March 1836
UPDATE: Dan Rather's alma mater in Houston, Texas tried flyin' the Mexican flag.
From a letter written by Sam Houston:
April 21, 1836: With shouts of "Remember the Alamo!," Sam Houston led his army into the Battle of San Jacinto, defeating Santa Anna and avenging the dead of the Alamo in less than 30 minutes.
We did it once. We can do it again.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 6:05 PM
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"[John H.] Reagan High School Principal Robert Pambello was ordered to remove a Mexican flag Wednesday morning that he had hoisted below the U.S. and Texas flags that typically fly in front of his school — a symbol he agreed to fly to show support for his predominantly Hispanic student body."
From a letter written by Sam Houston:
Sir:
On my arrival here [Gonzales] this afternoon [March 11, 1836], the following intelligence was received through a Mexican, supposed to be friendly, though his account has been contradicted in some parts by another, who arrived with him. It is therefore only given to you a rumor, though I fear a melancholy portion of it will be found true.
Anselmo Borgara states that he left the Alamo on Sunday, the 6th inst.;…that the Alamo was attacked on Sunday morning at the dawn of day, by about two thousand three hundred men, and carried a short time before sunrise, with a loss of five hundred and twenty-one Mexicans killed, and as many wounded. Colonel Travis had only one hundred and fifty effective men out of his entire force of one hundred and eighty-seven. After the fort was carried, seven men surrendered, and called for Santa Anna and quarter. They were murdered by his order…
The bodies of the Americans were laid together and set on fire… I have little doubt but the Alamo has fallen…
I am sir, &c., SAM HOUSTON
April 21, 1836: With shouts of "Remember the Alamo!," Sam Houston led his army into the Battle of San Jacinto, defeating Santa Anna and avenging the dead of the Alamo in less than 30 minutes.
We did it once. We can do it again.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 6:05 PM
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Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Doggerel
Once again my "you threw it, you fetch it" philosophy is proven to be valid.
…and 6,000 dollars wide.
Shultz, as expected, knows nothing.
Maybe Mr. Grenier should try this little number instead. Not only is it fun, accordin' to the makers, it was "…designed to help encourage the human/animal bond and enhance your dog's play time." It's a whole lot cheaper than $6,000 too.
Then, after your human companion is done makin' an ass out of ya', you can refuse to stop pantin' 'til they buy you a 24-pack of K9 Water, vitamin-enriched, in several flavors.
Healthy for the canine gullet, maybe—considerin' we stay just as healthy drinkin' real hose water—but not 'specially healthy for the ole' human pocketbook.
BTW, there's a cat model of that SnackShotz Treat Launcher, but it uses DiscosTM dog treats so I'm not too sure how well your fe-lyin' will respond.
However, Dogmatic Products does have another fabulous idea for that feisty fe-lyin' in your life: Lickety Sticks, catnip oil stickers. (Follow the link from the drop down menu under "Products.")
Yes-sir-re-bob! Plaster one of those little suckers on any electric outlet and watch the fur fly. Or slap a couple on the butt of the nearest pit bull for the ultimate scratch 'n stiff experience.
Now, if that doesn't work, you frustrated canines can just grab a-hold of the Bada-Beam laser and take care of that fe-lyin' in no time!
[It's a toy.~AHM]
[Wha'da'ya mean a toy? Don't you know "badda-beam, badda-boom!"~Harrison]
[That's badda-bing badda-… Never mind. It's still a toy.~AHM]
[What a waste of technology.~Harrison]
[Can I least try aimin' it at the pit bull across the street?~Harrison]
[Say good night, Harrison.~AHM]
[Nuts!~Harrison]
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:25 PM
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"Glen Grenier's 2-year-old German shepherd Shultz takes his game of fetch so seriously that it took a veterinary surgeon to get a nearly foot-long stick back from him last week. Nobody knows quite how he did it, but Shultz managed to swallow the stick, 9 1/2 inches long and an inch and a half in diameter,…"
…and 6,000 dollars wide.
"I throw big sticks, and he chases them and brings them back," said Mr. Grenier. "We've done this every single day since he was little."… "Mr. Grenier is still puzzling over how Shultz managed to swallow such a huge object. "Whether he threw it up in the air and it dropped in, or it was on the ground and he slid into it, nobody really knows," he said."
Shultz, as expected, knows nothing.
Maybe Mr. Grenier should try this little number instead. Not only is it fun, accordin' to the makers, it was "…designed to help encourage the human/animal bond and enhance your dog's play time." It's a whole lot cheaper than $6,000 too.
"Dog treats & treating will NEVER be the same! SnackShotz Treat Launcher is the ONLY product of its kind that provides endless fun for you and your dog(s). Just load SnackShotz with DiscosTM Flying Dog Treats, pull the lever, and the fun begins. Dogs run, jump chase and catch Discos treats as the treats fly [up to 12 feet] through the air!"
Then, after your human companion is done makin' an ass out of ya', you can refuse to stop pantin' 'til they buy you a 24-pack of K9 Water, vitamin-enriched, in several flavors.
"The company offers: Toilet Water, with chicken flavor; Gutter Water with beef flavor; Puddle Water with liver flavor and Hose Water with lamb flavor. A four-pack sells for $7.49, a 12-pack costs $19.99 and a 24-pack costs $35.99.
"'We are dog lovers and pooch parents ourselves, so we had our formula tested in an independent lab by a veterinary nutritionist to make sure it is healthy for your dog,'…"
Healthy for the canine gullet, maybe—considerin' we stay just as healthy drinkin' real hose water—but not 'specially healthy for the ole' human pocketbook.
BTW, there's a cat model of that SnackShotz Treat Launcher, but it uses DiscosTM dog treats so I'm not too sure how well your fe-lyin' will respond.
However, Dogmatic Products does have another fabulous idea for that feisty fe-lyin' in your life: Lickety Sticks, catnip oil stickers. (Follow the link from the drop down menu under "Products.")
"Now anything can become a cat toy: a tennis ball, an old shoe, or crumpled paper… We use just enough catnip oil to drive your cat wild, but in levels that are safe and non-toxic. Great for use on scratching posts!"
Yes-sir-re-bob! Plaster one of those little suckers on any electric outlet and watch the fur fly. Or slap a couple on the butt of the nearest pit bull for the ultimate scratch 'n stiff experience.
Now, if that doesn't work, you frustrated canines can just grab a-hold of the Bada-Beam laser and take care of that fe-lyin' in no time!
[It's a toy.~AHM]
[Wha'da'ya mean a toy? Don't you know "badda-beam, badda-boom!"~Harrison]
[That's badda-bing badda-… Never mind. It's still a toy.~AHM]
[What a waste of technology.~Harrison]
"This clever, interactive cat toy will captivate your kitty for hours. Just open the lid to Bada-Beam—its laser beam automatically comes on, moves in circles, pauses, then circles again, grabbing your cat’s attention.
[Can I least try aimin' it at the pit bull across the street?~Harrison]
[Say good night, Harrison.~AHM]
[Nuts!~Harrison]
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:25 PM
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Bawdy, Naughty Bard
Shakespeare, that is. Apparently Larry Flint's a piker compared to Ole' Billy. Gotta' say I love hearin' Shakespeare. 'Course I don't always know what he's talkin' about, but since AHM used to be an actor/director, she makes it sound really cool. I prefer action- adventure hero Henry V...
...over that chick flick Romeo and Juliet, but now that I've I learned the truth, I may change my mind.
(Oh, and just to be on the safe side, consider this your official language warnin'.)
A few days ago Scheiss Weekly was talkin' about how gratifiyin' it was to introduce her then sixth-grade students to her favorite Sherlock Holmes short story The Adventure of the Speckled Band. She wrote she knew she'd done good when one of the sixth grade boys was overheard sayin "Now I know what it really means when somebody says 'No shit, Sherlock!'" (Wonder if she told 'em it was really Shakespeare who first said "The game's afoot.")
Anyway, whether she did or didn't, she oughta' be over the moon for this story. Spread it around and we'll have kids sneakin' Shakespeare in the back seat of cars with a "hey diddle diddle" and a "hey nonny no."
Viz, btw, is an adult comic from the Brits, specializin' in juvenile adult crudity, bathroom jokes, sex and violence.
Bet those computers needed to be hosed down afterward.
I'd say 'buggle boe' was definitely a cultural embarrassment.
That noise you hear is the Virgin Queen laughin' in the hereafter.
Not to mention other parts of its anatomy…
Well, it should grab the attention of high schoolers at least. And since Romeo and Juliet is a staple of many English classes, here's a cleaned-up excerpt Sénéchal gives from Act II Scene IV. See if you can find the hidden porn.
Thank you Benvolio!
Dug up (appropriately) at Dave Barry's Blog who's suspiciously obsessed with big, long
snakes. For what it's worth, Sherlock Holmes' The Adventure of the Speckled Band is about snakes too. I report. You decide.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 3:39 PM
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"I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'"
Act III, Scene 1
...over that chick flick Romeo and Juliet, but now that I've I learned the truth, I may change my mind.
(Oh, and just to be on the safe side, consider this your official language warnin'.)
A few days ago Scheiss Weekly was talkin' about how gratifiyin' it was to introduce her then sixth-grade students to her favorite Sherlock Holmes short story The Adventure of the Speckled Band. She wrote she knew she'd done good when one of the sixth grade boys was overheard sayin "Now I know what it really means when somebody says 'No shit, Sherlock!'" (Wonder if she told 'em it was really Shakespeare who first said "The game's afoot.")
