dloggiebloggie

Up for Bid!

2011-10-18T09:35:00.002-04:00

The toilet seat you see below is called the Breezy Seat Toilet Seat. Here's the poop: According to the manufacturer, "The Breezyseat ~ featuring a revolutionary odor barrier that keeps smells where they belong - inside the unique toilet seat. BreezySeat's ingenious patent-pending design and proven odor destroying technology is the perfect solution to the embarrassing problem of unpleasant odors in your bathroom."

The seat was designed by one of T.T.'s friends from Tennessee where poopology has become an art form. The Breezy Seat is a battery-powered, fan forced toilet seat that turns on when you sit on it. The fan sucks up the odors from the toilet bowl and filters them through a filters and nano-modules (whatever those are). Another advantage of the toilet seat is those little holes around the seat provide a nice cool breeze while you're straining away. People who bought the Breezy Seat rave over how it's changed their lives. "I eat a lot of chili; 3-4 cans a week. Thus I did some online research and found the Breezy Seat. This seat saved my marriage. I LOVE IT!!!!" Irby H. - Little Rock, Arkansas "I use my toilet a lot. This toilet seat stands up to everyday use. It is great because it's easy to clean. You don't have to hassle with sprays." Ellis C. - New Orleans, Louisiana
T.T., who's auction name is 'TheThird' decided he had to have one. He and Sparky65 got into a bidding war. The seat is reported to retail at $199. Cochise1 and dreamily were willing to pay $36 for the seat, but Sparky65 and TheThird ran the price up to $367 before T.T. realized that he only had $250 left on his debit card. Grudgingly, T.T. let Sparky65 win the auction. He moped about for the rest of the day, so I got online at Amazon and ordered the last toilet seat they had for $79. I plan on giving it to T.T. on Day. I know where he will be spending most of Christmas day. If you've just got to have one, you can order your own from the manufacturer for $199. http://breezyseat.com/products.php You can even become a distributor. In our shitty economy, it's wise to diversify and have multiple income streams.

I can't make this poop up.

OK! Who's Been Talking?

2011-06-08T12:57:00.001-04:00

This is another of T.T.'s articles from a few years ago.

The day's not over yet, but so far I've received 43 emails concerning the size of my penis and how the world would be happier if it were larger. So would I, but how did all these people find out about me? I'm not on par with the likes of Magic Johnson or a rock star, heck I' m not even on par with some priests. I don't work out in health clubs, don't go skinny-dipping in Golden Pond (it's a brown puddle now), nor do I hang out in parks and flash female joggers. I have neither wife nor girlfriend nor prostitute with a memory long enough (excuse the pun) to remember the last time it was used for anything more than relieving my bladder - so who snuck a spy cam into my bathroom?

You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )

People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.

I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.

I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.

War on Wasps

2011-06-08T12:53:00.002-04:00

This article is from T.T.'s blog.

Twice in the past few days, I've been assaulted by large wasps inside my house. I fear that these two incursions into my safety zone is a prelude for a mass attack at some point in the future. I have yet to determine their point of insertion into friendly lines, thus a full-scale inspection of the perimeter is in order.

On Saturday evening, while lying in bed talking to my fiance, a large paper wasp (I ascertained its nature by gathering intel online) flew through my line of sight. Immediately, adrenaline enabled me to roll off the bed and crawl through my bedroom door, closing it behind me to trap the enemy and to escape an imminent threat of being injected with venom from its ovipositor - originally designed as a tube for the laying of eggs but reengineered to hold toxins designed for defense and to kill their prey. Twenty-four years in the Army prepared me to defend myself from this airborne assault.

With a sick daughter and a baby in the house, I knew I couldn't simply allow the infiltrator to remain until it founds its egress the same way it got in. Ruling out a broom, which was too flimsy to deliver a killing blow, I opted for a shoe. I cautiously reentered my bedroom, closing the door behind me. All the while, I'm talking to my fiance on the phone - apprising her of my situation in case reinforcements or medivac needed to be called in. Finally I spotted the wasp on the corner of my book case. I struck it with a might blow that caused books to topple over. The wasp, much larger than most I've seen and obviously on some sort of growth hormone or steroids, simply shrugs off the blow and leaps into the air, circles the blades of my ceiling fan and aligns itself on approach in retaliation for my drawing first blood. As it flies in deliberately and slowly, I knock it down in mid-air, demonstrating great hand-eye coordination for someone of my advanced years. It slams to the floor, stunned and angry. I can hear it buzzing; so I bend over and deliver six solid blows. At this point, I observe that the enemy is unable to fly, but is still mobile. As it begins to crawl in my direction, I wonder what it will take to kill this fiend. So I gather all my strength and call on God to help me. I said, "In (slap) the Name (bam) of Jesus (pow)(boom) die you @*@&#&#&*%!" My fiance is cracking up on the other end of the phone.

I sit back on the bed, sweating from exertion. The wasp moves again, though clearly broken. I shake my head, just as Apollo Creed did when Rocky Balboa wouldn't stay down after been repeatedly knocked on his keister. But although I respected the wasp's strength and tenacity, I knew that it was behooving of me to end this stand-off and protect my loved ones, and so that I could go to sleep without leaving one eye open in case this wasp had regenerative powers like David Banner. I took the point of my shoe and pressed it as hard as I could against the wasp, pinning it to the floor, and held it there until the wasp had time to suffocate. I watched until I saw another wing flicker, pounded it until the wasp's body split in two. Then I brought in the vacuum cleaner and sucked up the corpse, then removed the vacuum to the Florida room in case it was bionic like Lindsey Wagner. For only female wasps can sting.

I thought that the first attack was simply the result of a door left ajar too long, but this morning, as I was getting out of the shower, another large wasp flew within inches of my face. I leaped back into the shower, closing the door behind me, but quickly realized that I had three feet of open space above the door through which the wasp could attack. I realized that I could not be in such a confining space.

This time the wasp had caught me in a more precarious predicament. I was naked. Naturally, the first thing I did was to bend over and place a hand over my privates. I knew I could survive a sting to any other part of my body, even to my face, but a sting to my privates would probably be fatal. After all, the wasp's stinger was tiny and its target was perhaps a thousand times larger - or at least I'd like to think so.

Apparently the wasp was wary of me and kept its distance. Perhaps it was the mate of the one I'd slain in combat a few nights previously. Or it could have been the same wasp brought back from the pit of hell to finish what it started. Eventually, I was able to slide by the wasp and rush out the bathroom door, closing it behind to trap the wasp inside. This time I thought I needed the additional reach of the broom so I headed for the laundry room to retrieve one. I'd just started opening the door to the bedroom before I remembered I was naked, and wet. Grabbing a pair of shorts from a chair, I quickly put them on and got the broom. With my privates at least partially protected by cloth armor, I cautiously reentered the bathroom. The wasp was crawling around on the light fixture. I waited until it flew past me and landed on the mirror. It's a wonder it didn't crack when I struck it hard enough to turn over my shaving cream and mousse cans. The wasp, obviously as strong as its predecessor, shrugged off the blow and flew over to the window blinds to recover. At that point I decided that brute force alone wasn't going to rid me of this thing, so I opted to deploy chemical warfare in the form of TileEx Soap and Scum Remover. I followed that with some Clorox mold remover. The fumes almost made me pass out, but fortunately the wasp too was overcome and fell into the tub. I immediately turned on the hot water and grabbed the wand, drowning it for several minutes. Then I followed this with more Tilex and Clorox. I took a respite to shave, all the time watching for any sign of movement. After shaving, I used the corner of an envelope to scoop up the wasp and carry it over to the toilet where I flushed it down the toilet to make sure it was dead. For safety reasons, I closed the lid just in case it was able to find it's way back from death again. The smooth sides of the toilet would prevent it from scaling its walls. At this point, I needed another shower because I'd worked up a sweat. I also thought it couldn't hurt to flush more water down that drain and carry the demon spawn as far away from my house as possible.

