Posts Tagged ‘cats’

Dick Cheney is Back: Where’s the Wood Chipper?

June 25, 2014

Recently I’ve been working outside, clearing a buncha trees which have appeared on the edge of our lawn over the past 7-8 years, since the last time I did this. These speedy bastards can grow like 2-3 feet a year, which means that some are now 20 feet tall. After detailed research (I asked my wife, who knows things), I determined that these are mulberry trees. In addition to sprouting up everywhere, mulberries produce dark, sweet berries, much loved by birds who then shit purple on your vehicle and trousers.

Die, mulberries, die! Ahahahahaaaaa!

Die, mulberries, die! Ahahahahaaaaa!

I hate mulberries. Hate ’em. They grow so fast that they can crowd out crops in your garden. That’s not normal. I believe they were created by terrorists because they hate our freedom.

Anyway, I’ve taken down maybe 10 trees, with 20 or so more to go. I’m using a ripsaw and chainsaw, which is fun, but I’ll soon be left with the corpses of 30 trees to deal with. That’s where the wood chipper comes in. I’m thinking about renting one.

Of course any time there’s a wood-chipper, one immediately remembers that scene in the movie, Fargo. You know, the one near the end in which that creepy dude did That Thing with it. The scene with the sock.

And that brings to mind Dick Cheney.

I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention lately, but things have been going quite badly in Iraq. The country is in danger of being overrun by psychos from Syria. Plenty of people are saying that the US is at least partly at fault and that we need to immediately bomb something or drop troops somewhere or at the very least let loose Sly Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger with some rpgs and wearing sweatbands and wife-beater t-shirts. Something, dammit.

Would you by advice on Iraq from this man?

Would you by advice on Iraq from this man?

One of these critical people is Dick Cheney.

Let that sink in. Dick Cheney.

He’s criticizing President Obama’s actions in Iraq.

Dick Cheney.

Critical of somebody’s handling of Iraq.

While wearing a cowboy hat.

I’m not going to go into all of the reasons this is outstandingly ridiculous and mind-numbingly infuriating, because I bet you know ’em already. But if not, check out this HuffPost article. It links to Jon Stewart’s brilliant commentary. If it doesn’t make you mad, you must be Paul Wolfowitz. Hi, Paul. Thanks for reading! Go fuck yourself you incompetent tool.

Anyway, the point is, when I consider wood chippers, I begin thinking about Dick Cheney. And this is disturbing. I’m not a violent person. I find it difficult to discipline a dog when it poops in my shoe. I have been known to hurl a kitty into the Outer Darkness when it leaps onto my groin from a great height in the middle of the night, but that’s a matter of reflex rather than rational thought. But when it comes to Cheney, I begin fantasizing about doing Things. Bad Things.

And I feel guilty about this. I feel that somehow I’ve cheapened myself by even in fantasy adopting Cheney’s stupid, cruel, and ultimately fruitless advocacy of violence to solve difficult problems.

Fargo, which taught me many important things.

Fargo, which taught me many important things.

So no more wood chipper, Imagination. I’m better than that.

Happily, that does leave me the steaming piles of horse excrement we have strategically deployed in our pastures and barn. And if that vicious, murderous son-of-a-bitch comes within 10 miles of this place I’ma load up a huge pitchfork full of righteousness and dump it on his evil, scheming, lying, ugly, war-criminal noggin.

It’s good to have dreams.

P.S. About Iraq? I haven’t got a clue what we should do there. But I DO know that we shouldn’t listen to advice from the very assholes who got us into this mess in the first place. That’s all I’m sayin’.

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Dog Day Afternoon

January 23, 2014
A deadly Cujo in its natural environment.

A deadly Cujo in its natural environment.

I’ve recently moved into a new office, where I’m surrounded by a vaguely terrifying number of dogs I refer to collectively and individually as “Cujo” since I can never remember their names. There’s a tiny little Chihuahua behind me, a hairy creature with one bad leg, who demands to be picked up and ruffled and who in return licks every part of you he can reach. Little Cujo is about as frickin’ cute as they get.

