There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


The best part is at the end. Skip all that other crap.

Now, really. There's cute and then there's the sort of thing that makes grown men have to say they have something in their eye. This may be able to separate souless, heartless, baby-eating bastards from those baby-eating bastards with souls. Maybe it's just me who gets all misty at the sight of a trans-species parental relationship, I dunno.

Today I went to a movie theater at lunchtime, but unfortunately it was to listen to our CEO talk about bidness stuff. I almost fell asleep only twice, which I consider to be a personal victory since I sometimes suffer from meeting-induced narcolepsy. He was very smooth and smarmy and avoided talking about anything of real substance. We had to go to the movie theater ("cinema") because there's not a room big enough in the building to hold all of us.

One thing that was mentioned during the schmoozy bits was a cost savings that had been gained by outsourcing some printing to the Far East. The point was made that there was a 30% cost savings on this outsourcing, and that the paper quality of both the cover stock and the pages was higher. Doo dee dooh, blah blah blah.

Question and answer time: Very few questions were asked, so it was easy to choose my favorite. It was: "If we are printing on higher quality stock, won't we lose revenue in the long run because we won't have the re-purchasing that would happen if we sold customers our products printed on lower quality paper?"

I've said dumb things, and I've said dumb things into a microphone in front of an auditorium full of people. But, correct me if I'm wrong (Ha!), but suggesting to our CEO that we can get repeat business by selling shoddy products to children seems a bit, um, er, bowel-wrenchingly stupid. Irwin Mainway's spirit is alive and well in that woman. Human torch costume? Johnny Space Commander mask? INVISIBLE PEDESTRIAN?? I tried to smack the back of her head, but I couldn't reach it.

Speaking of saying stupid things, I must admit that I did say the dumbest thing I've ever said recently. We were at Harrod's in London, and I was walking around agog at the bacchanalian orgy of unrepentent consumerism that I wanted to wallow in. I was also a bit hung over due to the Irish (I have my own version of "the troubles"). So we're wandering around the biggest department store in the universe, looking for a Coke...

Wait, before I launch into my stupidity, let me tell you about the Greggers. We're in the sporting goods department, wondering what most of that crap was for, looking at polo mallets, when we come across the golf department. The Greggers plays golf, so he went over to the little round putting green, picked up one of the many putters that were on display, and started lining up a shot. What he couldn't see, and I could, was that a small crowd of people (10-12-ish) had gathered, thinking that there was some kind of product demo about to happen. Also what he couldn't see was that an 8-year-old girl had also picked up a putter, thinking that it was just like miniature golf. She wasn't particularly pleased that a grown-up was hogging the mini golf, in spite of the absence of the windmill. The crowd wasn't particularly pleased that the expected demonstration of a revolutionary new putter with a shaft made of lobelium mined from Saturn wasn't being demo-ed. So he sinks the putt, turns around, and there are 13 or 14 people glaring at him like he just crapped in the punch bowl. Ha!

So, we're looking for a Coke, and Harrod's has at least one restaurant on every floor (not like the hot pretzel stand at Target, either). I saw a sign that said "Mo's Diner - 4th floor."

I asked Greggers what floor we were on.


"Oh, the diner is on the fourth floor. How do we get to the floor we're on?"

I mean, I was really, really tired and hand-feeding peanuts to the squirrels in the park had perked me up, but...

Oh, like you've never said anything dumb.

By the way, I am leaving a week early. YAY!!

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