I was diggin' through some of my favorite links the other day and wandered over to Ferdy's place to check out his funny stuff postin'. Imagine my shock when I followed the link to this picture. Arrrrgggghh! Do Meryl Yourish and Tig know about this guy? Gotta' admit even I would avoid meetin' this sucker in a dark alley--or a light alley--or an anywhere alley.

Oh, and speakin' of Meryl, I think I know what's causin' that "rodent problem" she's been havin'. Someone finally got to this guy and stashed the body at her place. It's probably the same people who got to Jimmy Hoffa. Can't say I blame 'em--I sure don't wanna' hear "Charlie the Hamster Sings the Ten Commandments" anytime soon.

And now for a public service announcement…

I'm postin' this little tidbit from the Improbable Research blog cause ya' gotta love the product's motto: "Clean up with POOP-FREEZE…because it's YOUR dootie!^TM."

POOP-FREEZE^TM is a specially formulated aerosol freeze spray that, upon contact, forms a frosty film on dog poop (or cat poop) to harden the surface for easy pick-up…POOP-FREEZE is non-flammable, contains no CFC’s and is perfect for both outside and indoor use.

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posted by Harrison at 2:23 PM

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A couple of days ago the Twinkie turned 75. We don't eat Twinkies around here, but the anniversary reminded me of an event AHM still calls The Great Twinkie War.

See, not long after we moved to the south from California (talk about culture shock), AHM joined a local church and got involved in a committee or two. The meetings were in the evenin', once a month, and sometimes I snuck in. (I am impeccably behaved and welcome almost everywhere, includin' schools.)

Anyway, at this meetin' they were discussin' the feedin' the homeless project. One day a week the church ladies from all over the city take turns puttin' on a big spread for the less fortunate--although there was some question if the people were really less fortunate or just lookin' for a free meal.

Mostly the ladies are real nice--aside from their tendency to call me "cute" which a certain generation of women like to do. But, ya' gotta understand somethin' about the older class of genteel southern women. They're the Powder Puff Girls--with verbal stilettos. And most of 'em still haven't reconciled to great-great-granddaddy surrenderin' back at Appomattox.

But they're committed to good works, 'specially when it's through the church. If ya' can survive the verbal admonitions that go with 'em, they'll be glad to help ya' out. Problem is, they have their own idea of how the homeless and/or disadvantaged should behave when handed free meals. They're thinkin' afternoon tea party when they should be thinkin' of feedin' time at the local kennel.

They learned the hard way.

Continued in Read the Rest!

The tale was told by one very outraged church lady whose prim, elegant southern accent made the whole incident even funnier--'tho I doubt she thought so.

It seems the good ladies gathered together one Saturday and set up all the long tables for the meal. No one's dumb enough to use real silver and china, but each place settin' was arranged in the best Emily Post tradition--provided Emily Post would approve of plastic, which I doubt. Then they went into the kitchen area, puttin' together big tureens of whatever they were dishin' out, mixin' fruit juice drinks, heatin' up the water for coffee, and all that stuff. Everything's donated, of course, and on that particular weekend some good-hearted soul sent over a case or two of Twinkies.

I guess a couple of the ladies decided the bare tables with their plastic utensiles, plates, and glasses needed to be spruced up, so they used the Twinkies for decoration. One Twinkie was artistically arranged beside each settin'.

At the appointed time a sizable crowd was lined up outside the doors, waitin' for their meal. Metal pitchers of juice were put out and the ladies set up at the head of the tables with their tureens at the ready to ladle out the vittles. The doors were flung wide.

Now evidently certain types always muscle their way to the front and that day was no different. You understand those types are not the ones you'd find at your average lawn and garden tea party. (Hell, even I behave better at the average lawn and garden tea party than those guys.) The first half dozen charged in--

--and spotted all the Twinkies.

Those church ladies never had a chance. Their great-great-grandmamas might have fought off the Yankee horde to save the family plantation, but there was no stoppin' these human locusts. The first strike group split up, chargin' all the tables, grabbin' those Twinkies as fast as their grimey hands could move, stuffin' 'em in coat pockets, pants pockets, down their shirt, down their pants and in their socks for all I know. It was like an entire of platoon of Sandy Bergers runnin' amuck.

Naturally those behind the original shock troops objected to losin' out on their Twinkie treats and went after the marauders. Plates, cutlery, glasses--everythin' was flyin' around while the ladies clung to their tureens for dear life.