It seems as though the chemical weapons are the most effective defense against this enemy. I will be stopping by supply channels, located at Wal-Mart, to obtain some wasp and hornet spray, Sevin dust, moth balls, ant and roach baits and anything else I can use to defend my family and home from invaders. If these precautions don't work, I'm going to call in the professionals; because I'm too out of shape to keep running from these darn bugs

The Ten Commandments of Theater Attendance

2011-06-08T12:42:00.003-04:00

This is from another blog where my alter-ego is the Dirty Movie Critic!.

I work in the movie business. I am a Theater Usher.

Contrary to popular opinion, a theater usher is not there to find you, and your party of fourteen, seats together; nor are we there to open the door for you because your arms are filled with a large tub of popcorn, a 64 oz soda, and a bag of Twizzlers. Our responsibilities are far more important. Our primary job is to clean up after pigs disguised as movie-goers.

The purpose of this blog is to provide you with an insight into show business you won't find elsewhere: the dark and dirty secrets of how the movie industry seduces you into spending your hard earned money on filthy entertainment. At the same time, I will rate new releases, not on the quality of acting or cinematography - but on how dirty the theater is when you leave it.

DISCLAIMER: Neither the management of the theater at which I am employed, nor it's parent corporation, the studios, vendors, nor fellow employees are aware of, agree with, or condone in any way the views and opinions expressed within. In order to protect my job, I will not share my real name nor the theater name or location, other than to say that we are located in or near the cities of Raleigh, Durham and Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Any comparisons to peoples living elsewhere are not intended, nor should they be construed as to say that people from your area are better or worse than those who view movies at the theater I work at.

FURTHER DISCLAIMER: Since we live in a world where people are easily offended, I feel it necessary to add that my views and opinions are based on personal experience spanning more than 50 years of being both a consumer and an employee in the movie business. If I say anything to offend you, get over it. I'm only earning $6.50 an hour and I can't seem to get more than 20 hours of work any given week. If I had money, I wouldn't be cleaning up after you pigs.

Anyway, before I begin to rate the current releases, let me take this time to share the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance. Ever since Charleton Heston smashed the tablets containing the 10 commandments after finding his people worshipping a golden image of the Chic-fil-a mascot, theater employees have been demanding from God a set of laws concerning how theater-goers are to conduct themselves while in our places of employment.

1.Thou Shalt Take Your Trash With You When You Exit The Auditorium. Rule #1 is that whatever you bring into the theater with you needs to go with you when you leave. We provide you with at least one trash container, usually found near the door where you entered the auditorium. In some occasions, ushers will provide a mobile trash container at the foot of the steps. Use them. Just because you paid $9-12 for a ticket doesn't give you the right to expect bus service. If you're going to leave a mess, at least leave a tip - $1.00 minimum per cup holder. If you drop personal belongings - don't expect to recover any cash. We'll give you back the cell phones, umbrellas and jewelry, but any cash found is considered a tip even though it won't be reported as such to the IRS. (Actually the janitorial service that cleans the theaters after hours finds most of your money, so don't blame the ushers!)

2.Thou Shalt Not Complain About How Long the Box Office and Concession Lines Are. Here's an original thought - come early. You have to come two hours early to catch an airplane, what's wrong with arriving 20 minutes before your show starts. Another thing - relax. There are usually 12-13 minutes of paid commercials and pre-views before the movie you paid to see starts. Stop your bitching.

3.Thou Shalt Not Bring Contraband Into the Theater. You cheap pig! Sure our concessions are over-priced, but that's because the theater has to hire us to clean up after you. Don't bring your microwave popcorn, canned sodas, dinner leftovers, beer cans, vodka bottles, and chicken bones into our theater. And if you do manage to sneak it past us, at least have respect for us ushers to take the trash with you and drop them in the containers the theater provides for paying customers.

4.Thou Shalt Not Leave Your Spit Cups For Ushers to Clean Up. This commandment is like unto the previous: If you consume tobacco products between your cheek and gums, don't use our cups to spit in and then leave your filthy, stinking expectorant for us to have to touch. How do women kiss guys who use smokeless tobacco? It stinks, it's disgusting, and it's toxic. If you're addicted to that fecal matter, wait until you leave to use it. I hope you swallow and choke on that shit!

5.Thou Shalt Not Complain About Dirty Bathrooms. Who do you think messed them up to begin with? Women are the worst. I think you're afraid to sit where another woman has rested her fat but-tocks, so you squat and your aim sucks. Toilet paper goes in the toilet. If it doesn't flush when your behind stands up - push the little button behind the toilet so the next guest (or poor usher who has to clean the restrooms) doesn't have to look at the present you left them. Guys - stand closer to the urinal. The reason the bathrooms smell so bad is because there's more piss on the floor than down the drain. Besides, ushers are so busy cleaning 16-20 screens that we don't have time to keep the bathroom clean. Go before you come!

6.Thou Shalt Not Talk During the Movie. No one likes those loud obnoxious people who have no inside voice. When you pay $9-12 for a movie ticket, you want to be able to hear what's being played over those 500 watt surround sound speakers. Turn off your cell phones! You are not that important - and if you're needed that badly you shouldn't be wasting time watching a movie. Here's a helpful hint: Ushers look for people using cell phones and if your cell phone is a camera phone, it can be confiscated it theater employees suspect you're taking shots or video of the movie. That's called piracy - which is covered in the seventh commandment.

7.Thou Shalt Not Pirate Movies. Although I support capitalism, stealing movies by videotaping new releases is a felony. When you see an usher walk into the theater during the movie, we're not only there to count the number of patrons and record the count on the sheet by the emergency exit, we're looking for people who are using video cameras, cell phones or other recording devices. If we see you, we won't be the ones approaching you. We call the cops, point you out, and you're out more than the cost of the movie ticket. We're trained to spot pirateers, so don't make us be the bad guy simply because you're a dirtbag.

8.Thou Shalt Not Enter an Auditorium While It Is Being Cleaned. So you're one of the smart few who arrived early; if you enter an auditorium and you see the ushers are still cleaning the theater, go back outside until you see us exit with all the trash left by the previous movie-goers. They're the ones who make you wait for a seat. If they'd taken their trash with them rather than left it in, under, and behind the seats, we'd be done and you could park your butt in the seat of your choice before all the late-comers get there. Above all, don't stand to the side and watch us clean. Grab a damn broom and dustpan and help if you're that anxious to get a seat.

9.Thou Shalt Purchase Only What You Will Consume. Our concessionaires are trained to up-sell concessions; but you don't need to buy the large tub of popcorn just because it's only twenty-five cents more and you get free refills. Very few people get refills, and the majority that do come back for refills are the clumsy jerks who spilled half of the popcorn stumbling up the stairs. Same goes for a large drink - you don't know how many times we find tubs of popcorn and drinks barely touched when we clean up behind the lazy bastards that left them in the seats. Concessions are already over-priced, don't pay for more than you're going to consume. Our managers appreciate the bonus you earned them, but the ushers hate you for it.