Anyway, whether she did or didn't, she oughta' be over the moon for this story. Spread it around and we'll have kids sneakin' Shakespeare in the back seat of cars with a "hey diddle diddle" and a "hey nonny no."
"'The plays are absolutely packed with filth,' said academic Héloïse Sénéchal. 'I've found more than a hundred terms for vagina alone.' That the author of As You Like It would, were he alive today, be writing for Viz magazine is implied by Sénéchal's research for the footnotes of a new Royal Shakespeare Company edition of his complete works which promises to be the most candid ever…
Viz, btw, is an adult comic from the Brits, specializin' in juvenile adult crudity, bathroom jokes, sex and violence.
"She claims that previous editions of Shakespeare have been too prudish, and that by using computer techniques she has uncovered unrecognised double entendres."
Bet those computers needed to be hosed down afterward.
"These were aimed at the working classes who crowded into the Globe in London for their fill of bawdy entertainment. Sénéchal has identified seemingly innocuous words such as carrot, pencil and horn as terms for penis, while she pinpoints pie, fruit dish and 'buggle boe' as references to the vagina. 'We are trying to resist the cultural embarrassment that has permeated footnotes in the past,' she said.
I'd say 'buggle boe' was definitely a cultural embarrassment.
"'Shakespeare is now an institution, and there is an assumption, especially in schools, that he was using high rhetoric. But the majority of his audience were labourers, craftsmen, ordinary people being catered for in a popular way. They were as smutty-minded then as we are now.'"…
That noise you hear is the Virgin Queen laughin' in the hereafter.
"The RSC Shakespeare: Complete Works, to be published by Macmillan next year, wears its frankness on its sleeve…"
Not to mention other parts of its anatomy…
"But Professor Stanley Wells, author of Looking for Sex in Shakespeare, said: 'If the best thing you can say about a new edition is that it's filthy, it doesn't say a lot. It's a gimmick, an attempt to grab attention.'"
Well, it should grab the attention of high schoolers at least. And since Romeo and Juliet is a staple of many English classes, here's a cleaned-up excerpt Sénéchal gives from Act II Scene IV. See if you can find the hidden porn.
Mercutio: O here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!
Romeo: I stretch it out for that word 'broad'; which added to the goose proves thee far and wide a broad goose.
Mercutio: Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole.
Benvolio: Stop there, stop there.
Thank you Benvolio!
Dug up (appropriately) at Dave Barry's Blog who's suspiciously obsessed with big, long
snakes. For what it's worth, Sherlock Holmes' The Adventure of the Speckled Band is about snakes too. I report. You decide.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 3:39 PM
0 comments
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Cat-ass-trophies
Curse of the Were-Cat. Like I haven't been warnin' you people.
Bet she can still get home owner's insurance though.
Lewis and fe-lyings with bird flu are bad enough. At least we no longer have to worry about Camels of Mass Destruction.
And on the really important protest front, chicks rally to the side of the Easter Bunny.
No word on whether the protestors and their allies are preparin' to arm themselves.
"Bad boys, bad boys
Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do
When they come for you?"
I'm gonna' sue!
And speakin' of "Bad Boys," Bill Clinton seems to have Jesus as his co-pilot.
*"Democratic Sen. Hillary Clinton invoked Jesus to argue against a House immigration bill…"because this bill would literally criminalize…Jesus himself."
Bill, Hill—here's a fashion suggestion for ya'.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 4:11 PM
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"Residents of the neighborhood of [Fairfield, Connecticut] say they have been terrorized by a crazy cat named Lewis… "He looks like Felix the Cat and has six toes on each foot, each with a long claw," Janet Kettman, a neighbor said Monday. "They are formidable weapons." The neighbors said those weapons, along with catlike stealth, have allowed Lewis to attack at least a half dozen people and ambush the Avon lady as she was getting out of her car. Some of those who were bitten and scratched ended up seeking treatment at area hospitals.
"Animal Control Officer Rachel Solveira placed a restraining order on him… In effect, Lewis is under house arrest, forbidden to leave his home. Solveira also arrested the cat's owner, Ruth Cisero, charging her with failing to comply with the restraining order and reckless endangerment."
Bet she can still get home owner's insurance though.
Lewis and fe-lyings with bird flu are bad enough. At least we no longer have to worry about Camels of Mass Destruction.
"Saddam Hussein planned to use "camels of mass destruction" as weapons to defend Iraq, loading them with bombs and directing them towards invading forces. The animals were part of a plan to arm and equip foreign insurgents drawn up by the dictator shortly before the American-led invasion three years ago, reveals a 37-page report, captured after the fall of Baghdad and just released by the Pentagon."
And on the really important protest front, chicks rally to the side of the Easter Bunny.
"Marshmallow Peeps have been multiplying outside [St. Paul, MN] City Hall as a symbol of protest over last week's decision to evict the Easter Bunny. A handful of employees have placed the spongy chick- and rabbit-shaped candies around a City Hall statue of American Indians, along with two signs that temporarily rename the "Vision of Peace" statue as the "Vision of Peeps."
No word on whether the protestors and their allies are preparin' to arm themselves.
"[T]he new Marshmallow Blaster is engineered to propel large marshmallows up to 40 feet… packing the extra punch you just can’t get with mini marshmallows… Or, if a simpler sort of fun is your cup of hot cocoa, the Marshmallow Blower allows for stealth attacks ideal for sneaking up on unsuspecting targets. Simply load with mini marshmallows and blow!"
"Bad boys, bad boys
Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do
When they come for you?"
I'm gonna' sue!
"The parents of two boys who fell almost 30 feet through a skylight in an abandoned warehouse intend to sue the owners… The boys were playing around and jumping on a skylight in the roof…earlier this month when it gave way, sending them plummeting onto a concrete floor… Police said the boys sneaked onto the property of the abandoned building, once used to manufacture park equipment, through a sheet metal fence that appeared to be pried open."
And speakin' of "Bad Boys," Bill Clinton seems to have Jesus as his co-pilot.
"An embarrassing hole in security surrounding former U.S. President Bill Clinton turned up when one of his chauffeurs [Shahzad Qureshi, a Pakistani national] was found to [have]… skipped a residency-status hearing in 2000, and a deportation order…issued by the Immigration and Naturalization Service,… Qureshi was still in jail Monday awaiting immigration processing, the report said."*
*"Democratic Sen. Hillary Clinton invoked Jesus to argue against a House immigration bill…"because this bill would literally criminalize…Jesus himself."
Bill, Hill—here's a fashion suggestion for ya'.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 4:11 PM
0 comments
Monday, March 27, 2006
Why We No Longer Live In CA Part 3,792
Just think of it as "Taliban West."
Isn't he a sweetie?
[Hey, I have a shirt like that.~AHM]
[Not anymore.~Harrison]
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 5:37 PM
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Evangelical teens rally in S.F. "More than 25,000 evangelical Christian youth landed Friday in San Francisco for a two-day rally at AT&T Park against "the virtue terrorism" of popular culture, and they were greeted by an official city condemnation and a clutch of protesters who said their event amounted to a "fascist mega-pep rally."
"…Assemblyman Mark Leno, D-San Francisco [chair of the LGBT Caucus],…told counterprotesters at City Hall on Friday that while such fundamentalists may be small in number, "they're loud, they're obnoxious, they're disgusting, and they should get out of San Francisco."
Isn't he a sweetie?
[Hey, I have a shirt like that.~AHM]
[Not anymore.~Harrison]
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 5:37 PM
0 comments
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Ted Kennedy Can Get Auto Insurance…
…but dog owners are an insurance risk in Massachusetts.
Yorkies! What are they doin'? Violatin' the anti-noise ordinance? And what about those deadly Chihuahuas?
In every state we canines are required to be licensed and leashed and restricted in all sorts of ways. We're not allowed on most beaches and parks, and you humans gotta' run after us pickin' up our poop 'cause it's toxic, don'ya'know.
Fe-lyings, on the other paw—whose poop really is toxic—roam free as a…well…bird. They spread fleas in your yard and run roughshod through your flowerbeds, usin' 'em as litter boxes. They camp out under your bird feeder like it's an all-you-can-eat diner. They breed almost as fast as rabbits. But they're not considered an issue.
Well, let's just take a gander at how harmless those fe-lyings really are. Ya' might wanna' commit these stories to memory 'cause your cat could be the death of you…
Fe-lyings carry the bird flu.
Considerin' these next stories, just give it time.
Fe-lyings carry the plague.
Fe-lyings make their owners nutso!*
In other words, fe-lyings are the ultimate weapons of mass destruction.** No wonder the Islamofascists love 'em and hate dogs.
*The TimesOnline story about this risk is no longer available.
**Dr. Maimes Dobson of Focus on the Feline offers a possible solution.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 3:36 PM
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"Mary Ellis, who has owned Siberian huskies for 25 years, was incensed when her insurer canceled its policy on her Bridgewater [MA] home even though, she said, she had never filed a claim and her dogs had never bitten anyone. Ellis was told by Commerce Insurance Company that her five huskies, a breed described by the American Kennel Club as ''friendly and gentle," made her a risky customer…
"Commerce, which underwrites more homes in the state than any other insurer, considers about a dozen types of dogs ''unacceptable," including Yorkshire terriers, a toy breed that rarely weighs more than 7 pounds. The company would not discuss Ellis's situation, saying it does not comment on specific cases, and did not explain why Yorkshires are on its list."
Yorkies! What are they doin'? Violatin' the anti-noise ordinance? And what about those deadly Chihuahuas?