Luckily there were a bunch of husbands who had gone along to help, so order was eventually restored. Never heard much about the eventual surrender (AHM and I had to leave the meetin' room 'cause she was about to bust tryin' to keep from rollin' on the floor laughin') but I have visions of metal pitchers bein' used on a few heads and lots cream fillin' squirtin' hither and yon.

Don't think what was left of those Twinkies ever got passed out evenly. I do know everyone had to listen to a stern lecture on table manners from an entire host of outraged church ladies which may or may not have taken the pleasure out of lickin' up the remains of those purloined pastries.

"So, does culinary instruction ever include Twinkies?

"We did an interactive game as part of a leadership training where teams had to build a tower of Twinkies and plastic forks that could support the Twinkie box," [Chef David Pantone, dean of the Florida Culinary Institute] said. "Twinkies are valuable teaching tools."

If he only knew…

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posted by Harrison at 1:54 PM

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…or maybe not. This is a good example of why I don't do the fetch-the-ball thing. You got it out there. Now you go get it.

"Talk about hitting into the rough. [L]ocal golfer [Harold Parris] recently landed his ball in one of the more difficult lies of his golfing career -- smack dab in the middle of an alligator's tail... Why the alligator didn't move when the ball landed on its tail is open to debate.

"The most likely and scientifically compelling reason the alligator didn't move is because it probably didn't feel the ball, said Dean Harrigal, wildlife biologist for S.C. Department of Natural Resources. He said the top side of an alligator, including the tail and back, is made of hard, bony plates that provide protection, and there are few nerve endings on the surface.

"If it would have been a bowling ball," Harrigal said, "he might have felt it."

Bowling ball? Guess instead of a gutter ball that would be (wait for it) a gator ball…

(Wha'd'ya want…I'm a dog!)

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posted by Harrison at 2:07 AM

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I sure wouldn't want this guy checkin' my taxes!

"Within the environmentally hostile confines of the Berkeley Pit lives perhaps Superfund's most amazing paradox. Its name is "The Auditor.''

"Its genus is Canus, but its species -- if indeed there ever were another single dog like it on the planet -- would be nothing other than extraordinarius. This mysterious mongrel has called the 5,000-acre contaminated expanse of the Berkeley Pit federal Superfund site, combined with Montana Resources' active mine permit area, its home since 1986. Ironically, its only help in surviving has come from the compassion of miners…

"God only knows what he does all day,'' says MR employee Ron Benton. "You've got to won der why an animal would choose a place so forlorn.''

"Forlorn indeed. Not a single blade of grass, nary a tree, shrub or weed can survive on the acidic crust that dominates this animal's yard. Reeking of sulfur and acidity, this is the kind of soil that eats men's boots, let alone the feet of any normal dog.

"And the water here is lethal, should you suppose he walks on that. In 1995, the deceptively calm surface of the Pit infamously claimed the lives of 342 snow geese that made the mistake of a migratory stop.

"It's unbelievable how it could live in a place that's supposed to be so toxic,'' says local veterinarian Ed Peretti. "He's one tough dog, I'll tell you that.''

Just in case ya' missed it, that "tough dog" is nearly 20 years old! Twenty years livin' in a toxic waste pit?! Seems to me this story puts a new spin on all that Yucca Mountain howlin'.

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posted by Harrison at 12:57 PM

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…er…him.

"Napoleon, a dog about the size of a small purse, even has his own Costco membership card. He may be the chain's only canine member. He belongs to Doris Steussy who wheels him around Issaquah in a red wagon with the personalized license plate…"

He must be a very complex dog.

Gotta' say, though, I have a thing about little red wagons. When I was just a pup, Silly Human Female thought it would be cute (I hate cute) to put harnesses on all of us, hook us up to one of those things, and have us haul her shoppin' bags around town. It was a reeeeaally stupid idea. The stupidest idea of all the stupid ideas that paragon of stupidness thought up. The only smart idea was tryin' it out in the drive before headin' into town. (That and not even thinkin' about makin' Dad join in which would have resulted in some serious bleedin' and loss of fingers.)

Right off the girls started squabblin' about who was wearin' the red harness instead of the blue, Uncle Harry was bitchin' about bein' stuck next to Grand Dam Bitch (who promptly laid down for a nap, never to get up without a well-placed stick of dynamite) and my brother Han and I thought we'd act out the great chariot race from Ben Hur.

Do ya' know how much noise one of those suckers makes when it flips over and gets dragged across asphalt, gravel, and rocks? With all the clangin' and bangin' we naturally figured the Great Fe-lyin' Devil from Hell was chasin' us which only made us run faster--in six different directions. Grand Dam Bitch hadn't moved that fast since…well…since never.

