There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


It's meshuggeneh.

My monkey, who is surely destined for vocational education, made dinner tonight: Beef Stroganoff. It's a dish I can't think about without smirking due to the whole "beef stroking off" joke thing. It's really not a light, summery dish, but it's his favorite thing to make, so there you go. He has decided that he's going to be a chef because, trust me, he's not going to be a brain physicist or a nuclear surgeon, due to the fact that he just really wants to be professional skateboarder or in a band -- or both!! So, he made dinner tonight, and for some reason, it turned out just indescribably bad. All congealed and separated and lumpy... So now he has decided that he can't be a chef because he screwed up! And we all know that if you screw up something once, you're banned for life from that category of profession! Therefore, I am also banned from professional cookery, due to a number of sins too heinous to relate. I may no longer eat, either, since I spill on myself each and every time that I convey food toward my pie-hole. I may no longer walk, since I have occasionally had to have stitches due to my inability to do this, even with no gum. But really, it was just amazing that you can make ingredients taste like that. Poor child. The nut doesn't fall far from the tree, even when it's grafted on.

In other food science inquiries, I bought a heat gun today, because my house is being held together by peeling lead-based paint, and I'd like to speed up the fally-aparty qualities of my home, so I'm going to either melt it, poison myself, or burn it down. As I was inaugurating my new heat gun on my front door (did you know that you can scorch wood with a heat gun?), I started wondering if I could use my Milwaukee heat gun to make creme brulee. I'll let you know...

My male kitten, Junebug, got skunked AGAIN. Remember how Pepe le Peu kept trying to romance the kitty? That's what I think is going on. Pepe doesn't realize that Junebug don't swing that way.

I was listening to NPR on my way home from work and I heard a story about a dude who had started a camp for youngsters who want to be sportscasters when they grow up. They had interviewed several of the kids at camp to find out why they weren't at sports camp instead of sportscasters camp. So there was one kid who was interviewed whose name was (or should have been) Herschel and he sounded just like Jackie Mason must have sounded when he was 12. The reporter asked young Schlomo why he'd rather report on sports than play the games. He said in the most Herschelly voice EVER, "Well, if I play, I could get hit in the head with a ball." The reporter countered (a bit unwisely or cruelly), "But you could get hit by a car any time," then realized just how AWFUL he sounded, threatening little Avi with vehicular death, and added "I mean, life is about taking chances." The kid replied, "Yeah, but my chances are pretty good." Or something like that. Read it in your best Jackie Mason inner voice.

I'm off to walk my dogs since they've been sending me hypnotic mind waves for the last two hours.

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