floor (those were ignored, with a certain haughty disdain, to be certain), but hand feeding, morsel by morsel, almost to the point of mesmerization and dismissal of my own plan to enjoy my lunch, in peace. The mask came off. The charade was ended. All pretense had to be set aside. It was time to recognize the line, and stick to it."

Ya' gotta' go look at the pictures. Take a good, close look at the expression on that fe-lying's face, the way the tail is curled, ready to twitch in anticipation of snarin' his prey; the smug, sneering, satisfaction when he's got the hapless victim hand-feedin' him.

Now think of Kerry Litter's face Photoshopped into that image. Geeze! Talk about cat barf…

"It didn't help much that when this episode was revealed to Meryl, that she took great amusement from the entire situation. The cell connection was spotty at best, and I didn't quite catch what she said, as it sounded somewhat nonsensical, like phushea huipped, but the meaning was clear. I was being caught up, in a thrall, and my free will was draining away. But no more. I see it for the blatant and naked manipulation that it is now, and I will no longer be moved by the psuedo-plaintive mewings. I'm now jaded to the faux affectionate leg rubbings."

Uh oh. Now we're getting' into Billy Bob Bubba Clinton territory. Those Demo-cat voters thought "blatant" and "naked" and "leg rubbings" were just fine when he was doin' it. And if (when?) he ever tries to run for another political position, they'll be right back in the litter pan, hand-feedin' him whatever he wants.

"They affect me not. Bah!"

Yeah, yeah. All the mind-numbed Demo-cats say that too--claim they'll "vote their conscience" or pull the lever for "the best person for the job." Cough me up a hairball, already! When they get behind that curtain, they'll go for the free Kerry kitty treats every time.

So--think I should call this post a Friskies®-ing?


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 1:44 PM

0 comments


Wednesday, September 01, 2004


Ahead of the Curve

Not only ahead, but waaaay ahead. So far ahead we can look back and see everyone else just thinkin' about lookin' for the curve. When are you humans gonna' start catchin' up to we canines? No wonder Lassie had to resort to draggin' people out of the house by their clothes to save Little Timmy.

Today Mr. Minority finally points out the obvious--dogs (and their people) know who makes the best Alpha. I've been tryin' to tell you people that ever since I started bloggin'!

Canines know right up front which human is worth listening to, and it's not always the ones giving us treats and ear-scratches. We want respect. We want dignity. We want to be acknowledged as the intelligent, discriminating beings that we are. Refuse us and we'll whizz on your shoes. Political correctness is not in our vocabulary. You smell bad? Cover your balls, 'cause we're comin' for you.

And I told you about columnist Burt Prelutsky's prediction months ago.

"If you want to know who's going to emerge victorious, all you really need to do is find out how many people have cats living with them and how many have dogs. The cat people, I have decided, will go overwhelmingly for Kerry; the dog lovers will do the same for Bush."

Well, now do you believe me?! "Kerry gets bitten by a survey of dog owners."

"Asked which candidate they'd trust to walk Fido, dog owners favored Mr. Bush 51% to 37%. Asked which candidate would be better for their pooch's happiness, 44% favored Mr. Bush over 37% for Mr. Kerry. But perhaps more troublesome for the Democrat is what happened when participants were asked which dog breed they most closely associated with each candidate. For Mr. Bush, two breeds tied at 20% each: the Labrador retriever, the most popular family dog in America, and the Rottweiler, often used as a guard dog. As for Mr. Kerry, 15% associated him with Labs--but 14% picked a poodle (the poll didn't specify a French poodle).

"Beyond being just good fun, the poll results hint at a more serious political issue: trust and likablity. And while this is the first year the American Kennel Club conducted the poll, dogs have a long pedigree in American politics. Desperate to bolster his family credentials after the Monica-sex-scandal, Bill Clinton ran out and got Buddy, a chocolate Lab--the breed that polls indicated was the most beloved family dog."

And, sadly, as soon as Bubba didn't need him any more, Buddy was allowed to run unsupervised and was killed by a car.

"For his part, Mr. Bush is clearly a dog lover and is confident enough in his manhood to be seen carrying Barney, his Scottish terrier.

Kerry is obviously a cat person, but he's tryin' to fake it by ownin' a dog--just like Bubba Billy tried to do.

"It's not all bad news on the dog front for Mr. Kerry, however. Asked which breed they'd prefer to be the "First Dog," 51%-27% of dog owners picked German shepherd over Scottish terrier.