In every state we canines are required to be licensed and leashed and restricted in all sorts of ways. We're not allowed on most beaches and parks, and you humans gotta' run after us pickin' up our poop 'cause it's toxic, don'ya'know.
Fe-lyings, on the other paw—whose poop really is toxic—roam free as a…well…bird. They spread fleas in your yard and run roughshod through your flowerbeds, usin' 'em as litter boxes. They camp out under your bird feeder like it's an all-you-can-eat diner. They breed almost as fast as rabbits. But they're not considered an issue.
Well, let's just take a gander at how harmless those fe-lyings really are. Ya' might wanna' commit these stories to memory 'cause your cat could be the death of you…
Fe-lyings carry the bird flu.
"A domestic cat in Germany has become the first European Union mammal to die of the deadly H5N1 strain of bird flu. The cat was found dead at the weekend on the Baltic island of Ruegen, where dozens of birds infected with H5N1 have been found…
"Cats have been known to contract the virus from eating infected birds. Three rare civet cats in Vietnam died of bird flu last August. In October 2004, dozens of tigers died at a private zoo in Thailand after a bird flu outbreak. There are no recorded cases of cat-to-human infection, but the German finding will raise concerns of further cross-species transmission."
Considerin' these next stories, just give it time.
Fe-lyings carry the plague.
"A local cat was diagnosed with plague Friday — the fourth in southern Wyoming this year — and public health officials warned that people should take precautions to protect their pets and themselves.
"Gus Lopez, director of the Cheyenne-Laramie County Health Department, said the latest case occurred west of the city, in the same general area where two other cats contracted the disease. A fourth cat, in neighboring Albany County, also was diagnosed with plague."
Fe-lyings make their owners nutso!*
"The [Stanley Research Medical Institute of Maryland] has already published research showing that people infected with the toxoplasma parasite are at greater risk of developing schizophrenia and manic depression…
"Toxoplasma moves in a natural cycle between rats and cats. Rats acquire it from contact with cat faeces and cats reacquire it from hunting infected rats. It has long been known that humans can become infected with the parasite through close contact with cats."
In other words, fe-lyings are the ultimate weapons of mass destruction.** No wonder the Islamofascists love 'em and hate dogs.
*The TimesOnline story about this risk is no longer available.
**Dr. Maimes Dobson of Focus on the Feline offers a possible solution.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 3:36 PM
0 comments
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Why Wal Mart Doesn't Have Revolvin' Doors
Can't say I have a lot of experience with revolvin' doors. AHM took me with her through one when I was a pup, but all I remember is a narrow movin' box of glass goin' 'round in circles and whackin' me on the butt every few steps. I whizzed on her shoes when I got my equalibrium back and I haven't seen another one since.
Somethin' the Optimistic Patriot of New England Republican wrote a while ago reminded me of those narrow doors and a recent shoppin' excursion with AHM.
Usually AHM does her shoppin' on the way home from work, but sometimes she runs out on the weekend and takes one of us with her. Only one of us at a time, mind you, ever since that unfortunate incident when Uncle Toot and me had a slight disagreement 'bout who should be occupyin' the front seat and managed to drive the car into a tree.
It's always interestin' shoppin' with AHM. Not that I get to go into the stores, of course, 'cept the pet store. But she's real efficient so none of us ever have to wait in the car very long, and we always get to tour the exterior facilities before we move on to the next stop. That's when we get a real dog's eye view of what AHM calls Wal Mart Mamas. You know exactly what I'm talkin' about, right? Now imagine seein' it from my perspective, lookin' up. I'm no fashion expert, but I'm pretty sure lycra was never meant to stretch that far.
A few shoppin' trips ago I was nappin' in the front seat of the Bug, waitin', when there arose quite a ruckus from the Giant Economy Size SUV next door. Gettin' my ole' bones up to check it out, I saw a Wal Mart Mama and two of her self-bastin' Butterball Babies. WMM had the rear hatch wide open and the BBs were rootin' through the bags, squabblin' and squawkin' at one another. Naturally I took the opportunity to check out WMM's haul. Bags full of potato chips, Doritos, Fritos, gallons of ice cream, boxes of cookies and snack cakes, frozen pizzas, sacks of potatoes, and who knows what else were piled high.
Then AHM stalked out of the store. I almost didn't see her behind the collective tonnage which, I swear, was more than the total weight of our little Bug. She was mutterin' to herself. Never a good sign.
AHM could only get the passenger door about halfway open 'cause the Butterball Babies had left the SUV doors open while they inventoried their haul. I hopped out and AHM hooked my leash over the window handle so I could take care of business while she wrestled the groceries into the back seat. I figured I'd go for a free handout from next door where the BBs were systematically demolishin' a regular sized bag of Fritos each.
Ya' woulda' thought I was the Slaverin' Pit Bull From Hell the way those brats screamed when I put one paw on the runnin' board, so I beat a hasty retreat about two seconds before I lost a toe. At least they closed the door givin' AHM some room. I whizzed on their tires just for spite.
After she had finished loadin' our paltry few bags, AHM hesitated, then turned and looked WMM straight in the eye. And smiled. I jumped back into the car 'cause I recognized that smile.
AHM to Wal Mart Mama: You're welcome.
Wal Mart Mama: (pausin' to wrestle her tatty gray sweatshirt back down over a gut the size of the Times Square New Year's Ball) Wha…?
AHM: (with a bigger smile—always a bad sign) I said "You're welcome."
WMM: (frownin'—not a good look for her when those shaggy black eyebrows met in the middle) For what?
AHM: My taxes.
WMM: Huh? (unplucked black eyebrows now rose to meet the fringe of peroxide straw hair sweat-glued to her pasty forehead)
AHM: My taxes paid for your food stamps.
WMM: (defiantly shufflin' around in her terrycloth carpet slippers to grab another plastic bag) Nuh-uh.
AHM: Uh-huh.
WMM: (glarin' at AHM while holdin' a baseball bat sized summer sausage in one hand and bag of Idaho potatoes in the other) So?
Considerin' the array of weapons confrontin' her, I thought it was high time we retreated before WMM put a coupla' dents in the ole' Beetle—or us. AHM didn't say anything else. She just gave WMM The Look. Considerin' The Look can intimidate our whole pack plus an entire class of fifth grade boys, believe me when I say you do not wanna' be on the receivin' end. The Look traveled from WMM to the two Butterball Babies (who had finished off the Fritos and were startin' on the Utz Potato Chips) and back.
For a few seconds there was a stand-off and I positioned myself and my teeth to play center field. I was ready, willin', and able to go for that summer sausage if it got within range.
Suddenly WMM started slingin' bags of groceries into her SUV like a shot putter goin' for the Olympic record. AHM just managed to jump aside and close our car door before WMM thundered toward the driver's side of hers. You could almost hear the drum effects accompanyin' the rear view of those twin mountains of burnt orange lycra—ka-boom, ka-boom, ka-boom. When she levered herself into the driver's seat, the entire SUV groaned, sagged, and canted to the left.
AHM got in the car and looked at me. "See why Wal Mart doesn't have revolving doors?"
There aren't enough Jaws of Life in the universe to meet the demand.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 2:15 PM
0 comments
Somethin' the Optimistic Patriot of New England Republican wrote a while ago reminded me of those narrow doors and a recent shoppin' excursion with AHM.
"The implication is clear. The poorest members of society cannot afford nutritious meals."
Usually AHM does her shoppin' on the way home from work, but sometimes she runs out on the weekend and takes one of us with her. Only one of us at a time, mind you, ever since that unfortunate incident when Uncle Toot and me had a slight disagreement 'bout who should be occupyin' the front seat and managed to drive the car into a tree.
It's always interestin' shoppin' with AHM. Not that I get to go into the stores, of course, 'cept the pet store. But she's real efficient so none of us ever have to wait in the car very long, and we always get to tour the exterior facilities before we move on to the next stop. That's when we get a real dog's eye view of what AHM calls Wal Mart Mamas. You know exactly what I'm talkin' about, right? Now imagine seein' it from my perspective, lookin' up. I'm no fashion expert, but I'm pretty sure lycra was never meant to stretch that far.
A few shoppin' trips ago I was nappin' in the front seat of the Bug, waitin', when there arose quite a ruckus from the Giant Economy Size SUV next door. Gettin' my ole' bones up to check it out, I saw a Wal Mart Mama and two of her self-bastin' Butterball Babies. WMM had the rear hatch wide open and the BBs were rootin' through the bags, squabblin' and squawkin' at one another. Naturally I took the opportunity to check out WMM's haul. Bags full of potato chips, Doritos, Fritos, gallons of ice cream, boxes of cookies and snack cakes, frozen pizzas, sacks of potatoes, and who knows what else were piled high.
Then AHM stalked out of the store. I almost didn't see her behind the collective tonnage which, I swear, was more than the total weight of our little Bug. She was mutterin' to herself. Never a good sign.
AHM could only get the passenger door about halfway open 'cause the Butterball Babies had left the SUV doors open while they inventoried their haul. I hopped out and AHM hooked my leash over the window handle so I could take care of business while she wrestled the groceries into the back seat. I figured I'd go for a free handout from next door where the BBs were systematically demolishin' a regular sized bag of Fritos each.
Ya' woulda' thought I was the Slaverin' Pit Bull From Hell the way those brats screamed when I put one paw on the runnin' board, so I beat a hasty retreat about two seconds before I lost a toe. At least they closed the door givin' AHM some room. I whizzed on their tires just for spite.
After she had finished loadin' our paltry few bags, AHM hesitated, then turned and looked WMM straight in the eye. And smiled. I jumped back into the car 'cause I recognized that smile.