Lookin' back now I understand why Alpha Human Mom just stood there laughin', 'tho at the time I was pissed as hell she didn't stop SHF. AHM claimed seein' that bowlin' pin on legs stumble around after us was better than watchin' the Keystone Kops--whoever they are--'specially when we made SHF jump into the rose bushes to get out of our way.

No one got hurt, 'cept for our dignity and a couple of scratches on SHF. 'Course since then we've never been able to look at anything small 'n red with wheels without gettin' the urge to attack. Sorta' feel the same way about SHF.

"Steussy, a feisty 88-year-old who once spent more than a decade proving an investment banker had swindled her family's fortune, doesn't back down easily. One hot summer day her pooch was denied access to the Issaquah store. Steussy hurried through her brief shopping trip while Napoleon waited outside. At the check-out stand the clerk asked if there was anything else they could do for her. Steussy asked for the manager.

"After verifying that service dogs were allowed in the store, she explained that Napoleon, despite his less than 5-pound size, was her service dog. The manager complied with her request for a letter stating Napoleon was allowed in the store and then issued him a card on the spot."

I'm holdin' out for my own Visa Gold® card.

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posted by Harrison at 1:22 PM

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Nice to see the Flordia legislature knows how to regulate the important things.

"Hoping to corral a Venezuelan sport that animal rights activists say is cruel, the [Florida] Senate passed a measure today outlawing pulling a bull by its tail.

Havin' once herded a bull, I'm here to tell ya' grabbin' one by the tail is not a smart idea. Leave it to humans to do the reeeaaally dumb stuff.

Not to be outdone by Florida, the Secret Service is goin' beyond the call of…something…

"The Secret Service, which has the job of guarding the president and other dignitaries, now has a new temporary duty -- protecting a mother duck and her nine eggs."

Keep those feral demo-cats away from that wild bird, guys.

And speakin' of demo-cats, here's a bunch who give new meanin' to the words "pork barrel." These fe-lyings are in Bangladesh, but Washington D.C. can't be far behind.

"A few really lucky felines, until recently, were living it up at Dhaka’s biggest hospital. That’s until they came up against hospital Chief Brigadier General M A Matin who launched a full-scale “operation” run with military precision to repel the cat invasion.

"According to hospital staff, about 100 cats had established a “mini-kingdom” and were growing fat on food meant for patients. Some were so big patients had difficulty fighting them off at meal times."

Sounds like the local tax collector--or Ted Kennedy.

"But the hospital cats seem to have finally met their match. Teams of ward boys hunt them down every day armed with traps and bags. The brigadier has pledged to carry on until every last cat is evicted. The captured cats are “exiled” on the other side of the city’s Buriganga river where they are likely to experience a less comfortable existence."

Wait 'til PETA hears about that!

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posted by Harrison at 6:23 PM

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First it's feral cats in Wisconsin, now it's feral camels in Australia. Where will it stop?

"Feral camels in Australia's Central Desert don't wait to be asked when it comes to slaking their thirst.

"The camels don't need a second invitation. If a door to a toilet is left open, they get in and break the toilet so the house is unusable. People are reasonably transient, says Peter and if the house is empty and the door is open, they'll enter and take up residence. They try to get at the sink and the taps and leave droppings everywhere. And they're hard to get out."

Yeah--I know all about fallin' in toilets. Bleah.

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posted by Harrison at 2:44 PM

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…or…some people will do anything to make a porn film...which is not to say that my Dad or I are against a bit of fun now and again…

"A team from Rothamsted Research in Hertfordshire fitted peacock butterflies and small tortoiseshells with radar backpacks and tracked their flightpaths.

"The delicate creatures had to be held down, given the lepidopterist's equivalent of a bikini wax and then fitted with transponders weighing just 12-thousandths of a gram. Researchers have used the same technique to track the flights of bees and bumblebees…

"The scientists watched the butterflies play, feed and even mate. "It obviously didn't bother them that much," said Lizzie Cant of Rothamsted."

Bother who? The butterflies or the voyeurs?

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posted by Harrison at 1:31 AM

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Cat?

Like that's somethin' we need in the world.

"George Bailey has never taken a step in his life, but that could soon change because of a groundbreaking surgery by North Carolina State University veterinarians. The tuxedo cat was born a year and a half ago with only part of his hind legs. His owners said he made up in personality what he lacked in physical size…

"But the Simmonses wanted to make his life a little easier, so they called Dr. Denis Marcellin-Little at the N.C. State College of Veterinary Medicine to do something that had never been done before -- attach a prosthetic paw to the cat's actual leg bone. The surgery is so rare it's been performed on just 70 humans worldwide."

