Category Archives: Animals

The Shame of The Domesticated Human

The Shame of The Domesticated Human

Dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them’s making a poop, the other one’s carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge.
― Jerry Seinfeld

Let me begin by saying that I freaking love animals. Well, almost all animals. I’m not a huge fan of the hyena or the wolverine because they are just huge assholes.

That’s a scientific fact.

Seriously, look at these jackasses!

Seriously, look at these jackasses!

I’ll start over. I love all non-douchebag animals.

Now that we have that established…

I especially love dogs. I have a dog who is so awesome, it’s like if Jesus Christ and Spiderman had a dog baby. Yeah, that’s how god-damned off the hook my dog is.

However, I do sit and ponder at times, as I watch him go at his donkus like it’s his last meal, why we think it’s OK to have these beasts live INSIDE our houses and skulk among us.

(I know you may be wondering if this profound thought occurred to me after the inhalation of some organic substance but the answer is no. I don’t need weed to think like this. At least not this time.)

Most of us generally try to minimize the invasion of outside elements inside our cozy little human dens. We freak out and go all Charles Manson on spiders, flies, mice, rats, whatever living thing was not expressly invited into our Pottery Barn lives.

But, for some reason, we find it completely acceptable to have filthy canines and felines take over our entire home, shed skin and hair all over the place, upchuck anything from cat turds to hairballs to chicken bones on our new area rugs (a wipeable surface isn’t even open for discussion), and practically shoot fleas and ticks at you like one of those t-shirt guns.

Then they top it all off by mining their buttholes with their tongues and proceed to lick you all over the face.

They are totally flipping us off, you know that, right? They are all a pack of hairy grifters pulling the best scam ever.

It really is like we are in some sort of sado-masochistic relationship where we have not established a safe word.

They stink up our houses, lay around all day, don’t pay any rent, demand to be watered AND fed and crap all over our lawns.

It’s like your annoying unemployed brother-in-law has come for an extended visit.

But I don’t have opposable thumbs, dude….be reasonable! You cannot resist me! Now what’s for dinner? And, while you’re up, go get me another beer.

But, damn it, they are so soft and cute!!!

The entire human race has been glammered.  Like vampire glammered.

You will believe the fact that I poop in a box is adorable.

Has anyone even looked into other species to bring into our homes for….whatever the hell it is they do for us?

(Yeah, I know…love, companionship, acceptance. All the stuff we are supposed to get from other humans and don’t. Which is why the divorce rate is so high.)

For your consideration: the naked mole rat. Now here is an animal that can use a little love and acceptance.

Happy little mole rat eating a tuber.

Happy little mole rat eating a tuber.

Just think of the fun little outfits you could dress him in. And, this guy could really use a sweater.

Not so much?

OK, how about a sloth? From what I read in Us Magazine last time I was at the gynecologist, they are all the rage right now.

Yeah, baby. Let’s put on a little R&B, pour a snifter of Courvoisier and……..sorry! I nodded off!

Though, personally, owning one of the seven deadly sins feels a little risky.

OK, so now that I have googled as many weird animals as I can to avoid work, I suppose dogs and cats do have a bit of a case. They’ve learned to adapt to us and we’ve not only adapted to them, we worship them like deities.

What’s that you say, man’s best friend? You need me to express your anal glands?

My pleasure!

The Tale Of The Milky-eyed Hero

The Tale Of The Milky-eyed Hero

I apologize if this is a story I’ve told before. My old brain don’t work quite like it used to. But it is a tale that is worth repeating for it shows the endurance of the human spirit.

So gather round, children, and let me tell you a story. It is a story of suspense, bravery and danger.  It is the ultimate tale of good versus evil.

Once upon a time, there lived a princess of mediocre beauty and figure who, due to unstable housing prices, was exiled to an old castle with a lot of delayed maintenance on top of a very high hill.

She whiled the days away working as a captured slave to a tyrannical and faceless computer demigod and, equally tyrannical, twin princes.

Each morning she would bravely face her day, picking fresh oranges from the royal orchard and frolicking with the woodland bunnies and magical hummingbirds.

One morning as our princess donned her new gown that the bunnies and hummingbirds had made for her from discarded beer cans, used band aids and yarn, her delicate senses were accosted by the most heinous of odors.