AHM to Wal Mart Mama: You're welcome.
Wal Mart Mama: (pausin' to wrestle her tatty gray sweatshirt back down over a gut the size of the Times Square New Year's Ball) Wha…?
AHM: (with a bigger smile—always a bad sign) I said "You're welcome."
WMM: (frownin'—not a good look for her when those shaggy black eyebrows met in the middle) For what?
AHM: My taxes.
WMM: Huh? (unplucked black eyebrows now rose to meet the fringe of peroxide straw hair sweat-glued to her pasty forehead)
AHM: My taxes paid for your food stamps.
WMM: (defiantly shufflin' around in her terrycloth carpet slippers to grab another plastic bag) Nuh-uh.
AHM: Uh-huh.
WMM: (glarin' at AHM while holdin' a baseball bat sized summer sausage in one hand and bag of Idaho potatoes in the other) So?
Considerin' the array of weapons confrontin' her, I thought it was high time we retreated before WMM put a coupla' dents in the ole' Beetle—or us. AHM didn't say anything else. She just gave WMM The Look. Considerin' The Look can intimidate our whole pack plus an entire class of fifth grade boys, believe me when I say you do not wanna' be on the receivin' end. The Look traveled from WMM to the two Butterball Babies (who had finished off the Fritos and were startin' on the Utz Potato Chips) and back.
For a few seconds there was a stand-off and I positioned myself and my teeth to play center field. I was ready, willin', and able to go for that summer sausage if it got within range.
Suddenly WMM started slingin' bags of groceries into her SUV like a shot putter goin' for the Olympic record. AHM just managed to jump aside and close our car door before WMM thundered toward the driver's side of hers. You could almost hear the drum effects accompanyin' the rear view of those twin mountains of burnt orange lycra—ka-boom, ka-boom, ka-boom. When she levered herself into the driver's seat, the entire SUV groaned, sagged, and canted to the left.
AHM got in the car and looked at me. "See why Wal Mart doesn't have revolving doors?"
There aren't enough Jaws of Life in the universe to meet the demand.
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posted by Harrison at 2:15 PM
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Thursday, March 23, 2006
Kibbles 'n Bits®
Ostara's Hare gets a buzz cut.
Broken, bunnies cry "I wish I could quit you."
Katipo dangerous to Aussie Whangarei's UreTiti beachgoers.
Alfred Hitchkock lives!—where else—in Florida.
You have to brace yourself for the picture.
FARK will love this.
Sounds like they've been studyin' Demo-cats instead.
How times have changed.
Shoulda' called my Dad.
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posted by Harrison at 8:26 PM
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"The Easter Bunny has been sent packing at St. Paul City Hall. A toy rabbit, pastel-colored eggs and a sign with the words "Happy Easter" were removed from the lobby of the City Council offices, because of concerns they might offend non-Christians."
Broken, bunnies cry "I wish I could quit you."
Katipo dangerous to Aussie Whangarei's UreTiti beachgoers.
Nude sunbathers could be risking a bit more than sunburn on Whangarei's Uretiti Beach. According to katipo spider specialist James Griffiths the nudist beach is crawling with the poisonous spiders."
Alfred Hitchkock lives!—where else—in Florida.
"Signs warning of bird droppings were posted along a stretch in downtown Orlando this week after cars, benches, sidewalks, plants and even people are hit and covered by the white bird waste…
"The problem began when city workers removed cypress trees on "bird island" at Lake Eola in Orlando. The trees had to be removed because the bird droppings were polluting the water, according to the report. Now, the birds have moved into the city and are covering anything and anyone between Lake Eola and Central Avenue with droppings. "You have to brace yourself for the smell," downtown resident James Taylor said. "It is a really bad stench. It is disgusting, absolutely disgusting."
You have to brace yourself for the picture.
FARK will love this.
"Executive" Monkeys Influenced by Other Executives, Not Subordinates. When high-ranking monkeys are shown images of other monkeys glancing one way or the other, they more readily follow the gaze of other high-ranking monkeys, Duke University Medical Center neurobiologists have discovered."
Sounds like they've been studyin' Demo-cats instead.
How times have changed.
"Xena went out on a limb Friday. And stayed there until Tuesday, when the 10-month-old tabby…was rescued… On Tuesday, [owner Natalie] Collins called police, who told her they're not in the ladder business. She called the fire department, which told her to set out a can of tuna. "We don't do cat rescues," said Karen Eubanks, Tualatin Valley [OR] Fire & Rescue spokeswoman. Operating a ladder truck costs $400 an hour, too much to save a kitty."
Shoulda' called my Dad.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 8:26 PM
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Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Doggerel
UPDATE: The Yorkies led us to this guy (ya' know how we canines like to hunt in packs!) and we were up into the wee hours readin'. Well, we did waste a lot of time pickin' ourselves off the floor after laughin' so much. As Meryl Yourish likes to warn, do not be eatin' or drinkin' anything while ya' read.
Yoiks!
Yo Quiero…Hic
The meowin' was probably their first clue.
There's somethin' about this story that doesn't sound quite right—like they haven't considered all the angles…
It's a Bird, It's a Plane… It's Screaming Eagle Zeko.
East side, west side, all around the town.
Girls just wanna' have fun.
Legally blind musher finishes Iditarod, after crashin' into a tree or two and veerin' off the trail onto the Bering Sea.
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posted by Harrison at 1:47 PM
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Yoiks!
Yo Quiero…Hic
" A woman is facing drunk driving and child endangerment charges after police said both she and her pet Chihuahua arrived intoxicated at the woman's son's elementary school on Monday…
"Island Lake police arrested Marcotte at approximately 3:40 p.m. on Monday after she drove her vehicle across a sidewalk in front of Cotton Creek Elementary School. Marcotte told police that she had been driving erratically because the dog was having a seizure. Jerry Rivard, the agency's manager, said when workers first saw the dog, it was completely impaired and displayed erratic behavior."
The meowin' was probably their first clue.
There's somethin' about this story that doesn't sound quite right—like they haven't considered all the angles…
"Dogs trained in house fire rescue. A team of three specially chosen rescue dogs have been signed up by the fire service to help save vulnerable and disabled people from house fires.
"Holly, Dudley and Little Ern have been trained to shut their owner in a room if they smell smoke or hear alarms."
It's a Bird, It's a Plane… It's Screaming Eagle Zeko.
East side, west side, all around the town.
"Almost a month after a champion whippet named Vivi escaped from her crate at Kennedy Airport after competing in the Westminster Kennel Club show, a pet detective said she believes the elusive California show dog has been trotting around the borough. "She's really doing New York," said Karin Goin, of Depew, Okla., who searched the airport area Friday and yesterday. "This is the toughest breed to catch, and she's traveling."
Girls just wanna' have fun.
Legally blind musher finishes Iditarod, after crashin' into a tree or two and veerin' off the trail onto the Bering Sea.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 1:47 PM
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Sunday, March 19, 2006
If This Is The Pope…
…just call me Martin Luther.
Now where did I put that hammer 'n nails…
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:44 AM
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Now where did I put that hammer 'n nails…
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posted by Harrison at 11:44 AM
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Saturday, March 18, 2006
Scratchin' the Itch
Everyone out there seems to be talkin' about Big Love. I figured it was a how-to for sex with fatties, but AHM says it's an HBO series 'bout polygamy and they're all skinny. Considerin' 1) we don't have HBO and 2) canine eyes aren't built for watchin' TV, guess I won't be seein' that show anytime soon.
Still, polygamy is somethin' I know about, havin' had lots of…ummm…companions, shall we say, over the course of my short life. Fortunately most of 'em took the kids and went home to mom so I wasn't stuck supportin' 'em. Then again…I'm a dog!
AHM and me were gonna' write a big post about it, then decided to ditch all the philosophy stuff and get right down to brass balls. Polygamy is a power trip for men.
See, when we got an itch, we wanna' scratch it NOW and do it every which way from Sunday. Yeah, ya' can pretend it's not by sayin' "I love all my wives," but I'm bettin' it's more about "I lust" than "I love." Polygamy deep sixes the need to do anythin' creative or be responsive or actually work on a single relationship. If ya' get bored—add another wife. Sure as hell saves on divorce lawyers, alimony, and child support payments. Besides, it gives men variety, convenience, and availability—without makin' 'em move to Nevada.
You can try puttin' a cozy family spin on the idea, but, c'mon guys, we all know that's a crock. More importantly, if polygamy's legalized, taxpayers will eventually end up footin' the bill and bein' treated to stories like this.
Yeah. They're obviously waaaaay behind on their spayin' and neuterin' program.
Talk about a guy who needs to have his Itch permanently Scratched Out…
Which, of course, explains why mistress Lisa is now preggers with his 15th child!
No, I don't think so. But it does make ya' wonder…
I suggest a deal. Mick lets someone nick his jewels and his family will get a bigger house.
"Polygamy: An endeavour to get more out of life than there is in it." ~ Elbert Hubbard
Or out of the government.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 9:44 PM
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Still, polygamy is somethin' I know about, havin' had lots of…ummm…companions, shall we say, over the course of my short life. Fortunately most of 'em took the kids and went home to mom so I wasn't stuck supportin' 'em. Then again…I'm a dog!
AHM and me were gonna' write a big post about it, then decided to ditch all the philosophy stuff and get right down to brass balls. Polygamy is a power trip for men.