10.Thou Shalt Not Watch Every Last Credit Once the Movie Has Ended. Some people sit until every credit has played before getting up and leaving. Meanwhile, the poor ushers are standing to the side, stressing out over the other three movies that let out at the same time this one did and knowing that they've only got 20 minutes to clean four auditoriums before the next feature starts. You don't need to know who catered the Russian location portion during the production of this film or who rewound the tape for the editors. The credits are there for one purpose as far as we ushers are concerned: to give you time to get the hell out so we can clean the theater. Inevitably, one or two will stay and watch all the credits and we'll end up so far behind that the next group of viewers get ticked off because they can't get a seat because the ushers are still cleaning the theater of mountains of waste sold to people who's wallets were bigger than they bellies.

Enjoy the movies - but remember the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance.

!%*@)^%$& !!!

2011-04-19T11:38:00.006-04:00

Researchers at Keele University on the other side of the pond have discovered that cursing helps ease pain. http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/04/18/wtf-study-shows-swearing-reduces-pain/

I can affirm that their research has merit. This morning, T.T. and I went to put gas in his truck. I rode in the back because it's finally Spring here in Granville County. T.T. parked next to the pump and then spent a few minutes patting himself down looking for his wallet. He rummaged around inside the truck, muttering a few curse words, before finding the wallet between the seat cushions.

As T.T. opened the gas tank lid, he jerked his hand back quickly. At first he thought he'd brushed a knuckle against a sharp piece of metal, but as the pain intensified, T.T. bent over to see what had stuck him. Hanging just above the gas cap was a large wasp, partially hanging out of a tiny wasp nest. T.T. jumped back a few feet, afraid the wasp was going to come after him.

It was rather cool this morning, so the wasp was probably too cold to venture out of its nest. T.T. looked at the wasp, then at his gas cap as if wondering if he could unscrew the cap without further agitating the wasp. He quickly decided the hell with that - in fact that's exactly what he said.

T.T. grabbed the windshield squeegee next to the pump and used it to knock the wasp from its perch. I backed to the other end of the truck bed as I don't get along well with wasps either. The wasp fell to the ground and T.T. proceeded to stomp the s....tuffing out of that wasp - cursing the entire time. When there was nothing left that resembled a wasp, T.T. looked at his swollen knuckle and cursed some more.

Apparently, someone who swears a lot builds up immunity to it and it doesn't help the pain as much as someone who swears infrequently. T.T. has a vast vocabulary of swear words, and he hates wasps, so he continued to curse as we drove down I-85 towards Durham. Passing motorists couldn't help but stare at the sight of a lone driver carrying on such an animated conversation with a beagle. They probably thought he was mad at me.

This research also shows that test subjects who use a neutral word - such as 'broccoli' rather than a swear word experience very little pain relief. So the next time you hit your finger with a hammer or stump your toe going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, let it fly. People will understand that it's just pain management.

Have You Heard the 2nd Verse to the National Anthem?

2010-06-11T08:09:00.000-04:00

Have You Heard the 2nd Verse to the National Anthem?

Deacon

2010-05-12T08:23:00.004-04:00

T.T. has been sad for the past few weeks - ever since Deacon Wilson passed away. Deacon Wilson, or just "Deacon" as he was commonly called by the members of The Carpenter's Shop, was eighty-two years old when he died from a stroke on a Tuesday afternoon in March. The pastor found him lying on the ground next to the shed where the riding lawn mower was stored. Deacon was apparently changing the oil in the mower before the first cutting of the year. Deacon loved Spring more than any other season for it represented new life.

The memorial service was on Friday. Sunday morning the weather was cloudy and misty. The pastor arrived early, as was his custom, to pray and review his sermon notes. He reached behind his seat for his umbrella and made a mental note to ask the greeters to move the umbrella stand just outside the church doors for the congregation to deposit their umbrellas before entering the sanctuary. This made him think of Deacon. Who would take his place escorting some of the older ladies from their cars under his umbrella this morning? Deacon had performed this task for years. When other greeters simply stood at the top of the steps to shake hands and open the church doors for worshipers, Deacon went out in the weather to make sure the older folk had some cover from the wind and rain.

As he exited his car and looked around the church grounds, the pastor noticed the beer cans and paper sacks tossed outside by passing motorists. Deacon had always picked up the trash in front of the church before anyone arrived and complained. He would have to get someone to handle this task as well, though few would want to risk getting their hands and suits dirty. "I'm sure going to miss Deacon." the pastor muttered softly.

The pastor wasn't the only one who noticed things weren't as neat and orderly as they normally were. Someone had brought the bread and grape juice for communion, but couldn't find the trays or the table cloths. The temperature was a bit chilly for the older members. Deacon had always adjusted the temperature so the sanctuary and classrooms were comfortable before people arrived. And despite the smiles and handshakes from the other greeters, it just wasn't the same not seeing Deacon there to hand out bulletins and inquire how one's week had been.

Children too missed Deacon. He'd always kept Life Savers candies in his coat pocket for the little ones. Deacon loved kids and knew every child by name. He even kept a small notebook with their birthdays recorded; and on their birthdays, Deacon would give them a dollar along with a Life Savers candy. Sometimes the parents thought that their kids were impolite or ungrateful when they'd run up to Deacon and shove their hand into his coat pocket for a candy and run off without saying "Thank you." Deacon didn't think that way though - he was honored that they trusted him and were comfortable around him.

It's common practice in most churches that deacons are nominated and approved to serve for a specific periof of time. Although Deacon wasn't a member of the current deacon board, he continued his duties as though he were. Deacon didn't know how not to stay busy, and people were so accustomed to seeing him out front every Sunday that he was considered honorary deacon for life. It's how he got his nickname.

Although his absence was noticed and felt by most, few members of the church really knew Deacon that well. The pastor knew him best; as did T.T. You see, both T.T. and Deacon shared the same personality - funny, but shy. They are wall-flowers at social events. They are always invited, but they tend to stay off at the side and talk to only one or two people they know best. Deacon and T.T. shared the same political and social opinions, even if T.T. was the more vocal of the two. Neither is comfortable letting others do for them; nor were they too comfortable simply sitting in a worship service as an observer. More often than not, T.T. and Deacon would stand outside and talk while the sermon was being delivered.

That's when I was able to attend church too, even if I didn't go inside. T.T. takes me everywhere - that's the deal we have. So it was nothing for me to sit between the two of them as they talked about the incompetence of the government, the sad state of affairs in the White House, and their worry over the world their kids and grandkids would inherit; or they'd talk about some member of the church who needed some sort of help with a harvest or a power bill. Deacon would scratch behind my ears and run his age-spotted hands over my coat. He usually had a biscuit in his other coat pocket for me if he knew I was coming that Sunday.

Deacon only had one suit. He took as good care of it as possible, brushing it every Sunday before putting it on, and occasionally having it dry cleaned when he had the extra money. Deacon never spent much money on himself. His first priority was his kids, whom he never stopped worrying about. As far as Deacon was concerned, if his kids didn't have to make the mistakes he'd made, he would consider himself a good father. I never once heard him ask anyone for anything, but I saw the joy he received in giving what little he had.

Last Sunday, the pastor and the church decided that Deacon deserved more than one memorial service. Members brought food and instruments and the whole day was spent eating, singing and simply being together. Deacon's children, none of whom attended their dad's church, were invited. I think that his family learned something about their dad that they didn't realize when he was alive. To them, he was a loving and gentle, if opinionated man; a good father, if not successful in the things that success is measured today. As person after person got up and shared their stories about Deacon, both family and friends discovered that here was a man whose character and loyalty and wit had touched lives in many small but significant ways. The day was spent in celebration of Deacon's life and in community with one another.

Papa stopped by to see me on Monday. He asked me how T.T. was doing - not that He couldn't know, but because He delights in choosing not to know everything just because He can. Papa loves to share the joy of His children, just as He's willing to experience their sorrow - because He cares about the same things they care about. "If anything matters, everything matters." is something God likes to remind us.

