Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Jaguar kills zoo keepr

Those who know me know that I always root for the animals. Always. At the running of the bulls, I laugh when men are trampled by the herds or speared 10 feet in the air, and then trampled. I tear up when bullfighters taunt and kill their opponents, and rejoice when a cowboy gets bucked by anything he shouldn’t have mounted to begin with. When manatees get too rough, when deer attack, and when elephants snap. I’m always on their side. Now of course I never really wish death upon anyone, but as they say, “If you play with fire . . .” We foolishly cage them, train them, and often time abuse them and whenever one of these wild animals attempts to escape, we wonder how on earth they could do such a thing.

They do these things because they are trying to tell us to leave them the hell alone. I don’t fling my feces at you because you think it’s cute, or take you to the bottom of my 60 foot tank because I’m being playful, nor do I drag your lifeless body across the stage because I’m protecting you. I’m stressed out, I’m tired of working, and I want to go the fuck home.

The only travesties I find when animals do attack, is when people are stupid enough to let their children become the victims, or when these beautiful creatures are inevitably put down. No Suzy, I don’t recommend petting the bear, or snuggling with the 500 lb liger. We wouldn’t let our children go into the cars of complete strangers why the hell would we let them touch “wild” predators?

In the latest incident, a zoo keeper in Denver was unfortunately attacked by a Jaguar. His name was Jorge (reason for the attack number one). Now, I know this was unusual because big cats and zoo keepers are never supposed to be in the cage at the same time, particularly during feeding time (I’m sure you can surmise why). I don’t know all the details of the ambush, but the gorgeous Jaguar was shot and killed after it approached rescuers trying to save the woman. Why it couldn’t have been tranquilized or electrocuted, I’ll never know, but I do wish to comment on the half-witts who wonder why it ever attacked to begin with. It’s a wild animal. It lives in captivity. People walk by every day snapping pictures and ogling him. What part of that daily life in any way resembles what the most secretive of all the big cats would do in its natural habitat? Exactly.

All I ask is that we don’t act bewildered the next time someone who raises bears gets mauled by one, or we don’t try so desperately to “figure out”, using human psychology no less, why a tiger would take the life of an innocent little girl. We all loved Steve Irwin (as crazy as he was,) but we also all knew that it would only be a matter of time before something took him down. I’m just surprised it wasn’t a crocodile.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Snow Day

It’s finally here! The snowy, call in sick whilst sitting on your couch with warm blankets and hot chocolate watching movies day that is. About 4 to 5 inches of beautiful powdered snow has fallen already and the flakes only seem to be getting bigger. My Doberman is looking out the window because he’s anxious to get the fun started. He absolutely loves the snow and always tries to eat as much of it as he can before it melts away. Even though I’ve already reassured him that it’s not time yet, he continues to pace and whine for me to take him out.

A few hours pass by . . . . . .

One movie down and my dog has given me enough shameless pouts to make Gandhi feel guilty. I suppose it’s time to take him out and get some shoveling done in the process. I get dressed and take a few pictures of the pretty landscape, before the neighborhood wakes up to address their cars and drive ways. I take a quick shot of the little bird house I bought last year for the family of Sparrows that prefer to nest in the luxury apartment (aka the dryer vent,) where warm streams of air undoubtedly beat out any other accommodations I could have prepared on my own. After the unfortunate death of its prior tenant, the birds have learned not to venture too close to the source of the heat and I don’t dry clothes too late at night.

I use a 20 ft leash just in case he sees a cat in his neighborhood. To say he doesn’t like cats would be an understatement. I used to be able to catch him, but now I think he could outrun a bullet. We play a game of tag, (his second favorite thing next to snow) but my tennis shoes prove to be a hindrance as he runs circles around me. Just like a little kid he prances around, even ducking his head as he runs to fill his mouth with fresh snow. I chase him around a bit and let him burn off some energy, before I shovel the sidewalk and make a path to the car that looks like a big marshmallow.

After the short work out, I take the puppy on a walk around the block. The half foot of snow makes it hard to go much further. I’m sure he’d like to stay out longer, but it’s a little chilly and it looks like we might be getting another stint of freezing rain. The perfect time to start another movie I think . . . . . and some hot chocolate.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Final Frontier

Do you think that people in the future will also have to wipe their asses with ultra thin, transparent sand paper after using a public restroom? Did the bold crew of the Starship Enterprise have such abrasive misfortune? Surely the successful achievement of warp speed was not the only worthy accomplishment of it’s time. You can’t expect me to believe that in an instant I can have a perfectly balanced meal materialize before me from thin air, teleport to a planet’s surface and back, and disintegrate enemies with a phaser gun, but I’ll still have to wipe my ass with rice paper? I’m so never dropping the kids off at Walmart again.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Spearing Ahead


I told myself that I would fight any urges to write about Britney’s latest follicular fiasco. I figured that I wouldn’t be the only one tempted to remark, but I also didn’t want to fuel the fires of her cause. But as irony would have it, my attempts of avoidance have led me to comment on the vary thing I set out to ignore. . . . . .