See, when we got an itch, we wanna' scratch it NOW and do it every which way from Sunday. Yeah, ya' can pretend it's not by sayin' "I love all my wives," but I'm bettin' it's more about "I lust" than "I love." Polygamy deep sixes the need to do anythin' creative or be responsive or actually work on a single relationship. If ya' get bored—add another wife. Sure as hell saves on divorce lawyers, alimony, and child support payments. Besides, it gives men variety, convenience, and availability—without makin' 'em move to Nevada.
You can try puttin' a cozy family spin on the idea, but, c'mon guys, we all know that's a crock. More importantly, if polygamy's legalized, taxpayers will eventually end up footin' the bill and bein' treated to stories like this.
"Grasping dad Mick Philpott yesterday demanded a bigger council house for him, his 14 kids, his wife — and his mistress. And when he was turned down, he had the nerve to blame the state of the nation. The jobless 49-year-old moaned: “I used to love my country but I’m just sick of it now. I’m really ashamed of what’s happening. Britain is going down the pan.”
Yeah. They're obviously waaaaay behind on their spayin' and neuterin' program.
"Philpott lives in a three-bedroom semi in Derby with wife Mairead, 25, his lover Lisa Willis, 22, and eight of the children. But he insists he needs more space as he has to sleep in a tent when his SIX other kids from THREE previous girlfriends come to visit. Philpott, whose children’s ages range from five months to 19 years old, said: “It’s very cramped already…"
Talk about a guy who needs to have his Itch permanently Scratched Out…
“But when everyone is here there is nowhere to sit."
Which, of course, explains why mistress Lisa is now preggers with his 15th child!
"I end up sleeping in a tent in the garden [with the dog] and that’s not on.” Pet labrador Goldie is yet another occupant of the house. In keeping with the family way, she is pregnant…"
No, I don't think so. But it does make ya' wonder…
"Derby City Council told him they simply do not have a bigger house on their books. But Philpott insisted: “We obviously need a new place but the council won’t give us one. They come up with the same excuses and they’re just not good enough.”
I suggest a deal. Mick lets someone nick his jewels and his family will get a bigger house.
"Polygamy: An endeavour to get more out of life than there is in it." ~ Elbert Hubbard
Or out of the government.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 9:44 PM
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Friday, March 17, 2006
Erin go Bragh
Only the Shamrocks of Ireland
but Oh! the tale they tell
of friendship still remembered
though far apart we dwell.
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posted by Harrison at 2:44 AM
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Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Mushin' to a Photo Finish
UPDATE: To all you young whippersnappers out there—brwaaaappzth! Jeff King won the race last night by three hours. 50-year-old Jeff King has won the Iditarod four times. (No word on the age of his dogs.)
Or as close to a photo finish as the Iditarod can be, accordin' to the official site.
Jeff King runs on the Yukon River amongst fresh snow drifts.
Photo © Jeff Schultz/AlaskaStock.com
Wow.
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posted by Harrison at 11:56 AM
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Or as close to a photo finish as the Iditarod can be, accordin' to the official site.
"If you like drama, and you like close finishes, take a look at the Iditarod trail Sled Dog Race leader board. Right now the top three making their way up the Gold Coast toward Nome are separated by a hand full of hours. The race is definitely on! Jeff King seems to be maintaining his lead over Doug Swingley, and between the three, Dee Dee Jonrowe had the fastest time from Unalakleet to Shaktoolik. Dee Dee gained precious time in her hunt for her very first Iditarod Championship.
Jeff King runs on the Yukon River amongst fresh snow drifts.
Photo © Jeff Schultz/AlaskaStock.com
Wow.
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posted by Harrison at 11:56 AM
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Monday, March 13, 2006
So Ya' Wanna' Be A Crunchy Con
AHM kept readin' that expression and I always figured Crunchy Con was some expensive dog food she was too cheap to buy for us. Ya' know how they're always comin' out with the latest scientifically formulated concoction guaranteed to make us canines happy and fit when all we really need is a hunk of meat to gnaw on and a herd of fe-lyings to chase.
Well this weekend I discovered I was wrong. Crunchy Cons are actually a bunch of the elite intelligentsia who suffer from Redneck envy. They dream of pursuin' the agrarian lifestyle without givin' up their wifi, TiVo, or BMWs—or actually watchin' NASCAR. I imagine there's even a bunch of 'em in communes gatherin' to meditate upon the organic mantras of Maharishi Rod Mahesh Yogi Dreher. He, on the other paw, is jettin' about the land sellin' his book on the simple life of Crunchy Conservatism while postin' to NRO's The Corner from his Blackberry.
He-lloooo? He can create his own food in his kitchen? If that's so, there are a whole bunch of clonin' scientists who'd like that secret recipe. (Ya'd think an editor/columnist of a big Dallas newspaper could have phrased that better. Must be left over from bein' a movie critic at the New York Post.)
"Just for fun" is supposed to be shallow. It's the definition of shallow. Bringin' people together "…to actually talk and…share…" is either an encounter group or a revival meetin', dependin' upon your regional orientation.
'Course if they were real "Crunchy Cons" they wouldn't have time to be thinkin' in a think tank or pontificatin' in a paper 'cause they'd be out plowin' the fields and hoein' the corn. And their sharin' of important aspects of their lives would be a barn raisin', with the men sweatin' over a hammer and nails and women sweatin' over ye old wood-burnin' cook stove.
Ya' wanna' be a real Crunchy Con? Move your family to an Amish community for a year and live the life you want for the rest of us.
What? No? I didn't think so.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:20 AM
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Well this weekend I discovered I was wrong. Crunchy Cons are actually a bunch of the elite intelligentsia who suffer from Redneck envy. They dream of pursuin' the agrarian lifestyle without givin' up their wifi, TiVo, or BMWs—or actually watchin' NASCAR. I imagine there's even a bunch of 'em in communes gatherin' to meditate upon the organic mantras of Maharishi Rod Mahesh Yogi Dreher. He, on the other paw, is jettin' about the land sellin' his book on the simple life of Crunchy Conservatism while postin' to NRO's The Corner from his Blackberry.
"Rod Dreher: "In this chapter, I write about how Julie and I learned how to cook at home when we got married, and how discovering the joy of creating good food in our own kitchen, especially to serve to friends, taught us a lot about the good life."
He-lloooo? He can create his own food in his kitchen? If that's so, there are a whole bunch of clonin' scientists who'd like that secret recipe. (Ya'd think an editor/columnist of a big Dallas newspaper could have phrased that better. Must be left over from bein' a movie critic at the New York Post.)
"Bruce Frohnen: "But an awful lot of leisure activities ("just for fun") can be, well, shallow." " More important are activities that bring people together to actually talk and, as much as possible, share important aspects of their lives."
"Just for fun" is supposed to be shallow. It's the definition of shallow. Bringin' people together "…to actually talk and…share…" is either an encounter group or a revival meetin', dependin' upon your regional orientation.
'Course if they were real "Crunchy Cons" they wouldn't have time to be thinkin' in a think tank or pontificatin' in a paper 'cause they'd be out plowin' the fields and hoein' the corn. And their sharin' of important aspects of their lives would be a barn raisin', with the men sweatin' over a hammer and nails and women sweatin' over ye old wood-burnin' cook stove.
Ya' wanna' be a real Crunchy Con? Move your family to an Amish community for a year and live the life you want for the rest of us.
What? No? I didn't think so.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:20 AM
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Sunday, March 12, 2006
P.T. Barnum Meets Little Boy Blue
"Little Boy Blue come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow the cow's in the corn.
But where's the boy who looks after the sheep?
He's under a haystack fast asleep.
Will you wake him? No, not I—for if I do, he's sure to cry."
Substitue "…under a desk fast asleep…" and it sounds like those Henry VIII-era verseifiers are describing today's school kids. (Rumor has it that bit of poetry was referrin' to Cardinal Woosley of Hampton Court, who, until he got too big for his woolen britches, had the power of life and death over the peasants.)
Anyway, the Dallas Observer has some good news and some bad news for you human parents.
The good news—your kid isn't a lazy, spoiled brat. He/she (or possibly "it") is an indigo child; a more highly evolved being; an example of "the most exciting, albeit odd change in basic human nature that has ever been observed and documented."
"Eventually indigos will redeem the world, making it a tropical Eden free of trash, war, and processed foods."
In that order?
The bad news—many currently "identified" indigos are killers, psychos, or homeless.
"Born with a feeling of royalty, indigos will not respond to authority or any form of discipline based in guilt, fear or manipulation. Most cannot function in traditional school systems, not because they have ADD but because they are smarter than their teachers."
Oh, yeah. Like teachers don't already have enough problems with the "my-little-Johnny-can-do-no-wrong" syndrome. Now they're gonna' have to listen to parents tellin' 'em "my little Johnny is the supernatually gifted savior of the world."
But if ya' eat the right foods like "…organic fruits and vegetables, [you will] be filled with energy and light," and beat that pesky psychotic-homeless-killer thingy—'specially if ya' finish it all off with "…a live essence food called super blue-green algae." Sounds like something ya' find floatin' in mud puddles after a rainstorm.
"The indigo theory began with a San Diego parapsychologist in the 1970s."
Well, d'uh. Any indigo could have seen that one comin'. I know I did.
The article focuses on the divorced father of two—a massage therapist cum actor cum dressmaker currently workin' at a salon run by a gyspy—who obviously hasn't got a clue about raisin' kids. No doubt he's buyin' into the con as a cover story for his own incompetence. (While readin' about him, I started wonderin' how he managed to have kids in the first place, 'cause he sure doesn't have any balls to speak of.)
'Course the article has to take an obligatory swipe at Christians bein' just as crazy as people who "…believe in pink force fields and blue halos…"
"[A] large chunk of Dallas--make that America--believes that a 33-year-old carpenter died, went to heaven and returned three days later a resurrected being."