Cujo is firm friends with Cujo, the black, curly-haired cockapoo-looking fellow two desks down who is actually quite standoffish to humans that he hasn’t been formally introduced to. On the other side of me is Cujo, a stylin’ min-pin bitch who is a total scritch-ho and who will have a partially-consumed sammich out of the trashcan before you can blink.

There are other Cujos around the office, but these are the closest. They’re fairly well-behaved, but will occasionally start barking if their owners are locked away in meetings that the dogs haven’t been invited to. Then you can either go over and distract the dog or drag the owner out of the conference room, depending upon how big and important the meeting is and much you feel like humiliating them in front of their bosses.

While these local dogs are fun to hang out with, they also remind me of my family’s own animals, across the country in darkest Pennsylvania with my wife. I miss ‘em a lot.

Speaking of which, my wife has recently acquired a kitten. “Timmy” was abandoned by some asshole in the woods around our property, and she found him in the barn, lounging insouciantly atop one of her horses. She took Timmy off to the vet for medical treatment and then brought him home, where he has pretty thoroughly captured her heart.

TIMMY!

TIMMY!

Timmy spends the evenings in my wife’s bedroom. His primary occupations are zooming around wildly, locking dogs in the bathroom, jumping on people’s heads and licking my wife’s armpit, which totally grosses her out. Sometimes Timmy wakes my wife up by licking in her nostrils while she sleeps. Such actions would earn from me an immediate induction for Timmy into the kitty space program, but my wife is smitten.

Timmy likes to sit on our PS3 to watch Australian Open tennis on the big screen TV. He tries to whack the ball as it goes by, and he really has it in for the text crawl on the bottom of the screen. He falls off the PS3 from time to time when the action gets too fierce, particularly when Rafael Nadal is playing. (Or maybe that’s my wife falling out of bed. I get confused.)

We really don’t need another pet around, but Timmy is doing an excellent job of keeping my wife company while I’m off in an enemy time zone elsewhere in the world. He’s friendly and outgoing and totally fearless around the several zillion or so pointers who roam our halls. And, as I said, my wife is smitten. So I think we’re stuck with him, which is all right with me.

Maybe someday he can come here to visit. I’ll take him into work, where he can lock all of the dogs in the bathroom and jump on my co-workers’ heads while I’m in a meeting. That’ll teach ‘em a valuable lesson.

Playing Ketchup

August 7, 2011

So last year I was diagnosed with cancer. This resulted in surgery to remove a chunk of belly-fat, followed by months of radiation treatments. This in turn was followed by a lot of depression and exhaustion, despite being cancer-free. But I’ve spent several months working half-time in Texas eating Texas barbecue, and now I’m ALL BETTER. So it’s time to start up the blog again.

What to talk about?

Chickens? We just got some. They live in the back yard, in my mighty chicken coop. We ordered 8 and ended up with 13. They run around and eat bugs and other stuff we throw at them. They totally ignore the dogs in the run next to the yard, who would desperately like to see the color of their insides, and the chickens actually seem to enjoy the company of our lazy-ass cats, who are too lazy to eat them. We expect the chickens to start pooping out eggs in a couple of weeks, and then we’ll have like a dozen a day to get rid of. Any suggestions?

Click here to see my deeply moving video, “Political Science”

How about the garden? It’s fairly successful, which means that we now have roughly 25 cucumbers the size of footballs languishing in our kitchen. Fortunately the chickens like ’em. Who knew? We’re still in the “Ooo, a fresh tomato!” phase of the summer, but we know that the “OMG not ANOTHER frickin’ tomato” phase is coming fast. There’s a big hole in the corner of the garden in which lives something which eats jalapeno pepper plants. Bastard lazy-ass cats won’t touch it, and my wife won’t let me rent a flame-thrower after that last incident, so we’re stuck.

I suppose we could talk about politics, but I don’t think I’m emotionally strong enough yet. I will say, however, that it’s a good thing that the Republicans are putting up such a lame field of presidential hopefuls in the election, because Obama is showing Jimmy-Carter-levels of leadership, and we know how that worked out — eight years of the Gipper. Sheesh. If this continues I may have found a use for all them eggs — I just have to work on my aim.

Note: The above picture is a link to a video I made, so click on it. It’s harmless.