There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


I also have a Michael Anthony Hall Big Head doll.

Among the many “genius” (the quotation marks are there to symbolize irony) ideas I’ve had lately:

It may be time to remake the French film “My Dinner with Andre” (even though I have all of the action figures, along with my “Remains of the Day” lunchbox). Of course, the setting would have to change to Red Lobster.

And the title would have to be spelled “My Dinner with Andrae.”

I have long vowed to take hostages if anyone ever decides to remake “To Kill a Mockingbird,” as it is an absolutely perfect film. Most of its perfection flows from the amazing portrayal of Atticus Finch by Gregory Peck, original grey-haired hottie. To me, they are the same person, Gregory and Atticus. I can’t read the novel anymore without the picture of Gregory Peck in my head. Gregory Peck could have been a total asshole in real life, but in my walnut-sized brain, he will always be kind. Lately, though, I’ve been softening on my stance. I have decided that there exists an actor/director who iscapable of not fucking up the perfect. Let’s do it this way, shall we?

The actor/director capable of not fucking up a remake of “To Kill a Mockingbird” is —

a. Ed Harris
b. Carrot Top
c. George Clooney
d. Vince Vaughn

The correct answer is, of course, C. As long as there’s not Samuel L. Jackson as Tom Robinson, in spite of the statute that requires him to play all significant male black roles.

And to clear up any confusion, Curly Sue is not a wanton hussy. Young Herschel/Mordechai suggested I go more semitic with the name, and I am rather hazy on the Old Testament. Or maybe CS is a wanton hussy. Could go either way.

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