And since there seems to be somethin' in the water in Texas, you know the people pullin' off this fraud would invoke the Dan Rather Fake But Accurate Defense.
"Both Virtue and Twyman have acknowledged that there is no hard science to prove their theory, but that doesn't mean it isn't true, they say."
By the end, the useless excuse for a parent has not only been hooked, he's been netted, landed, and filleted.
"[Jaired] Conrad said Dusk had more or less read his mind the other day… His younger brother, Day, was exhibiting signs that he might be a rainbow child, which is the next stage of evolution after indigos… Dusk was still struggling in school and had demanded to be taken out and put into another school...
He names his freakin' kids "Dusk" and "Day" and wonders why they're havin' problems at school? On the other paw, I suppose we should be glad he didn't name 'em "Beavis and Butthead."
"I don't really see myself as a parent anymore," Conrad said. "I'm more of a guide, a facilitator." It seemed like a strange thing to say, but what other choice did Conrad have? His boys were smarter than he was and more highly evolved."
Hell, my kids are more highly evolved than you are.
Geeze. Get a grip, buddy—preferably on a paddle connected to some bratty boy bottoms.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:27 AM
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Saturday, March 11, 2006
Big Dog, Little Dog, Alligator, Punk;
Hedgehog, Sea Frog, Opera, and Junk
After all the work I put into that headline you expect an actual post?
Oh, all right…
Now here's somethin' I never would have thought of, and if I did, it would be more along the lines of registerin' their death certificates.
Just to keep my readers keep up to date on all things natural, I give you the aquatic scrotum, not to mention the scintillatin' sounds of a hippocampus erectus. Yeah, I didn't know it sounded like anythin' either.
This show opened off-off-off-off-off-off-Broadway—and hopefully stayed there.
And speakin' of extinction… Here's the latest news of global warmin'.
Didn't think I could get 'em all in, d'ya!
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 8:30 PM
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Oh, all right…
"[I]ndianapolis detectives this week encountered [an alligator]…while serving a search warrant… They also came upon a brindle mastiff…and his buddy, a Shih Tzu… Their owner…is in custody…on charges of possession of a controlled substance, possession of marijuana and resisting law enforcement… The…alligator is estimated to be about 2 years old, but its gender has not been determined. "It's hard to tell," [Leslie Fatum, administrator of Indianapolis Animal Care and Control] said… "You have to get a little personal.'' The grayish-brown reptile [seems] healthy, she said. "It's pretty active. It kind of jumps at you when you get near it.''
Now here's somethin' I never would have thought of, and if I did, it would be more along the lines of registerin' their death certificates.
Just to keep my readers keep up to date on all things natural, I give you the aquatic scrotum, not to mention the scintillatin' sounds of a hippocampus erectus. Yeah, I didn't know it sounded like anythin' either.
This show opened off-off-off-off-off-off-Broadway—and hopefully stayed there.
"Abrahams, Marc and Don Kater. "Lament del Cockroach"—the Libretto: A mini-opera for Nobel Laureates and mezzo-sopranos. Sanders Theatre, Harvard University, October 3, 1996 on the occasion of the Sixth First Annual Ig Nobel Prize Ceremony. The complete libretto is available on-line…
"Set in the future when most species have disappeared, the plot focuses on Thelma LaRoach and her friend Louise. Beset by the advances of males of other insect species, these female cockroaches yearn for a male of their own species. A meteorite from Mars carrying bacteria deadly to cockroaches (accompanied by music adapted from Wagner) intervenes, killing these last two cockroaches. The other species, immune, join with the plants—all that now remains on earth (except the bacteria!)—to celebrate (with music from Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus") the extinction of the cockroach."
And speakin' of extinction… Here's the latest news of global warmin'.
Didn't think I could get 'em all in, d'ya!
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 8:30 PM
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Thursday, March 09, 2006
The Great Race
…is goin' on right now. 1,100 miles across Alaska, from Anchorage to Nome commemoratin' this event.
You can follow the progress at the official site. As of yesterday, the leader was headed out of Cripple while most of those behind him were just comin' in.
Look at that map and imagine youself, a sled, fifteen dogs, and a thousand miles of frozen, unforgivin' landscape.
If I were only a little bigger—and younger…
[Who are you kiddin', bucko? You wait until I sweep the steps before you'll go out after a snow flurry!—AHM]
Okay, okay. But I sure do salute those special dogs who love to run.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:17 PM
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You can follow the progress at the official site. As of yesterday, the leader was headed out of Cripple while most of those behind him were just comin' in.
Look at that map and imagine youself, a sled, fifteen dogs, and a thousand miles of frozen, unforgivin' landscape.
If I were only a little bigger—and younger…
[Who are you kiddin', bucko? You wait until I sweep the steps before you'll go out after a snow flurry!—AHM]
Okay, okay. But I sure do salute those special dogs who love to run.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:17 PM
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Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Givin' the Vampire Heartburn
Now I'm not sayin' Silly Human Female is a vampire, but she is livin' off the kindness of taxpayers, claimin' a back injury keeps her from workin' at anythin' other than takin' vacations and havin' fun. Probably just as well 'cause most times she's dumb as dirt—at least when it comes to animals. This article reminded the oldsters of one of her more spectacular adventures, a story handed down from pup to pup beginnin' with my great-great grand dam.
Ah, yes. There's just somethin' about fe-lyings and fire departments that warms the heart and brings to mind the tale of Silly Human Female and the Firemen.
As it was told to me, back in the long-ago days of my great-great-granddam's puppyhood, AHM actually had a fe-lyin'. It was a rescue cat, scared of most everythin', and spent all its time indoors living high in the bookcase. Guess everyone got along 'cause I've never heard any stories to the contrary. Either that or the fe-lyin' wasn't around long enough to start botherin' great-great-Grand Dam Bitch—thanks to Silly Human Female.
Durin' that time there came a day AHM had to go away overnight—leavin' early one mornin' and comin' back the next evenin'. Since SHF either had some time off or was between jobs, she said she'd take care of granddam and the cat so they wouldn't have to go sit in a kennel at the vet's.
So along comes SHF the first afternoon, openin' the door for Granddam to go onto the porch and play. She cleaned up a bit, then picked up the cat for a bit of a cuddle. It was at that point disaster struck. SHF started thinkin'—or not, as the case may be. (Whenever SHF did somethin' really, really stupid, her excuse always started with the words "I didn't think…" which pretty much summed up the whole problem.)
Continued in Read the Rest!
What happened next is still in dispute, but SHF claims she thought (?) the cat would like a bit of fresh air and sunshine—and put it outside on the porch. 'Course great-great-Grand Dam thought it was playtime and immediately frolicked over. The cat took off like, well, a scalded cat, clearin' the porch railin' and scalin' the nearest—tallest—tree.
And there it sat. No amount of coaxin' or wheedlin' was gonna' get that fe-lyin' outta' that tree. After a frantic hour of tryin', SHF had a brainstorm. She called the fire department and asked (accordin' to the story) "Do you really get cats out of trees or is that just part of your PR campaign?"
They really got cats out of trees.
Now AHM lived in a small, quiet community at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac bordered with lots of grass and trees. After makin' the call, SHF went back to beggin' the cat to come down. No luck. Granddam was penned in on the porch with a panoramic view of the whole scene and always claimed that fe-lyin' actually stuck its tongue out at SHF.
It must have been a slow day at the firehouse. From a distance came the sound of one fire siren. Then came the sound of two fire sirens—and a third. Then a police siren. Then screechin' tires. They got closer and closer until a whole host of flashin' lights careened up the hill toward AHM's house. The neighbors poured out of nearby homes. Kids raced to the scene on their bikes.
With a squeal of tires and a couple of final whoop, whoop's, two ladder trucks, a police cruiser, and the fire chief's car all landed at the end of AHM's front walk. A dozen firemen in full gear—from helmet to gloves to boots—leaped from the trucks and charged across the lawn toward SHF.
"You the lady who called about the cat?" the leader yelled.
With no more noisy sirens to drown him out, the question echoed all around the cul-de-sac, which by now was pretty crowded. First came one snicker. Second was a laugh. Soon the whole crowd was laughin' and cheerin' and urgin' the firemen on. SHF's jaw had locked into permanent gape so she could only point upward to where the cat was perched in a crook of tree limbs.
A squad of men trotted off and came back with an extension ladder. The policemen were handlin' crowd control and the fire chief was probably collectin' donations for the Volunteer Fire Department Welfare Fund.
By now the whole circus had moved to within ten yards of the tree with everyone pointin' and commentin' and makin' suggestions. Not a scene to encourage a scaredy cat to come down and join the fun.
Up went the extension ladder. Up went the fe-lyin'. The extension ladder extended. The cat extended to the highest branch that could bear its weight. The ladder was too short. After some discussion, the tallest fireman started up the ladder.
The crowd held their breath.
Closer, closer, closer… He reached out… The cat backed away and nearly fell. The fireman reached again. The branch sagged under the cat's weight.
Success!
"Ahhhhhhhhh…" The crowd released their breath, generatin' enough hot air to float a balloon.
There are professionals out there who study crowd dynamics and why large groups of people do stupid things they normally would not do alone. Guess they haven't figured it out since Kennedy and Kerry still keep getting' elected. The crowd that day apparently had similar mental abilities.
They watched silently as the fireman worked his way back down rung by careful rung, a squirmin', screechin' fe-lyin' clutched under his arm. Then, when he was no more than six feet from the bottom—the finish line in sight—there occurred the sort of mass brain freeze usually only seen among Demo-cat voters.