Hey, I can't help it if people are ignoramuses about the superiority of terriers. 'Course there's a Chow, a Rottie, and a couple of others out here who could tell 'em a thing or three.

"Maybe if Mr. Kerry brought his shepherd, Cym, on the stump with him, he could beat his poodle image."

French Poodles and German Shepherds… Seems to me I was just talkin' about Kerry and his devotion to those twanger plunkers and jackboot lickers...


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 8:21 PM

1 comments



Oh, Grow Up Already

Boy, does this guy have it wrong! And speaking of "growing-up"…why do all these people use the same insults? Not an original bone among the lot of 'em. (Or maybe they're all crabby 'cause they can't get the ole' bone to work?)

Whatever. I checked out the Jonah Goldberg article that's got this piece of kitty litter all upset and thought it was pretty good. But I'm a canine not a Demo-cat, so I'm smarter than he is.

"What a retarded analysis that was! But maybe I was more retarded for expecting something intelligent from an NRO column. If this were a perfect world, you'd be fixing faucets or something--not writing asinine articles for a living. Stop trying to pass off something stupid as something smart. Sophistry went out of style thousands of years ago."

Well, I had to have AHM look that up that word "sophistry." It means "plausible but fallacious argument." Damn dictionaries. Had to have her look up the meanin' of "fallacious," too. Imagine my surprise (not) when she said it means "tending to mislead or deceptive." So… If "sophistry" is like a thousand years old, what does that make Kerry? Two thousand? How else can he explain the fake Swift Boat Dog story he tried to paw off on the Humane Society people?

"Conservative a-holes like yourself always try to group dems together as one hyperactive glob of over-sensitive drones. You try to emasculate us and portray us as uncourageous. The fact of the matter is conservatives are the pussies."

A Demo-cat calling us pussies? Geeze! Has he taken a good, close-up look at Kerry recently?

"The conservative answer to any epidemic is a fire bomb. From pot plants to inner city crime to international poverty to… terrorism. You just want to drop firebombs all over the place because you're too afraid and too lazy to solve things the right way. I'll firebomb a terrorist any day of the week—but firebombing "terrorism" is a whole new gag, my weak-minded friend."

Gag? As in "hairball?" Didn't a weak-minded liberal Demo-cat firebomb a U.S. city once? Need to have AHM Google on that… Okay--Wilson Goode--mayor of Philadelphia firebombed the MOVE people. (No relation to MoveOn.org, I don't think)

"And your megalomaniacal "leaders" from Giuliani to Schwarzenegger to Bush—all taking pains to assume Athenian statuesque poses… give me a break! It's all a big farce. Or a big fart. Heroes, schmeroes. Anyone trying to be a hero is really just a pussy. Bush is a pussy. Arnold is a pussy. Hannity is the creamiest pussy. You are a pussy."

Now here this cathole really misses the litter box. (I knew a fe-lying who used to do that--scratchin' and scritchin' until he raised a major dust cloud--to hide his stupidity, no doubt--then squattin' very business-like--with his butt hangin' over the outside of the pan.)

Well, listen up hairball! It's Demo-cats who are pussies. Franco-Prussian Pussies, no less, spendin' all their time purring around lace-trimmed Vichy anklets beggin' for them to plunk their magic twangers, or rubbin' German jackboots like a raddled old French--ah--female poodle hopin' one or the other of them might toss off a big, slurpy kiss in the Demo-cats' direction.

"Go read your romance novels and spend the rest of your life trying to imitate every fictional protagonist you've ever heard about. Meanwhile, real Americans will try to solve real problems while gritting their teeth in the face of the over-romantic pussies attempting to elevate themselves by assassinating everyone else's character."

See what I mean about missin' the litter pan? That fe-lying I knew used to grit his teeth too--scrunched up his lips, whiskers flappin', grunted, huffed, got his tail straight up all quiverin' and twitchin' and spastic--then bam-o! He'd let the mess fly all over the floor. That pretty much sums up Demo-cats. Leavin' a mess all over the floor and hopin' someone else will clean it up.

"Love, Albert [Name and address withheld]"

Albert? Bert? Ha! Wonder if Ernie knows he's writin' this kind of stuff? Better watch out Alllll-bert. Someone might firebomb Sesame Street but Goode.


The Discerning Texan likes Jonah's ideas. "…in reading this piece, it was like this "aha" feeling came over me." He's got it about right.


Read the rest

posted by Harrison at 12:01 PM

0 comments