There are no bad owners, only bad dogs


Ask Again Later

It is my opinion that I have an inordinately large number of floaters. No, not the extra buoyant poops that bob and splash playfully, but the doo dads in your eyeball that occasionally float through your visual field. Wheee. There goes one now.

It is also my opinion that my floaters are not boogery-shaped random bits of retina or wads of protein, like the “experts” would lead you to believe, but are actually shaped like stuff. Like letters. I think that I receive psychic messages that are spelled out with floaters – I just need to have the patience to copy down the messages that are being conveyed to me a floating letter at a time. So I could be solving crimes! Or communicating with the dead! That’s right. I am asserting that my head is something like a cross between a Ouija board and a giant Magic 8 Ball. Something shaped like a sperm just wandered through.

Katy ate yet another stick of butter recently, and is consequently pooping ghee. It’s challenging to pick up in a bag, so I just pretend to pick it up, all the while leaving a buttery poop sauce on people’s lawns. It’s either that or tear out huge handfuls of buttered grass. Buster also recently stole half a log of goat cheese from the counter, and knocked an avocado onto the floor, which Katy then ate. Then they played with the pit. They are very shiny.

Curly Sue had a fantastic idea: During the annual drunk-a-thon known as Fiesta, there is a dog parade in my neighborhood. People dress up their dogs in fiesta-wear (think sparkly, tacky, bright, too tight, too much booty and cleavage EVEN FOR DOGS) and walk them on a route. (The route includes a toilet seat museum. Jealous?) Her suggestion was that we take Katy and Buster to the Pooch Parade and “accidentally” let them off the leash, then watch the madcap shenanigans ensue. Of course, this plan also requires that she and I be drunk at 8 a.m., which can be arranged. The chasing! The barking! The running in circles and screaming! Sure, it will mean hundreds of dollars in fines, but what else am I going to do with my tax refund? If I feed Katy butter the day before, it may even involve projectile butter pooping!

It is now officially summer no matter what the freakin calendar says because it has already reached 100° at least once. And let me tell you something you probably already knew:

Fat + Hot = Cranky

So I’ll be cranky for the next 10 months until summer is over again in February. I have recently been tempted to introduce myself to people thusly: Hi, glad to meet you. I used to be thin.

Because EduMart is all about the metrics ‘n’ shit, I have developed something called the Occupational Dissatisfaction Scale. It joins the WackyMeter as one of my many unheralded contributions to the field. My measure on the scale is currently 42 (it measures your dissatisfaction from 1 [“Not very dissatisfied”] to 10 [“Very dissatisfied”]).

CrazyWheelChairLady has taken to using an old scooter that wheezes and grinds as she makes her way around the building, spreading havoc and lies. People have started yelling “Get that thing tuned up!” at her as she goes by. Some time ago there was a plot to come in at night and put lifters on it so she would be all ghetto. It would have also been nice to replace her handle bars with one of those tiny welded chain steering wheels. It’s not ideas that we lack – it’s follow-through.

2 comments so far

birth & death