I told Papa that T.T. was still sad about the hole that Deacon's passing had left in his heart; and in mine. Papa gave me a squeeze and assured me that Deacon was just fine. "He's still a wall-flower, even in Heaven, Bubba." Papa explained. "It's as though he's still not convinced that he deserves to be with Me. Jesus explained to Deacon that it was our love for him that made him welcome into our family, but Deacon's still processing all that's been done for him."

Papa went on to say, "Part of Deacon's reticence to let himself go and be free to explore the heavens like he wants to, is that right after he arrived, he ran into a couple of liberals he recognized from television. Deacon never expected to see a liberal in Heaven, so now he has to rethink his old opinions. For Deacon, the distinction between liberals and conservatives is as far apart as East is from West. If one is right, the other has to be wrong. But there they are in the same place, so which one is wrong - or are they both?" "Believe me," Papa said, leaning in closer to me and with a grin said, "they were more surprised than Deacon to find themselves among the distinct minority in Heaven."

"Deacon doesn't realize it yet, but Heaven is far bigger than social thought or about theology or eschatology or other human ideas. It's about discovering My mind and My heart for my creations. Deacon's destiny is to explore new worlds, just as I whispered to him in his mother's womb." I asked Papa about T.T.'s destiny, but He shook his head and told me it's not for me to know. "T.T. walks a similar path to that of Deacon, but every destiny is different as every person is different." I must have looked worried because Papa quickly reassured me that "You'll see them both again, Bubba. Trust me."

I wanted to ask if there's a Bojangles in Heaven, but didn't want to appear too 'worldly' to Papa. If there is, I'm sure that Deacon will have a biscuit for me next time I see him.

The Baptist

2009-07-31T10:18:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I was awakened from a siesta by the squeaking of a rusted van door and the sigh of relief of worn shocks as the occupant got out of a rust red 1980 Dodge conversion van. A thick puff of dust rose around a pair of feet, with ankles as thick as fence posts, as a woman stepped from the vehicle. She sported a pink checkered sack dress that hung well below her knees. Her hair was graying blond and piled haphazardly upon her head in the semblance of a bunn. Her face was red from the exertion of getting out of her vehicle, but she put on a big smile as she waddled towards the house, a Bible in one hand.

Bubba BiGot Jr. III was sitting in a rocker on his front porch. He scowled like Clint Eastwood's character in 'Gran Torino', as much in distaste of the butt-ugle van sitting in his driveway as at its driver. Bubba, or T.T. as I like to call him, is a Ford man. Undeterred by his stare, the woman approached the bottom step and greeted T.T. "A glorious day to you sir! My name is Faith Newsome and I'm from The First Apostolic Free-Will Baptist Church over in Durham, and I was in the area and wanted to see if I could speak to the young lady that lives here. She visited with us a couple of weeks ago with Sister Ruby Pike and I just wanted to see if she needed a ride to church tomorrow."

T.T. scowled even more at the mention of Ruby Pike, that self-righteous busy-body neighbor who lived a couple of houses down the road. "She's out of town for a couple of weeks visiting her mother." T.T. responded, hoping the woman would turn around and get back into her van and leave.

A look of disappointment replaced Faith's smile. This was the third house she'd visited trying to get people to come with her to church the following day. "I see." she replied. "Well, please tell her I came by and I hope she will come out and visit us when she gets back, from Georgia, isn't it?

"Yep." T.T. said. Obviously his daughter had told Ruby Pike and she'd blabbed it all over the church.

Unwilling to trudge all the way back to her van, the woman decided to strike up a conversation with T.T., hoping he'd at least invite her to get out of the sun and have a seat on the porch. "Sir, before I go, could I ask you a question?" Faith climbed the first step as she spoke.

T.T. sighed. I could hear it from the van where I was busy marking the tires. He knew what was coming. "Sure", he replied.

Faith took another step. "Well, if you were to die today, do you know where you'd spend eternity?"

"Sure do." T.T. said.

After a few seconds it became apparent that T.T. wasn't going to elaborate further, so Faith tried to draw the answer from him. "That's good. So you know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?"

"Yep."

T.T.'s reticence to respond with more than two words was causing Faith to have doubts that T.T. really believed in Christ. She wanted to help him understand what being saved really means. "And you know that we've all sinned and fallen short of the Kingdom of God and that without Jesus' atoning blood spilled on your behalf you are condemned to an eternity in the fiery pits of hell along with Satan and his host of demons....eternally separated from God....with no hope just eternal pain and misery...away from those you love and who now rest in the loving arms of the Creator." Faith paused for breath. "You do know you can't get to Heaven without Jesus, don't you?"

"Yes ma'am. I've gone to church most of my life. I've read the Bible from cover to cover. I know what the Bible says."

Thinking she'd found a flaw in T.T.'s response, Faith took two more steps and stood on the porch only a few feet from T.T. I moved a bit closer in case T.T. needed help fending her off.

"But don't you know, Mr. BiGot, that just going to church and reading the Bible doesn't mean you have a saving relationship with the Lord! You've got to repent from all your sins and obey the Word of God if you want to spend eternity with the Father."

"I 'spose." T.T. replied.

A lock of Faith's hair had worked loose from the clip and now hung over her eyes. She was starting to look more and more like Carrie's mother from that Stephen King movie.

"Not every church teaches the entire gospel, Mr. BiGot. You've got to be in a Bible-believing, Spirit-filled church if you want to get to know God."

"I attend The Carpenter's Shop over in Creedmoor."

Faith had never heard of the church. "That's good, but you need to hear the gospel from a preacher that knows the Word like our pastor. Pastor Woody Carver has been preaching at First Apostolic Free Will since 1992. He's a powerful man of God who ain't afraid to call sin sin. He don't stand by like other pastors and accept sin in his church. You won't find any homosexuals or harlots there. If you don't pay your tithes, he'll call you out in public because not paying your tithes isn't a financial issue, it's a faith issue and it needs to be dealt with. You need to have folks around you who will help hold your feet to the fire when you start back-sliding. That's the kind of Christians you'll find at First Apostolic Free Will Baptist Church."

T.T. had heard just about enough by now,so he decided to have some fun with Ms. Faith. "I used to be a Baptist, but then I got saved." he replied.

Stunned, Faith just stood with her mouth hanging open. No he didn't! This insolent heathen wasn't insinuating that FAFWBC was not doing the Lord's work? I moved closer in case she was was going to draw a butcher knife from inside that tent she wore.

"Well," she huffed. "All I know is what the Word says, and my Bible says that "A good man obtaineth favour of the LORD: but a man of wicked devices will he condemn." And in the gospel of John that "He that believeth on him is not condemned: but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil."

"And in my Bible it says "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayer: therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation."

The two of them spent the next fifteen minutes throwing scripture verses at one another. Faith concluded with "Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into condemnation; but is passed from death unto life." That's found in John 5:24 if you don't have time to look it up.

T.T. shot back, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, get thou fat ass off my porch and move that piece of crap van out of my yard before I buy up that church building of yours and shove it where the sun don't shine!"

Faith stomped off the porch, hurling back unpleasantries. T.T. smiled and said things like, "Go in pieces."
"Be blessless."
"Fast and pray sister, with emphasis on the fasting!"
It took awhile for the dust to settle from her stomping before she could see well enough to back out of the drive.

After she was gone, I told T.T. that he didn't act very Christian-like to Faith. "I know", he admitted. "But I'm sick of in-your-business-Christians who think they've got the inside track to God. The next time someone says "Well, all I know is the Word, and the Word says blah-blah-blah." I'm going to make them eat it."