Every single onlooker let loose with a roar of approval.
The fe-lyin' freaked, twisted, and got its claws on the one uncovered part of the fireman's person: his face. Fireman promptly fell the rest of the way down, droppin' the cat.
When last seen, that fe-lyin' was doin' 75 mph in a school zone, headin' for the hills.*
*It should be noted AHM heard the full story from the next door neighbor, SHF havin' only related an edited version. For great-great-Grand Dam Bitch, however, it was a tale for the ages, passed along from muzzle to muzzle among the pack.
Oh, yeah. The cat was never seen again.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 8:40 PM
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"[A]round 8:15 a.m.,…police received a call of a cat stuck in a drain… When police, fire and department of public works crews arrived, all they saw was a tiny black head sticking out above the grate. "The cat was just hanging under there," said Lt. Guercia. Crews blocked off the area and immediately set to work trying to free the young female. They didn't get far…
"When prybars, backhoes, liquid soap and coaxing all failed, rescuers opted for Plan B: Bring the cat, grate and all, to a veterinarian. They…lifted the whole mess up in one piece. [Then] they transported the cat and its heavy new collar to [a nearby vet]… "It was a pretty interesting scene," [Dr. Condon] said. "Its head was just peeking over the top." [He] sedated the cat, lubricated its neck and head, shaved its neck, and commenced tugging and turning. After a bit of coaxing, the cat finally slipped free. "If it was able to get its head in there, it had to be able to get it out of there."
Ah, yes. There's just somethin' about fe-lyings and fire departments that warms the heart and brings to mind the tale of Silly Human Female and the Firemen.
As it was told to me, back in the long-ago days of my great-great-granddam's puppyhood, AHM actually had a fe-lyin'. It was a rescue cat, scared of most everythin', and spent all its time indoors living high in the bookcase. Guess everyone got along 'cause I've never heard any stories to the contrary. Either that or the fe-lyin' wasn't around long enough to start botherin' great-great-Grand Dam Bitch—thanks to Silly Human Female.
Durin' that time there came a day AHM had to go away overnight—leavin' early one mornin' and comin' back the next evenin'. Since SHF either had some time off or was between jobs, she said she'd take care of granddam and the cat so they wouldn't have to go sit in a kennel at the vet's.
So along comes SHF the first afternoon, openin' the door for Granddam to go onto the porch and play. She cleaned up a bit, then picked up the cat for a bit of a cuddle. It was at that point disaster struck. SHF started thinkin'—or not, as the case may be. (Whenever SHF did somethin' really, really stupid, her excuse always started with the words "I didn't think…" which pretty much summed up the whole problem.)
Continued in Read the Rest!
What happened next is still in dispute, but SHF claims she thought (?) the cat would like a bit of fresh air and sunshine—and put it outside on the porch. 'Course great-great-Grand Dam thought it was playtime and immediately frolicked over. The cat took off like, well, a scalded cat, clearin' the porch railin' and scalin' the nearest—tallest—tree.
And there it sat. No amount of coaxin' or wheedlin' was gonna' get that fe-lyin' outta' that tree. After a frantic hour of tryin', SHF had a brainstorm. She called the fire department and asked (accordin' to the story) "Do you really get cats out of trees or is that just part of your PR campaign?"
They really got cats out of trees.
Now AHM lived in a small, quiet community at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac bordered with lots of grass and trees. After makin' the call, SHF went back to beggin' the cat to come down. No luck. Granddam was penned in on the porch with a panoramic view of the whole scene and always claimed that fe-lyin' actually stuck its tongue out at SHF.
It must have been a slow day at the firehouse. From a distance came the sound of one fire siren. Then came the sound of two fire sirens—and a third. Then a police siren. Then screechin' tires. They got closer and closer until a whole host of flashin' lights careened up the hill toward AHM's house. The neighbors poured out of nearby homes. Kids raced to the scene on their bikes.
With a squeal of tires and a couple of final whoop, whoop's, two ladder trucks, a police cruiser, and the fire chief's car all landed at the end of AHM's front walk. A dozen firemen in full gear—from helmet to gloves to boots—leaped from the trucks and charged across the lawn toward SHF.
"You the lady who called about the cat?" the leader yelled.
With no more noisy sirens to drown him out, the question echoed all around the cul-de-sac, which by now was pretty crowded. First came one snicker. Second was a laugh. Soon the whole crowd was laughin' and cheerin' and urgin' the firemen on. SHF's jaw had locked into permanent gape so she could only point upward to where the cat was perched in a crook of tree limbs.
A squad of men trotted off and came back with an extension ladder. The policemen were handlin' crowd control and the fire chief was probably collectin' donations for the Volunteer Fire Department Welfare Fund.
By now the whole circus had moved to within ten yards of the tree with everyone pointin' and commentin' and makin' suggestions. Not a scene to encourage a scaredy cat to come down and join the fun.
Up went the extension ladder. Up went the fe-lyin'. The extension ladder extended. The cat extended to the highest branch that could bear its weight. The ladder was too short. After some discussion, the tallest fireman started up the ladder.
The crowd held their breath.
Closer, closer, closer… He reached out… The cat backed away and nearly fell. The fireman reached again. The branch sagged under the cat's weight.
Success!
"Ahhhhhhhhh…" The crowd released their breath, generatin' enough hot air to float a balloon.
There are professionals out there who study crowd dynamics and why large groups of people do stupid things they normally would not do alone. Guess they haven't figured it out since Kennedy and Kerry still keep getting' elected. The crowd that day apparently had similar mental abilities.
They watched silently as the fireman worked his way back down rung by careful rung, a squirmin', screechin' fe-lyin' clutched under his arm. Then, when he was no more than six feet from the bottom—the finish line in sight—there occurred the sort of mass brain freeze usually only seen among Demo-cat voters.
Every single onlooker let loose with a roar of approval.
The fe-lyin' freaked, twisted, and got its claws on the one uncovered part of the fireman's person: his face. Fireman promptly fell the rest of the way down, droppin' the cat.
When last seen, that fe-lyin' was doin' 75 mph in a school zone, headin' for the hills.*
*It should be noted AHM heard the full story from the next door neighbor, SHF havin' only related an edited version. For great-great-Grand Dam Bitch, however, it was a tale for the ages, passed along from muzzle to muzzle among the pack.
Oh, yeah. The cat was never seen again.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 8:40 PM
0 comments
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Kibbles 'n Bits®
Living High on the Dog
Don't know why this is news. I always stayed in air conditioned hotel rooms when I traveled for work.
Works for me.
Smack Down
"If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once a week." ~Charles Darwin
Too bad he didn't. Maybe then he wouldn't have ended up stealin' that cockamamie theory from Alfred Russel Wallace. 'Course then we would never have the Darwin Awards and, even tho' this idiot female isn't dead, she's got her Birkenstocks shufflin' halfway down the path.
This guy's right beside her.
Baa Baa Bad Sheep
Can you humans get any more imbecilic? How many nursery rhymes and stories are ya' gonna' rewrite 'til no one's offended?
Let's see… There's "Mary Had a Little Lamb" (white-as-snow fleece), "Three Blind Mice" (the vision impaired), "Sing a Song of Sixpence" (blackbirds), "Simple Simon" (the mentally challenged) "There Was a Crooked Man" (the disabled), "Hot Cross Buns" (non-Christians), "Jack be Nimble" (the clumsy), "Old King Cole," "Old Mother Hubbard," and "There Was an Old Woman" (senior citizens). "Ride a Cock Horse," and "Wee Willie Winkie" I'll leave to your own imaginations.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:19 PM
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Don't know why this is news. I always stayed in air conditioned hotel rooms when I traveled for work.
"While US President George W Bush was checking into the presidential suite at one of Delhi's top hotels, a group of canines belonging to his security detail were enjoying similar comfort nearby…
"Reports say the dogs hold military ranks including sergeant major, first, second, third and fourth lieutenant. "We were told to be careful while addressing the animals and not call them dogs," the Asian Age newspaper quoted a staff member of the Sheraton hotel as saying. "We have been instructed to address them as per their ranks."
Works for me.
Smack Down
"If I had my life to live over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once a week." ~Charles Darwin
Too bad he didn't. Maybe then he wouldn't have ended up stealin' that cockamamie theory from Alfred Russel Wallace. 'Course then we would never have the Darwin Awards and, even tho' this idiot female isn't dead, she's got her Birkenstocks shufflin' halfway down the path.
"A 25-year-old woman climbed past barriers and into an elephant's zoo exhibit, then crawled out with minor injuries after the 6,000-pound animal smacked her with its trunk. "That's how an elephant reacts to something they would perceive as a threat," said Cameron Park Zoo director Jim Fleshman.
"After saying she wanted to play with the elephant, the woman climbed over a 3-feet-high wood-and-wire fence, scaled an 8-foot-tall artificial rock structure and bypassed an electric wire before jumping into the exhibit Thursday afternoon, Fleshman said. A moat extends around most of the exhibit."
This guy's right beside her.
"Russian businessman Anton Skvortsov…was showing off in front of a group of friends and colleagues at a party in his Moscow office. He decided to show his guests how much his pet alligator Musya loved him and opened the reptile's cage to feed it by hand. "We had all had dinner and I thought my beautiful Musya should have some as well," he said…
"Mr Skvortsov was taken to hospital, where doctors treated his lacerations and gave him a tetanus injection."
Baa Baa Bad Sheep
Can you humans get any more imbecilic? How many nursery rhymes and stories are ya' gonna' rewrite 'til no one's offended?
