We Got a Surprise from the Groomers Yesterday

There’s poodles under all that rastafarian fur!

I hope they don’t start getting all snooty and, well, y’know…French.

It’s Not Easy Being Green

Those of you who know me well are aware that there is a bit of a “smug alert” going on around me as I attempt to buy my way into heaven by trying to be more socially responsible.

I joined a CSA and buy organics whenever possible. I traded my gas-guzzling Tahoe in on a hybrid. I’ve swapped most of my incandescent bulbs for compact fluorescents. Our recycling bins are now twice as full as our trash cans, and not just with beer cans and wine bottles. I’ve been riding the bus to work a few times per week for about a year and a half, and now I’ve even started riding my bicycle at a high rate of speed through the `hood dodging hookers and junkies on my commute to the office.

Now you can join in, dear readers.

May 16th is officially “Ride Your Bike to Work Day.” Unfortunately for most folks, May 19th is officially “Finally Arrive at Work Day.” Wear a helmet.

Crappy Birthday to You!

If you’re gonna mess up my desk by putting sprinkles on top of your cupcakes, they should at least taste like something. Paper confetti icing. Feh.

And don’t get me started about those people that put mylar confetti balloons and palm trees and 40’s and dollar signs in the envelope with their party invitations to shower your cubicle when you rip it open. Unless you’re coming behind with a Dyson to clean that crap up, don’t even bother!

/curmudgeonish rant

Burnin’ For You

Our erstwhile Blog Lady, Brittney is in the midst of the frenzy that is the Olympic Torch Run/Protestathon in Babylon by the Bay.

It brought to mind a happier time in 2002 when the torch passed a block from my house as part of the festivities surrounding the Salt Lake Games.

Look at RUABelle.  Doesn’t she look happy and at one with the universe?  And with her free Coca-Cola pennant, I feel as if she could break into song at any moment.

“I’d like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony. [Perfect Harmoneeeee]

I’d like to buy the world a Coke, and keep it company. [It's the real thing.]“

Ahh, can’t we all just get along?

Free Tibetan Refugees?  I’ll take two, please.

They’re Funny Little Bastards

My online Bank of America tries to automatically categorize my credit card expenses for year-end reporting purposes.  I used my Visa to buy tickets to the Kids in the Hall show at the Ryman in May.

They showed up on my statement as “Child/Dependent Expenses.”  Heh, I never knew I had five cross-dressing comedian sons.

I love my little cabbage-head, chicken-lady, head-crushing Lopez boys.  29 out of 30 Helens agree.

Mathematical Elimination Fever-Catch It!

No matter who wins the NCAA Basketball Championship tonight, it looks like I won two of the four pools I entered brackets in.

The names of the groups that I am the champion of?

“Nashville Geeks” and “Bourbon-Swilling Losers.”

I rule. My mother would be so proud.

Like the Swallows to Capistrano

After a long winter’s nap, my trusty Murray lawnmower started right up on the first pull of the starter rope.

Damn, there goes that excuse.

And Now…The R-r-r-rest of the Story

Longtime readers of The Dry Spot will know that I have a strange obsession with Paul Harvey.  Uncle Paul has been absent from the airwaves for weeks now, “temporarily” replaced by a seemingly endless stream of substitutes/auditioners.  There is some scuttlebutt that Paul is very sick, but I don’t believe it.

I think he’s dead.

As a matter of fact, I think he’s been dead for a long time.

I mean, look at this picture of him from years ago.

Check it out.  They didn’t even have color back then.

Now look at this ostensibly recent photograph.

Nothing’s changed.  The dude is supposed to be five years older than baseball.  He farts dust.

My theory is that years ago, prior to his embalming, some syndicator just had Paul record any possible permutation and combination of any conceivable news event and the expected reactionary comment to these events.  Along with 10,000 third grade bogus history lessons disguised as”The Rest of the Story.”  Hell, he only worked 15 minutes a day.  He had time.

But now his puppet masters have run into a jam.  World events are too unprecedented for them to cut and paste a newscast out of his prerecorded sound bites, and they’ve had to seek out live replacements to read the wire copy.  The franchise is in jeopardy.

But who can blame them?  Who really would’ve expected that a black man and a white cuckolded woman would be vying for the office of president?

At least there’s one thing Paul could always depend on.  He never wavered from the fact that Republicans have always been the most intelligent, competent and compassionate leaders of the free world.

Paging Madame Tussaud’s…