I'm going to ask God to go easy on T.T. the next time I see Him. T.T.'s bark is worse than his bite. He's like the President, he don't know when to keep his mouth shut.

Failure To Communicate - Part 2

2009-07-19T17:47:00.004-04:00

Missus and T.T. were shopping today in Wal-Mart and T.T. was again the victim of an assault by his wife. I must point out that T.T. wasn't raised to lay his hand on a woman, so he was at a disadvantage here.

Missus needed some new underwear before leaving on their trip to Nebraska. The two were in the lingerie aisle. Missus prefers the Hanes brand. T.T. saw some bras that appealed to him and called them to the attention of Missus. She came over and looked at them, shook her head and said, "Pretty balloons." T.T. agreed "Yep." and reached out to give the padded bras a squeeze.

Missus looked at him like he was some sort of pervert and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"That's why I'm ashamed to go anywhere with you!" she hissed.

"What did I do?" T.T. asked.

"Oh, I don't know." Missus explained. "Just a fat middle-aged man in the women's lingerie department feeling up the merchandise."

"What are you getting so upset about?" T.T. insisted. "I was just agreeing with you."

"In what way?" Missus inquired.

"Well, you said those were pretty balloons and I thought they were pretty and just felt them to see what made them so pert and full."

"Uh-huh." said Missus.

"And I just wanted to see if they were as firm as your breasts are." As T.T. said this, he reached out and gave Missus' breasts a squeeze, just as the clerk walked over and asked if she could help them.

Missus blushed, but T.T. grinned, shook his head and responded, "No, I can take care of these myself."

It was then that Missus opened up a can of whoop-ass on T.T. They were escorted from the store and asked never to return.

It turned out that Missus didn't say 'pretty balloons". She said "Fruit of the Loom".

Numb Nuts

2009-06-02T09:03:00.007-04:00

This week's continuing saga in the life of Bubba BiGot Jr III (or T.T.) ties in with the previous two posts - miscommunication and rear ends.

I'm in my customary pew outside the bar where T.T.'s church meets. The metal table legs are beginning to rust from my frequent bathroom breaks, so I'm considering donating another table to take its place. Maybe I'll follow the lead of Baptists and have a dedication plaque attached to it so visitors and customers will know of my good deed. Maybe God will stop by for a drink and sit at the table, notice my name, and reward me for my generosity....but I don't think so.

Anyway, this past Sunday a visiting missionary couple came to talk to us about the work they're doing in Guatemala. They brought a beautiful little girl with them and she and I had a good time coloring while her dad talked about the needs of people in La Limonada, outside Guatemala City. (Click the link above for more information.)

T.T. sat in the center of the room, slouched down so the people behind him could see the speaker. I watched him squirm and wiggle, trying to get comfortable in the wooden chair. By the time the service was nearing an end, T.T. was pretty miserable. So he stood up and walked to the front of the room rather than stand in front of the people sitting behind him. The pastor, observing T.T. standing at the front, assumed he had something to say and offered the floor to T.T.

If you don't know much about T.T., you should know that he says what's on his mind. Sometimes it's quick and witty, and other times his mouth gets ahead of his brain - which was the case this time. When the pastor asked T.T. if he had something he wanted to say, T.T.'s response was supposed to be, "No. My butt's numb from sitting in that chair." What came out however was, "No. My nuts are numb...my butt's numb..uh."

Everybody cracked up. I fell off the table laughing. T.T. blushed, and in characteristic fashion said, "Nuts, butts, what's a couple of inches either way?" More laughs. I'm not sure what the missionaries thought, but as the pastor's wife commented as she wiped tears from her face, "Only you, T.T. Only you."

I suppose T.T. is going to be stuck with a new nickname from now on.

Bummed on Crack

2009-05-28T10:19:00.003-04:00

Like humans, dogs too dream. Often my dreams are affected by the things I've seen and done earlier in the day. Last night was no exception.

Earlier in the day I'd had to have a plumber come out and repair a leaky faucet in my bathroom. Like all plumbers, this one was clothing challenged as evidenced by a hairy butt crack. I had been thirsty and was going to drink from the toilet until I saw the plumber’s derriere. I tipped him an extra $25 and told him to buy some Velcro to keep his pants in place.

Then later that evening, T.T. called me from the airport to say goodnight. He always does that when he flies out of town and can't take me along with him. He was waiting at the gate for the flight crew to arrive so they could board the plane. While talking, he noticed a young woman bend to sit down. Her jeans were very low cut and T.T. remarked that he could see quite a large chunk of her butt crack. T.T. then remarked that that was her better side, as her face looked like a mule sucking on persimmons - which is T.T.'s way of saying the young lady should not be trying out for America's Next Top Model.

All of this combined to affect my dreams last night. In my dream, I was flying. Snoopy, another, though slightly less famous, beagle of Peanuts fame was my wingman. We were flying high near the clouds looking for that cursed Red Baron when Snoopy catches my attention. Pointing with his left ear, Snoopy indicated an object flying much lower beneath us. I nodded and we banked to intercept the bogey. Upon drawing near, I realized that it wasn't the Red Baron we were stalking, but a flying T.T. Maybe flying is an exaggeration...he was mostly floating and bouncing from treetop to treetop.

When he noticed us, T.T. waved and indicated he wanted to fly along with us. I was afraid we'd stall out as we couldn't fly that slowly, but T.T. managed to push off from a tree limb and began to swim through the air. It was funny to watch T.T. doing breast strokes. When he would get tired, he'd slowly float down to the earth, catch his breath, and bounce back into the air with us. Watching him fly was like watching a bumblebee. With T.T.'s big gut and flat ah...butt it should have been impossible for him to fly, but dreams often defy the impossible.

After awhile T.T. challenged us to a race. He shoved off from a rooftop and began swimming as fast as he could. It was at that point that I noticed how the wind was pushing his pants back over his rear. Another butt crack!

It's a dream, and anything is possible in a dream, so I dreamed that I pulled a credit card from a wallet I don't have and from a place that doesn't have pockets, and I swiped it down T.T.'s crack. Snoopy cracked up when he saw me do this, so then he pulls out a quarter and drops it in the crack. Not to be outdone, I reach into the front seat of Snoopy's plane and produce a putty knife and a can of putty and proceeded to caulk T.T.'s butt crack. Whether it was the shock of the swipe or the weight of the putty, T.T. lost his equilibrium and dropped like a bomb, plowing a furrow through a freshly-tilled Nebraska corn field.

I awoke at that point, images of hairy butts haunting my waking moments resulting in a not-so-slight headache. I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at T.T. again without thinking about his butt crack. Some people get high on crack; I don't see the attraction.

What We Have Here Is a Failure to Communicate!

2009-05-11T07:56:00.008-04:00

I was up at the big house over the weekend when T.T. and his missus got into an argument. It was quite funny.

Humans, unlike animals, can't understand one another - even if they speak the same language. Animals don't have that problem. A Chinese Shar Pei, or German Shepherd, or a Portuguese Water Dog speaks the same language I speak. We communicate using all of our senses. Humans, on the other hand, have only one heightened sense - the ability to create. Animals don't require this skill as humans were purposed to use their creative abilities to take care of the planet and its inhabitants...and they can't even do that right. They can build a bridge across a canyon, but when it comes to building a communication bridge, they really suck at it.