It’s now official. Britney’s head has the same haircut as her vagina. I suppose such measures wouldn’t appear so drastic had they been done by any other celebrity, or had they not made her look even more like the trailer trash she so desperately wants every one to know she is. Her blatant plight for attention is undeniable. While her Mickey Mouse Club counterpart simply got implants, a couple of piercings, and made a song titled “Dirty” (as a means of denouncing the pubescent geenie stage and transitioning into womanhood), Britney decided that she wouldn’t be outdone and proceeded to create the perfect outline for total image destruction. What a better way to ensure being labeled a slut than to suck face with the Material Girl herself (the mega slut of them all) on national television. She must have thought we weren’t taking her seriously because she then decided to confirm her celebrity ineptitude by driving around with a newborn in her lap, exposing the baby’s ultra sensitive skin to flesh melting solar radiation, and then marrying a loser with an IQ slightly higher than that of a house plant. (Parading around with the panty-less Paris certainly doesn’t help.) Britney desperately needs a fucking hobby. She should write a book or something. Okay maybe not, but you know what I mean.

Tuesday, February 6, 2007

Astro Turf

Just when I thought I wouldn’t have anything to write about today, some crazy astronaut bitch* decides to drive 900 miles across the country (in diapers) to spray another space ho in the face with pepper spray, in an obvious attempt to subdue her, pulverize her with a steel mallet, and then neatly tuck her body in garbage bags like packages of big league chewing gum (or tang). And this is all because crazy moon bitch suspects the space ho of vying for the relations of her space pimp (a fellow NASA pilot).

After crazy space bitch was arrested, they found a knife, a steel mallet (she’s so screwed,) rubber tubing, and garbage bags in her car. She was charged with attempted murder and attempted kidnapping and her lawyer had the audacity to tell reporters that the charges were bogus and “speculative”. Speculative? Right, because driving from Houston to Orlando in a pair of Depends and following someone around in a disguise with the aforementioned mafia starter kit on hand, doesn’t seem like premeditated murder at all.


*Contrary to popular belief, Crazy Space Bitch, Space Ho, and Space Pimp are not official positions held at NASA, and do not, in any way, reflect my feelings about NASA, it’s wasteful space exploration, or the fact that Pluto is no longer considered a planet.

Monday, February 5, 2007

Lactalicious

I feel it’s my civil duty to speak out against these people who think breast feeding in public is inappropriate. Like most things, there are probably a few places where such activity should be given consideration, like a fine dining restaurant, a job interview, or your high school prom for instance. But otherwise, I think people should stop trippin’ about the boobies. By no means am I a Lactivist (that's what they call themselves I swear,) but let’s be frank here, if we’re going to allow advertisements of practically naked women every where and entertainers to excessively grab their genitals, then I think that we can allow a minimally exposed mammary for the sake of feeding a baby from time to time. Besides, I’m all for quieting a crying baby.

People are so frivolous to concern themselves with such nonsense. I would much rather outlaw hairy ass dudes wearing wife beaters or big girls wearing booty shorts than breastfeeding. Where is the adamant outcry against these people? Give me a freakn’ break already. Look, if you deem it absolutely necessary to feed your baby while I’m eating my steak, by all means get up and go somewhere a little more discreet. I have no problem. To everybody else, if you happen to see a woman breastfeeding, for the love of Buddha, leave her the hell alone and don’t act like you’ve never seen a f**king breast before. Geesus!

Nippsicles

It’s a thousand degrees below zero today (okay not exactly, but frigidly close,) and apparently I felt as though a t-shirt and scarf would suffice in confronting the elements while I warmed up the car this morning. As soon as I stepped outside, I was greeted by an unforgiving arctic blast of chilly wintry air, freezing my golden brown nipples on contact. Instant nippsicles. It’s windy AND freezing. Two things that singularly can be managed, but together, form an unrelenting blizzard of icy polar wind instantly freezing all exposed flesh, including poorly protected nipples (regardless of their perfect light brown hue).

I absolutely hate the cold, and now I’m pissy. Not a good start to my day. The only thing I hate more than frozen nipples (and 29 year old unregistered sex offenders posing as 12 year old boys enrolling in school to prey on children), are dentists. Dentistry, as you may know, happens to be the profession with the highest suicide rate (it’s statistically suspected anyway). Mine was not elated when I told him this. Even though I’m not going to the dentist today, (unfortunately I do think he is still alive), I am still stuck with the numbing dilemma of my frozen teats. If men can have such things.

Thursday, February 1, 2007

Wheel of fortune

I hate those fu**ing wheeled shoes kids are wearing these days. Darting around everywhere, as if walking was so last year. I hope you get shin splints you ungrateful bastard . . . . . and Chicken pox . . . . . . or maybe just an ingrown toenail. Chicken pox seems rather harsh.