Try as she might she could not find the source of the stench but she knew, deep in the core of her being, nay in her very soul, that it was…


She scoured the kingdom in search of someone brave and strong enough to save her from the wicked gases emanating from deep within the castle walls. Everywhere she turned she heard the villagers say “Look for He who possesses an eye of white. The eye sees all.”

She continued to look for this mysterious man but to no avail as the smell grew more powerful with each passing day.

When she had all but given up hope, there came a mighty knock on the castle door.  Upon opening it she was stunned by the sight of the one who would save her. A man who, at first glance, looked ordinary enough but upon removing his eye shield, gazed upon her with one magical and knowing milky eye.

“I beseech you,” our princess pleaded, “Root out the evil and banish it from this place!”

“Yeah, I’m Andy from Animal Removal.”

Her every prayer had been answered!

The fearless Andy toiled bravely for a fortnight (or about 45 minutes), never losing hope no matter how overwhelming the quest became.

Finally, he emerged from the bowels of the castle, holding the spoils of the enemy in a plastic bag.

“What was this demon who descended upon our innocent kingdom?” asked the princess.

“A couple of dead and rotting rats got into your wall. You should really close up some of the gaps in your crawlspace.”

Ah, close the gaps. Such a wise and noble hero. Such truthful words.

As he rode off into the rose-colored sunset, our princess wondered, who was her milky-eyed champion and, more importantly, what the hell happened to his eye???

Crazy Chicken People

Crazy Chicken People


You’d never believe this but I have a couple of minor phobias. I know I have just shaken your world with that news flash.

So, let’s start with birds, shall we?

I actually like to watch birds as they soar through the sky and perch in trees. They are lovely to look at and listen to with their melodic chirping.

But, if you get one of those fuckers on the ground and pecking near my ankles, I will go all Tarantino-style ape shit on them.

I have this terrible phobia of birds on the ground. It skeeves me out to no end. I’m only slightly more comfortable if they are not on terra firma. But, still not a fan of flapping wings around my head either.

This tends to be a problem because so many of my friends and enemies (many of who will be commenting on this blog I have no doubt) are buying into this foul (do NOT excuse that pun) craze of becoming “urban farmers” or, as I call them, Crazy Chicken People.

These are people who don’t quite have the cojones to just go live on a farm but clearly can’t be bothered to drive to the goddamn grocery store to feed their insatiable need for huevos.

They start these mini petting zoos in the back yards of their suburban tract homes and get all superior because they are “eating sustainably”. I thought that was the whole purpose of eating anyway. To sustain. Clearly I’m missing something.

Listen, I don’t have anything against chickens.

Ha!!! Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t know why I even said that. I freakin’ hate chickens. I’ll eat them, no problem. Happily, in fact, since that will mean one less avian terrorist in the world.

I’ve had a checkered past with non-flying birds. I believe I was allowed to watch The Birds at an entirely too young age. The scene when Suzanne Pleshette and Tippi Hedren are walking the kids through the school yard through a sea of stinking crows and other feathered miscreants clearly was the beginning of the end of my relationship with these creatures.

You’d better hope they’re only here to crap on your car.

There used to be an evil wild turkey that lived outside my building at Microsoft. The ugly fuck hung out like a turkey version of Travis Bickle.  All lunatic attitude just waiting for some trouble.

It would mean a mad run from my car to the door to avoid being attacked. Literally. I mean it. It would peck your eyes out just as soon as smell your fear.

I had a bag of rocks I kept in my car and would pelt it with them as I made my escape.

(By the way, it is virtually impossible to look even remotely cool while blindly running in terror from a squawking bird as you throw rocks at it. Just in case you thought you might want to do that to improve your cool factor. See, I am here to mentor you.)

You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? Then who the hell else are you talking… you talking to me? Well I’m the only one here. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?

I always thought it would be a wonderfully liberating gesture to throw an actual bottle of Wild Turkey at the asshole but couldn’t quite stomach the waste of it.

Take that lethal piece of ironic justice, you big bully!!

So there you have it. I think you all know now how I feel about this. But, please do let me know if I’ve left anything unclear here.

I leave you with these words to ponder, spoken by an advanced non-avian human.

When birds burp, it must taste like bugs. ~ Bill Watterson

Finally, Those Dog Names You’ve Been Needing

Finally, Those Dog Names You’ve Been Needing

Dogs are the new kid. I know this because I’m hopelessly hip and I have observed the uptick in dog-friendly restaurants and the lack of kid-friendly bars.