Mrs. T.T. is not from around these parts. She's from Nebraska where humans speak a rather neutral form of American. (You do realize of course that there's a difference between the English dialect and the American form of English?) Well, T.T. speaks a different form of American; he speaks Southern. Mrs. T.T. is still getting used to the language here in the better half of the United States. When T.T. says he's going to check the oil and the tire pressure in his truck, she hears 'ole' - as in old; and tar - as in Tar Heels. It doesn't make sense to her that T.T. is going to check the 'old tar presser'. Nor is she familiar with some of the expressions of the older Southerners. "I swawnee; you ain't got no more sense than a hant in Georgia" leaves her scratching her head. Along those lines, "Dumber than a stump-broke mule." has no logical definition. So it stands to reason that when she asked T.T. where the Butner-Creedmoor newspaper was, she misunderstood his response.

T.T. was busy on his laptop playing Mafia Wars on Facebook. When Missus asked him where the paper was, he didn't look up, just muttered what the Missus understood as "In the car, bitch." Missus stood there for a moment, her mouth agape - not believing her ears. Did her husband just call her a bitch? T.T. was paying no attention, intent on putting out a hit on the jerk that’d attacked him seven times in a row, so he didn't notice as Missus stomped out of the bedroom, grabbed the car keys off the counter and proceeded to check both his truck and her car. Now she's both frustrated and pissed off.

Missus slammed the car door, marched back into the bedroom and slapped T.T. up side his head! "What the hell?!" T.T. says, trying to maintain a grasp on the laptop.

"I asked you where the paper is." Missus said through clenched jaw.

T.T. was still trying to see past the stars floating before his eyes. "Are you crazy? I told you where the newspaper is!"

"Liar!" Missus screamed before turning around and walking out of the bedroom.

"WTF?" T.T. said, using computer shortcut language for "I don't understand what just happened." He looked at me, who'd been lying at the foot of the bed watching reruns of Lassie, and said "Must be that time of month!" T.T. rubbed the side of his face where the Missus had left a nice impression of her palm. I turned back to my TV show and didn't say a word.

Not only do humans lack the ability to communicate with one another, they actually believe they can communicate with animals. If I want a laugh, I'll watch The Pet Psychic or The Dog Whisperer on TV. The psychic or whisperer will tell the owner of the animal that the dog or horse is unhappy because one of the human kids took their tennis ball and didn't return it. What the dog or horse really said was along the lines of "Hurry up and get that camera off me; I gotta take a dump!" Because the expert hasn't a clue what the animal is really saying, they usually capture a bowel movement on TV.

The old TV shows are the best though. Timmy and Lassie could be out on an adventure playing in the woods and Timmy could fall into the only quicksand pond within a five states radius that just appeared on their property overnight. Timmy would flail about for a minute before sinking above his knees in the quicksand and Lassie would grab a stick in his mouth (Lassie was always a male Collie) and extend it out for Timmy to grab hold. If it was too far, Timmy would say, "Lassie, go get my folks and tell them I'm on the south forty - not the north forty where there's no quicksand traps and the cattle are pastured, but the south forty where there's three granite boulders that look like totems. Tell them I'm four hundred yards to the right of the largest totem, behind the bushes! Quick, go get my folks Lassie - they're in the East pasture picking worms off the corn, not in the West pasture gathering watermelons for the watermelon eating contest this Saturday at the Eakes' barn raising. Go Lassie, go find help girl!"

Lassie would say 'Woof' and off he'd run, leaping over fallen trees, passing pickup trucks on dirt roads, jumping over fences, stopping only to have sex with a sheep in one of the forties, and as he approaches Timmy's farm begins to bark an alarm. Timmy's dad will hear Lassie barking and say, "That sounds like Lassie!" His mom will say, "There must be something wrong with Timmy!" Timmy's brother will run out and meet Lassie and grab her by the face, saying, "What is it girl? Has something happened to Timmy?"

Lassie will say, "Woof" and Timmy's brother will turn to his folks and say, "Timmy's in a quicksand pond down in the South pasture, four hundred yards to the right of the largest granite boulder that looks like a totem. Lassie says we've got to hurry!"

The dad will say, "Everybody in the truck! Lassie, show us where Timmy is." and they'll roar off at 60 miles an hour, with Lassie staying out in front of the truck the entire time. They get to Timmy just as he's up to his chin in quicksand. Timmy's dad grabs a rope out of the back of the truck, forms a noose and tossed it over Timmy's head, (they weren't so concerned about child labor laws back then), then instead of tying off the other end to the truck and backing it up, he ties it around Lassie's neck, who by this time is wiped out from all this running, but courageously backs up slowly, pulling with all his might, until Timmy is within reach of his dad's arms. After Timmy's all washed up and lying in bed with clean sheets tucked around him, the folks will go outside and give Lassie a big hug and tell her what a good dog she is. Lassie will say "Woof!" which means "I want a stand-in if we're going to keep this running BS in every scene!" Humans crack me up thinking they can understand dogs.

I remember once when I was a pup that T.T. got down on the floor with his face close to mine and pretended to bark. "Woof. Woof-woof. Woof-woof-woof! Enh, neh, nenh!" It took me awhile to decipher what T.T. was saying to me. Although the words were in random order, they meant something like, "I want some crunchy hot sauce for my foreskin, please give me some now!" Once I told him what he said, he blushed and since then he's just talked to me in American. It's funny that animals can understand humans better than humans understand us.

Later Saturday night, T.T. and the Missus were laying in the bed not speaking to one another. Both were on their backs, arms folded across their chests, chins up, eyes closed. T.T. broke the silence first. "Why did you hit me this afternoon?" he asked. I'm lying at the foot of the bed listening. "You know why!" Missus said, a tear forming in the corner of one eye. "No I don't! I was minding my own business when you walked up and slapped me!" T.T. exclaimed. "What did you expect when you call me a bitch!" Missus replied. "I did not!" T.T. protested. "Did too." Missus retorted. "When?" T.T. asked. "When I asked you where the newspaper was." Missus pouted. "And I told you!" T.T. insisted. "It wasn't there. I looked in both the car and truck and it's not in there." The tear rolled down her pretty cheek. "Why did you look in the car when I told you it was in the garbage?" T.T. asked, totally perplexed at this point.

"Garbage?" Missus asked.

There was a moment of silence before Missus continued, almost in a whisper. "I thought you said, 'In the car, bitch." There was a longer period of silence as both T.T. and Missus realized that they'd made a mistake. T.T. was the first to snort, the bed shaking as his body shook in laughter. Then Missus started laughing. The harder one would laugh, the more the other would laugh until they were both in tears, holding one another. Missus stroked T.T.'s face and said, "I'm sorry." before bursting out into laughter again. They'd stop and kiss and laugh some more. It was all very embarrassing, so I got up and went back to my own bed.

The Emerging Church...sort of

2009-04-28T10:35:00.008-04:00

Bubba BiGot Jr. III, or T.T. as I refer to him, belongs to a different sort of church than the one he grew up attending. No more Sunday suits, assigned pews, obligatory three hymns, offering, sermon, and benediction - T.T.'s church meets in a bar...OK, the owner changed the name to grill, but you can still buy a screwdriver or Budweiser after service if you desire.

The church used to meet in a barn. Before that it met in a shopping center; and before that it met in a fitness center. As the venues have changed, so has the form of the church.

This is an equal opportunity church. Before moving to the bar/grill, members could bring their pets to church. For some stupid reason, this is frowned upon by the health inspectors, so I just sit outside and listen through the window. T.T. leaves a leash on the table next to me in case a cop drives by. I simply slip my head through the leash, the other end of which is attached to the table legs. Once the SOBCOP has gone, I pull my head out and go about my business. Sometimes I leave my business on the sidewalk just because these leash laws suck.

Up until recently, the church had no music, but now a couple of members are bringing guitars and everyone will sing three or four songs. They aren't as good as a pack of baying hounds, but they're not bad for humans. The singing probably freaks out the heathens in the next room, who're there eating breakfast instead of being in church - where they belong, IMHO.