"Nursery school bosses ordered the words of the rhyme Baa Baa Black Sheep to be altered to Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep.
"The change was made to avoid offending children after teachers examined the nursery's equal opportunities policy. Stuart Chamberlain, manager of the Sure Start Centre in Oxford, could not explain why children might be offended. But he said: "No one should feel pointed out because of their race, gender or anything else. We've taken the equal opportunities approach to everything we do. This is fairly standard across nurseries. We are following stringent equal opportunities rules."
Let's see… There's "Mary Had a Little Lamb" (white-as-snow fleece), "Three Blind Mice" (the vision impaired), "Sing a Song of Sixpence" (blackbirds), "Simple Simon" (the mentally challenged) "There Was a Crooked Man" (the disabled), "Hot Cross Buns" (non-Christians), "Jack be Nimble" (the clumsy), "Old King Cole," "Old Mother Hubbard," and "There Was an Old Woman" (senior citizens). "Ride a Cock Horse," and "Wee Willie Winkie" I'll leave to your own imaginations.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:19 PM
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Saturday, March 04, 2006
The Cost of Livin'…
…with a dog. An annual report.
Maybe, but we get better mileage per gallon of fuel consumpion.
Let's see…I think that's $31,500 American or, in my case, about $2,400 per year of livin'. $120 a pound. Them's some prime ribs, eh?
Whoa! Twenty Pekingese! Have you got any idea of how much pound for pound yappin' that is?
She obviously never met AHM.
We're shakin' 'cause that how we get rid of the water in our natural fur coats. Guess Ms. Easter didn't notice them. I've got two, in fact. When I go out in the rain, the wet just sits on the top coat makin' it all the more fun to wander in AHM's general direction and shake vigorously.
Bet she has a coupla' prissy poodles. They're the only one I've seen sportin' polka dot leashes. The lady needs a lesson 'bout the difference between smilin' and laughin'.
I've got lots of impressive things over the years—like sterlin' silver water and food bowls. 'Course I had to WIN 'em on the field of battle—er—show circuit. And there's that custom-made collar I won for bein' the best, and a whole bunch of other things, most of 'em as useless as polka dots on leashes. (Never could figure out why those show people gave away pen/pencil desk sets. Guess they never noticed most of us canines aren't real good at writin'.)
Anway, the only things I can remember AHM buyin' that were really weird was a set of boots for Grand Dam Bitch, 'cause getting' snowy, wet feet was botherin' her arthritic knees, and some little ski jackets for our sub-freezin' walks. She eventually discovered shovelin' a dry space on the flagstones was easier than wrestlin' Grand Dam into those boots. Kinda' sad, that, 'cause it was funny as hell watchin' her walk in those things.
As far as the jackets, well, those were hung away as soon as AHM realized two things. One, we were real good at learnin' how to unsnap snaps, meanin' we spent half our walks trailin' those jackets around like a four-year-old on a playground. Two, there's a velco thingy that fastens 'em under our bellys. Doesn't sound like much 'til ya' remember the anatomical make-up of little boy dogs and the fact our aim is, well, erratic at best.
If ya' really want expensive, though, try getting' this baby for a pet.
At least the kid didn't end up in Dubai.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 10:40 PM
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"Owning a dog over the course of its lifetime now costs as much as a new Mercedes, according to the latest figures."
Maybe, but we get better mileage per gallon of fuel consumpion.
"The total bill for expenses such as vet's fees, food, kennels and other necessities adds up to an average of £22,000. There is, however, a big difference between breeds - a small dog such as a Jack Russell terrier is estimated to cost up to £18,000, compared with £33,000 for a Great Dane…"
Let's see…I think that's $31,500 American or, in my case, about $2,400 per year of livin'. $120 a pound. Them's some prime ribs, eh?
"But Bert Easdon, from Glasgow, a member of the Scottish Kennel Club who owns 20 Pekingese dogs, said the £5,000 estimate by owners was a more accurate figure for caring for a dog over its lifetime. "I think the £22,000 is at the high end of the scale and sounds more like a ploy by an insurance firm wanting you to take out one of its policies…"
Whoa! Twenty Pekingese! Have you got any idea of how much pound for pound yappin' that is?
"Karen Easter, of the online firm puccipets.co.uk, which sells designer accessories for dogs, said an increasing number of people were prepared to spend large sums of money."
She obviously never met AHM.
"Dogs these days are more included in the family," she said. "People like to spend money on them the way they would with a child. If it's raining and they're shaking with cold, why shouldn't they have a nice warm coat to wear?"
We're shakin' 'cause that how we get rid of the water in our natural fur coats. Guess Ms. Easter didn't notice them. I've got two, in fact. When I go out in the rain, the wet just sits on the top coat makin' it all the more fun to wander in AHM's general direction and shake vigorously.
"We're also a lot more image-conscious and buying things for your dog such as a distinctive raincoat or lead means they get noticed. My dogs have polka-dot leads that make people smile."
Bet she has a coupla' prissy poodles. They're the only one I've seen sportin' polka dot leashes. The lady needs a lesson 'bout the difference between smilin' and laughin'.
I've got lots of impressive things over the years—like sterlin' silver water and food bowls. 'Course I had to WIN 'em on the field of battle—er—show circuit. And there's that custom-made collar I won for bein' the best, and a whole bunch of other things, most of 'em as useless as polka dots on leashes. (Never could figure out why those show people gave away pen/pencil desk sets. Guess they never noticed most of us canines aren't real good at writin'.)
Anway, the only things I can remember AHM buyin' that were really weird was a set of boots for Grand Dam Bitch, 'cause getting' snowy, wet feet was botherin' her arthritic knees, and some little ski jackets for our sub-freezin' walks. She eventually discovered shovelin' a dry space on the flagstones was easier than wrestlin' Grand Dam into those boots. Kinda' sad, that, 'cause it was funny as hell watchin' her walk in those things.
As far as the jackets, well, those were hung away as soon as AHM realized two things. One, we were real good at learnin' how to unsnap snaps, meanin' we spent half our walks trailin' those jackets around like a four-year-old on a playground. Two, there's a velco thingy that fastens 'em under our bellys. Doesn't sound like much 'til ya' remember the anatomical make-up of little boy dogs and the fact our aim is, well, erratic at best.
If ya' really want expensive, though, try getting' this baby for a pet.
"A 2-year-old colt who has yet to run a race drew a world record sale price of $16 million at auction. Demi O'Byrne, an agent, was the bidder and purchased the colt for a team headed by John Magnier and Michael Tabor of the Ireland-based Coolmore Stud at the Fasig-Tipton sale at Calder Race Course… O'Byrne and John Ferguson, who represents Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al Maktoum of Dubai, pushed the bidding into record territory."
At least the kid didn't end up in Dubai.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 10:40 PM
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Friday, March 03, 2006
Cute Overload
No, this isn't one of my kids, although they were just as insufferably cute for about, oh, two weeks. Then they discovered my chewies stash and all bets were off.
If ya' think this is cute, ya' need to go into Cute Overload. Really. That's the name of the site. I usually don't do cute, but sometimes I make an exception. I'll even tell ya' there's a 'specially cute pic over there for you fe-lyin' lovers. Think I saw a comment about a cute lizard, too, but you can check that one for yourself.
Dug up at Big Paws Dog Blog
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 6:32 PM
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If ya' think this is cute, ya' need to go into Cute Overload. Really. That's the name of the site. I usually don't do cute, but sometimes I make an exception. I'll even tell ya' there's a 'specially cute pic over there for you fe-lyin' lovers. Think I saw a comment about a cute lizard, too, but you can check that one for yourself.
Dug up at Big Paws Dog Blog
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 6:32 PM
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Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Life Lesson From a Squirrel
What, do you ask, can you humans learn from this story?
Let's review. People feed squirrel. Squirrel likes free food. Squirrel expects free food. Squirrel gets pissed off when free food stops.
Now squirrel could work to find his own food, except squirrel likes gettin' free food. Squirrel decides certain squirrels shouldn't have to work for food, no matter what they put on those itty bitty signs. Instead, squirrel attacks when handouts cease, bitin' the hands that doled out the tax money—er—fed him. Result: no more free food. (Actually, no more squirrel, either, but I won't carry the analogy that far.)
Does anyone see a pattern here?
I suppose we should just be glad squirrel didn't get that big ole' moose involved too.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:48 PM
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"Two…women are in good condition after being attacked by a squirrel earlier this month… A woman was scratched in the leg and bitten by a squirrel Feb. 16 as she walked from her porch to her car… Three days later, another woman was scratched while she was in an area several blocks away from the first attack…
"[A]nimal control officer Darrell Hornack set traps in the victims' yards, and a squirrel was caught... There were no signs of rabies, but the animal was sent to the county for precautionary measures.
"[Police Chief Paul ] VanDeraa said he believes the incidents occurred because someone has been feeding the squirrel. "I recommend people do not feed squirrels," he said.
Let's review. People feed squirrel. Squirrel likes free food. Squirrel expects free food. Squirrel gets pissed off when free food stops.
Now squirrel could work to find his own food, except squirrel likes gettin' free food. Squirrel decides certain squirrels shouldn't have to work for food, no matter what they put on those itty bitty signs. Instead, squirrel attacks when handouts cease, bitin' the hands that doled out the tax money—er—fed him. Result: no more free food. (Actually, no more squirrel, either, but I won't carry the analogy that far.)
Does anyone see a pattern here?
I suppose we should just be glad squirrel didn't get that big ole' moose involved too.
Read the rest
posted by Harrison at 11:48 PM
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