When Jim and I were childless (also known as our salad days) we had an ongoing game of coming up with dog names. We were in the market for one so we could fill the void in our souls and evidently, we also wanted to severely hinder our freedom for some reason. We were, and are, lunatics.

Unlike naming a child, you could come up with some really weird dog names without the fear of them killing you execution style in your sleep when they hit puberty.

We had a notepad with us at all times to be sure we didn’t miss any nuggets of creativity. Our friends were in on it too. It was an epic time.

Unbelievably, the other day I came across the list shoved in the back of a drawer. It was like finding the Dead Sea Scrolls – I believe I heard angels sing as the clouds parted.

So, here is that list of dog names you’ve all been asking for. I’ve thoughtfully categorized for you as well, because I’m a giver.

A tribute to the golden age of television:

  • Bob Barker
  • Mr. Tate
  • Nipsy Russell
  • Wheezy Jefferson
  • Tootie
  • Ted Baxter
  • Rhodamorgenstern
  • Gopher
  • Mata Hari
  • Señor Wences

What if the next coming of Christ was in the form of a dog?

  • Stigmata
  • Hosana
  • JesusHChrist
  • Hey, Zeus!

Names Jim (alone) thought were hilarious:

  • Nostopdigging
  • Heycomehere

And, just random shit we came up with while drunk:

  • M’na M’na
  • Pubes
  • Humpy
  • Bung
  • Yeltsin
  • Squanto
  • Mekamazon

Let me explain this one. Jim always thought that in the awesome song “Brick House” by The Commodores, she was built like a “mekamazon.”I know, it makes absolutely no sense.

But, then, I thought that in the Eurythmics song “Sweet Dreams” the rain was falling on her head like a “mammary.” I also thought that there was a reference to a “little Dutch priest” in The Heart of Rock and Roll by Huey Lewis and the News. So, I guess we are meant for each other.

We choked at the last minute and named our new dog, a Beagle, Lucy. Which is, as everyone knows, the poor man’s Snoopy. I am, to this day, exceptionally disappointed in us.

In fact, if I had a time machine I would not go back and kill Hitler. I’d go back and re-name our first dog. That’s how bad I feel about this.

We are now on our second dog and, frankly, we didn’t do a whole lot better. His name is Calvin. Though, I like to call him Calvinicus Maximus.

All hail Calvinicus Maximus, defender of the Roman Empire!

And now, a blatant attempt to get more of an audience by posting cute pictures of our dog with the lame name. I admit to this shilling willingly and you all should just suck it up and become unnaturally charmed by the site of those puppy eyes.

Where’s the cat, you ask? What cat?


You will give me all your money… will give me all your money….you will give me all your money….


Did I eat the cat poop out of the litter box? Wha? I….er….um….what was the question again?



Why I Love Talking Monkeys

Why I Love Talking Monkeys

I love any talking monkey. I will watch all the Eddie Murphy Dr. Doolittle movies a million times just for the drunk French monkey. Same goes for that Kevin James zookeeper movie….I love me a chatty monkey! Put clothes on them and I’ll wet myself.

Oddly, I don’t like George Bush though so clearly all talking monkeys are not funny.

Now, my husband is having an aneurism because he is a science geek extraordinaire and, technically, I love talking primates, not monkeys alone, monkeys being a sub-order of primate and blah blah blah blah. So, I’ve given him a resounding whack across the head and told him that I am not Darwin so shut up and make me a lemon drop.

The crowning glory of the talking ape genre (that I just made up) is Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp. Why hasn’t some brilliant Hollywood exec (I know, I crack myself up too!) remade this inspired artifact?

For those of you not yet enlightened on the beauty of Lancelot, Mata Hairi, Dragon Woman (where the creators cast an exceptionally politically incorrect Chinese villain), APE (Agency to Prevent Evil) and CHUMP (Criminal Headquarters for Underworld Master Plan), please do yourself a favor and look at this. You will be a better person for it.

And, because Lancelot had time on his hands after saving the world from CHUMP domination, he put a bitchin’ band together: The Evolution Revolution. It’s fucking epic.

Just watch Mata Hairi shred on that tambourine. Take that Susan Dey, you candy-ass percussionist. Though, why do they feel it’s necessary to put a beard and mustache on a chimpanzee? Seems redundant somehow.