Most of the time these Christians talk about scripture, and about what's going on in their lives. Sometimes it's about biology, DNA, herbs, or even politics. Usually T.T. has at least one political comment or opinion to share. This past Sunday the talk was about mafia wars. You see, half of the members of the church are in the same mafia family. None of them are Italian as far as I know. And none of them can sing Soprano. But it does make sense for a mafia to meet in a restaurant/bar/grill to conduct business, spiritual or otherwise.

T.T. was bragging on the number of members in his part of the family: around 435 or so. He's not the highest man on the totem pole. The guy playing the guitar is up there. Even the pastor is in the mafia. They were talking about how many casinos they owned, how many town cars and Humvees were in their stable, who they whack and what determines who gets whacked and how often, which mafia families they have alliances with, etc. I wanted to tell T.T. to lower the window some in case a cop walked by and overhead what they were saying, but I was intrigued and wanted to hear more.

It seems that T.T. is earning about $3,000,000 an hour and has over $20 billion in the bank. Those lottery winnings were sure invested well. Then the pastor says that $3 million is nothing - he's making hundreds of millions an hour! I couldn't believe my ears at first, but then I realized that most of it is going to stimulate Obama's economy. One would think they would whack the President and buy off Congress with that much money at stake.

Apparently these mafia members put great stock in gifts and collecting statuary, paintings, rings, even neckties and playing cards. They'll pull off a heist in the hopes of finding one of these items. No wonder the American Christians are the most affluent believers in the world. Who else would risk so many lives to gain a Queen of Hearts or Seven of Clubs?

Now I know that the Church used to be in bed with the government in Europe, which is why the Protestants moved to America about 500 years ago. Now it looks like the mafia has gained control of the Southern Baptists and other fundamental denominations and is planning to take over the government. It's all very confusing and scary. It’s said that once you join the mafia, you're in it for life. Perhaps that's what the Baptists mean when they say "Once saved, always saved."

You would think that with all that money and power the people could come to church in something nicer than sandals and shorts. They must be keeping it all on the down-low. I'll bet I know what they're doing! They're laundering all that money through various ministries all over the world. That's the only explanation for the pastor spending time recently with a group of Church movers-and-shakers out on Orcas Island. They're redefining the Church. The Pope is being replaced by the Don who gets his orders from GODFather; and I guess that's cool, because the old Church was about as effective as the federal government.

Something is bothering me though. I don't understand how these Christians can justify breaking all the Commandments. All this mugging, whacking, snuffing, robbing, bribing, and paying off people just doesn't seem to fit in with scripture. I've got to remember to talk to God about it next time He comes over. Maybe it’s all covered under the Grace clause.

Earth Day and Jack Bauer

2009-04-22T07:47:00.005-04:00

You all know that Jack Bauer is my hero and that I never miss a second of the 24 series on Fox. Well, this season the characters from the show, including Keifer Sullivan, have been talking about global warming. Now I must tell you that I've always felt that global warming was just another way the government could regulate the lives of humans. I found it hard to believe that Jack Bauer, who I've always felt was a straight shooter, could defend an obvious communist plot to destroy liberty.

Well, this morning I was able to talk to God about it. He was walking around the neighborhood, checking on his peeps, and stopped in to say good morning. The garbage men had come by earlier and had thrown Bubba BiGot's trash can on the sidewalk instead of setting it on the curb like they're supposed to. God waved when He saw me, and stopped to upright the can before coming over to the mansion. He patted my head, I licked His hand. "Bubba," God said, "I like what you've done to your yard, especially that hydrangea bush over by the bathroom window. How are you liking your new digs?"

"Lord," I says, "wood is fine for a Shih-Tzu; but brick and stone are more to my liking. Thank you for blessing T.T. and me."

God laughed and said, "You know I had nothing to do with T.T. winning that lottery Bubba. All I ask is that you don't let money prevent you from doing the right thing."

I invited God inside for a cup of coffee and gave Him the recliner. I was content to sit at His feet while we talked. "Lord, today is Earth Day", I said. "and I know that it belongs to you and all; but have you been watching 24 this season?

"Indeed I have Bubba. I sure hope Jack Bauer survives that biological agent."

TV is just TV, so God doesn't like to spoil things by watching ahead. "And have you noticed how Fox is using the characters to talk about global warming? Is there really anything to that theory God?"

"Well, you know how liberals are." God explained. "If it was just the Democrats bitching about something, I'd shrug it off as just the imaginations of children. But when I saw the characters on 24 talking about global warming, I was worried initially. You see, Bubba, Democrats are always worried about injustice. They just don't understand that justice is due me, not them. They've caused most of the injustice in America with their whining, refusal to take responsibility for themselves, and all sorts of conspiracy theories."

The Lord took a sip of coffee and smiled. "That's good coffee, Bubba."

"Thank you Lord. It's Krispy Kreme brand. Lot's better than Starbuck's."

"It is for a fact!" the Lord said. "Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh yeah - the global warming myth."

I slid a little closer as I knew God was going to tell me the truth. The Truth is hard to find in this world; impossible on CNN - and now I'm worried that Fox has fallen victim to the liberal media disease.

"So, when I saw Jack Bauer talking about global warming, for a moment there I thought maybe there's something to it. But then I realized that it's not Jack Bauer or Tony speaking, it's Keifer Sullivan and Carlos Bernand - and they're really just Hollywood actors who've drunk the kool-aid because the people that pay them want them to believe global warming is real."

The Lord paused, shook His head sadly, and said, "My children perish for lack of knowledge."

"I don't understand, Lord?" I asked.

"What's happening is that the liberals are doing the same thing to conservative 24 fans that they did during the Republican primary. They're using a Trojan Horse to fool conservatives."

"John McCain is not a conservative. As you remember, he was trailing in the early primaries - about to drop out. But then the Democrats began to worry about the Republicans electing a true conservative that could defeat Clinton or Obama; so what they did was to encourage their hard-core members and undecideds to show up and vote in the Republican primaries for the most liberal Republican candidate. As you well know, the Democrats will not allow anyone but a registered Democrat to vote on their tickets, while the Republicans - being more fair-minded, if not more than a little gullible, allow just about anyone to vote on their tickets. McCain came back and won the Republican candidacy because conservatives split their votes between too many candidates, while the Democrats showed up disguised as Republicans in order to fix the election. Now they couldn't lose: if McCain won, he was weak and could be manipulated. But what they were counting on, and what did happen, is that the conservatives stayed home because they had no candidate in the race and those who voted for McCain in the primaries switched back and voted for Obama in the general election. The Democrats stole the election - much as they accused George Bush of doing eight years earlier. Only they did it on the sly - like the Snake they follow taught them to."

God took another sip of coffee. I could see that His countenance was growing angry; so I backed up a little in case He blew a gasket or something. If God gets angry He could decide to end the world at any moment. I wanted to hang around awhile longer.

"Trojan Horse." He said softly, nodding in understanding. "The liberals are trying to win the conservatives over by going to the one person they believe puts America first: Jack Bauer. If Jack Bauer says there's global warming, then it must be true, and the next thing you know everyone's panicking and people have forgotten all about Me and...I gotta go!"

God jumped up from the couch. I was alarmed! "Where you going God?"

"I'm going to go find that Snake and twist his neck for misleading My people!"

I walked God to the door and asked Him to come back soon. He smiled down at me -still angry but confident, and said "I will Bubba. Don't you worry. My natural system will continue to do what I designed it to do. You don't need to worry about the Earth - it's in My hands. Just pray for my children because the Enemy knows his time is limited and he's trying to take as many humans with him as possible. I've limited myself to not violate human will, but they need to know the truth. Jack Bauer is the ideal American - but there are no Jack Bauers. If there were, the plot to affect McCain's nomination and Obama's victory would never have transpired. America's only hope is in Me. I stand for truth, justice, and the American way!"