If it's that rare, why is it bein' wasted on a fe-lyin'? Talk about you humans havin' more money than brains…

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posted by Harrison at 9:56 PM

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I love happy endings.

"Earle Hollings could hardly sleep when he heard the news. The Shih Tsu he lost in a messy separation with his wife was coming home. A woman called Hollings on Thursday night to say she'd had his dog, Thor, for nearly two weeks.

"Stasha Hollings, Earle's wife of 30 years, gave the dog away because she was moving into an apartment where dogs aren't allowed. She said no one told her Earle Hollings wanted the dog, so she handed him off to a stranger she saw outside."

Can't say Shih Tsus are among my top ten canine breeds--yappy, hairy, nippy little suckers. My first memory of meetin' a Shih Tsu was at a dog show, waitin' to go into the ring after a bunch of 'em. The Best of Breed was a snotty little twit, probably puttin' on the swagger to make up for his handler, an honest-to-God monster of a woman--we're talkin' Bigfoot, people--wearin' red stretch pants, white tank top, and pink plastic hair curlers. You haven't lived 'til you've seen a sight like that, and once it's burned on your retinas you're not too sure you wanna' live afterward. We were so embarrassed for him havin' to be seen with that thing, none of us took up his challenge.

So I'm figurin' the ex-Mrs. Hollings probably looked like that handler. Claimin' she didn't know the guy wanted his pal and passin' him off like a used squeaky toy is pretty low and ya' don't get much lower than 300 pounds of red stretch pants, white tank top, and pink plastic hair curlers lumberin' around in circles with a ten pound dust mop on a leash.

'Course humans are the most spiteful bunch of animals out there. Sure I've gotten my nose out of joint a time or two and left a pile in protest, shall we say. And Heddy's a neurotic bitch, but she got that from Silly Human Female. Then there was the time Dad ripped the shit out of his dog bed when AHM was late pickin' him up at the dog sitters...

Okay, okay… We're brats sometimes. But you're supposed to be the ones with consciences and souls and all that spiritual awareness stuff, while we're the soulless drones wanderin' in ignorance. (Believe me, I intend to have a little chit-chat with God about that idea when I see Him.)

Still--for out and out planned lowness--you humans definitely take the Dentabone®.

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posted by Harrison at 7:19 PM

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Canada will accept animal asylum seekers.

"Canada's newest resident is small, furry and likes to eat nuts. But this refugee rodent is also tough, taking on the federal government when Ottawa tried to kick the squirrel out. It was announced Friday that the U.S.-born baby flying squirrel, named Sabrina, can now stay in Canada, despite government efforts to deport her."

Go for it. Pleeeease!

(Except for The Conservative Cat, of course.)

Dug up at Dave Barry's Blog.

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posted by Harrison at 2:29 PM

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Kibbles & Bits®

One of the pups' favorite activity is chasin' inflated objects, bitin' the hell out of 'em, then runnin' like crazy when they do that mad, zoomin' thing around the room. Bigger stuff--like those idiotic lit-up balloon pumpkin men or snowmen people around here seem addicted to--aren't quite as much fun. They just collapse in an uninspirin' heap. 'Course they do make the best rude sounds, which the pups think is their fault, leadin' to an extended round of butt sniffin'.

Imagine this sucker would not only have rude sounds but rude smells too.

"Lakemoor Community Association members say it stinks that someone stole their 30-foot inflatable skunk from its spot along Lincoln Road. The $8,000 caricature, which stood in protest of the possible location of the village’s proposed sewage treatment plant, was snatched early Tuesday morning."

Not too sure about this business, though. Don't really think I wanna' be curlin' up on the remains of Dad or Grand Dam Bitch.

"A US taxidermist has come up with a strange way to keep the memory of dead pets alive - cushions made from their fur. Jeanette Hall gets bereaved animal owners to send her their pets' bodies - which she then transforms into pillows and cushions."

It does remind me of one of the funniest places we've ever seen. While drivin' around out in the country--on a little back road in the middle of nowhere--there's this little frame buildin' with the sign "Taxidermist and Mattress Outlet." Really. Honest to God. AHM refused to stop and go inside. Chicken.


All I wanna' ask about this is… Why?

And as for this--don't even think about it, fool!

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posted by Harrison at 10:01 PM

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