There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


The cake to people ratio is too low.

Somebody has a bad case of the Mondays.

I went running a lot this weekend and discovered a few things:

1. People who live on narrow boats are the British equivalent of trailer trash.
2. I'm not in shape.

That's only two things, but I'm too moody to think of any more.

This weekend I also discovered that "Spaced" may be the funniest sitcom ever, but that there are only two seasons of it. They will make a third season, but it's not scheduled yet. The guy who wrote and starred in "Shaun of the Dead," Simon Pegg, is one of the show's co-writers and -creators. It's a hoot, and apparently a couple of episodes were played on Bravo and on Trio in the US, but because of some vast right-wing conspiracy, they didn't show all of the episodes. Also, the ones they did show were edited butchered sans mercy, leaving out most of the ending of the last show.

I have launched a campaign to convice Gena to name her new puppy "Scrumpy," which is a perfect dog name. The first piece of mail I received in the UK was from the RSPCA. It had a picture of a dog on the front, with a faux-scrawled message:

Scrumpy's full of beans -- thanks to you.

It sounded vaguely threatening and accusatory to me, even through Scrumpy looked pretty happy. It had a "Why the feck did you feed beans to my dog, ya moron?" tone that I rather enjoyed. Probably because my dog has been full of butter, cheese, corn, plastic, cat shit, bone fragments, etc. Those wouldn't have the same impact, though.

Scrumpy's full of cat shit -- thanks to you.

Anyhoo, if you know Gena, tell her that dog's feckin name is Scrumpy, so she needs to just accept it.

I am at work today because I took a couple of extra days off over Xmas, but it is a holiday in the States. I noticed that very few have updated, which leads me to the only logical conclusion I can come to:

We all goof off at work.

I know, it's not deep, but it's Monday.

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