With that, God was gone in a blinding flash. Afterwards I was so blinded that I had to turn on all the lights in the house. They stayed on all day in honor of God's Earth Day.

Carolina Blue

2009-04-13T10:42:00.003-04:00

Over the weekend, T.T. and I took a drive over to enemy country - Chapel Hill. We parked off Franklin Street and took a stroll around Morehead Planetarium. Many humans were out walking their dogs. I received lots of looks from both humans and canines as I was the only dog not on a leash. A few people made the mistake of pointing that out to Bubba and he cordially invited them to go to the place of eternal damnation.

There were as many races of humans as there were breeds of dogs! I saw an Asian couple with a blond baby. When asked the baby's name, the mother said, "Sum Ting Wong". We passed an Irish couple with a beautiful sheep dog who said they were on vacation. I guess they were visiting a different bar. There was a guy standing outside an Italian restaurant handing out menus. One arm was shorter than the other. I suppose he had a speech impediment.

Baby blue flags and pennants were everywhere. Carolina has just won the NCAA basketball championship. A couple of Mexicans, perhaps giving up on soccer, were trying their hand at basketball. They were surrounded by forty or fifty other Hispanics trying to figure out the sport and yelling encouragement. From what I could tell, the two were playing Juan on Juan basketball, though it looked more like a shot put competition to me.

There were lots of co-eds out jogging, some with their dogs. There was one really smart blond that stood out. She was a retreiver. I managed to get her number when the girls stopped to help T.T. who passed out trying to keep up with them.

Once he recovered we sat down at a sidewalk cafe for something cold to drink. T.T. commented that there were a lot of Yankees in Chapel Hill. I asked him what Yankee meant, and he said, "Same as a quickie, but a guy can do it alone." Two Yankees were talking about the dissolution of their marital relationships. One asked the other, "Why do divorces cost so much?" and the other replied, "Because they're worth it."

Everywhere we went we saw kids with spiked and dyed hair, body piercings, and tattoos. Many wore leather and chains; with dark eye shadow and lipstick. Even their fingernails were painted black. There were girls holding hands with girls, and guys holding hands with guys. T.T. called them 'Fairies'. You could tell which ones were Yankee fairies and which were Southern: The Yankee fairies would say, "Once upon a time..." and the Southern fairies would say, "Y'all ain't gonna believe this s**t!"

A Chapel Hill policeman approached T.T. and told him that I had to be on a leash. Something about a zoning ordinance. T.T. lied and told the officer that one of the Goths had taken it when we weren't looking. The policeman said in that case, T.T. would have to carry me. Now I'm a grown dog and I don't need to be toted around like some sissy Pomeranian. I bit the guy, and we took off for the truck.

By this time, T.T. and I had grown tired of Chapel Hill with their snooty airs. "The heck with this place. Next Saturday, let's go to Asheboro and see what's happening at the zoo. I hear that in addition to a description of the animals on the front of the cage, they're now including recipes." As long as their ain't no dogs in those cages, I'm game. I think I'll call that smart blond and see if she wants to go have an exotic meal together.

Theraflu and Archie Bunker

2009-03-27T20:31:00.004-04:00

Well, wouldn't you know it? Here I've been worrying about T.T.'s heart and he comes down sick with the flu. For the first time in his life, T.T. missed a day of work due to sickness. He started feeling poorly on Monday. By Wednesday he was too miserable to stay at work and left early. Thursday he called in. Mrs. T. has been taking good care of him all week, even though she had to go to work, leaving him here with me yesterday.

All he did was lay on the couch wrapped in a blanket all day. I wanted to watch my All In The Family Season 1 DVDs, but T.T. was in no mood to enjoy himself. He watched the news instead. By the end of the day I was depressed and sick too.

North Korea is threatening to launch a long range missle and both the United States and Japan threaten to shoot it down if they do - but Korea says if they do it's an act of war. So what?

North Dakota is flooding. Tornadoes in Mississippi. Killer bees in California. Sink holes in Oregon. Mexico under seige by drug armies. China wants global currency. Bushfires in Australia. Deadly foot and mouth disease in China. Somali pirates free ships crews. Teen charged with self-porn. Computer worm coming. The IMF says the global economy will shrink. Unemployment near 10% in the U.S.....whew.

What a depressing day of news. No wonder I don't listen to the news! I couldn't take it, so after that first fifteen minutes of bad news I went outside and jumped into the seat of the pickup. T.T. leaves the window down for me when it's not raining. He knows I like getting up there in my shotgun seat where I can meditate on important things - like what to go with those stuffed crabs in the frig?

While I was up there, I said a quick prayer for T.T. and the rest of the world. When people's minds are filled with so much negativity over and over again, it's no wonder humans turn to drugs, alcohol and the government for help. Darkness attracts darkness.

I asked God to perform a miracle today. I asked him to shut down all television and radio stations, the Interet and telephones for a day - just so there could be some quiet. Unfortunately, God told me no. He didn't want planes falling out of the sky or someone needing an ambulance not to reach 911. But He appreciated the sentiment. He said that everyone needs to find their own shotgun seat where they could come and spend time with Him so they wouldn't be afraid. "That's why you're with T.T., Bubba Duke", God said to me. "Now go back and give T.T. some cold medicine and tell Him I love him and he's going to be fine. I've got the world. You just do what you do best."

So I went back inside my house and brought the box of Theraflu to T.T. and took the remote and pressed 'play' so that we could watch Archie Bunker. Before long T.T. was laughing and coughing and laughing some more. Theraflu and Archie Bunker - the cure for what ails you.

It's Spring!!!

2009-03-20T13:50:00.002-04:00

It's Friday, thank God; and it's the first day of Spring. It's cool, but nice and sunny. Winter is done. Spring is my favorite season. It's T.T.'s too.

This morning I was riding in to work with T.T. No chickens in the middle of the road today, just the usual to watch out for - women on cell phones and Mexicans driving utility vans. T.T. was a bit quiet this morning. Normally he can't shut up. We stopped at Bojangles for our ritual sausage egg & cheese biscuits, cinammon twists and sweet tea. Back on Miami Boulevard, T.T. began to talk about how Spring was the sign of new life, everything starting anew, hope for the future; and all that crap.

Then he told me that he'd been having 'twinges' in his chest for the past couple of months. They don't hurt, and T.T. just thinks they're a sign of aging. His wife and daughters have been urging him to get a check-up, but T.T. doesn't want to spend the money for the deductible. He doesn't like doctors nor does he like spending money, unless it's for a new truck or bass boat.

I'm alarmed at this point. Who's going to take me to Bojangles or to the Granville County Republican Party meetings should something happen to T.T.? Mrs. T. doesn't like driving the truck...(perhaps because I marked the shotgun seat on the day T.T. bought it). That's our truck. I can't be seen riding down the road with my head stuck out the window of an Escort. I'm no sissy!

T.T. went on to talk about his mother's passing, and how he and his brothers sat by her bed for three days keeping vigil over her. He said he was glad he was there at the end for her, but he regretted some of the things he said to her over the years...smart-ass comments that are T.T.'s way of communicating with people. "I wish I'd been kinder to Mama, and told her I loved her more than I did." T.T. said.

"What if we all knew not only the day we would die, but the day our loved ones would die too? I think we'd treat each other a whole lot different." he mused. I thought about what T.T. was saying. If I knew I was going to die a year from now, or a month from now - tomorrow; what would I say to my own kids? If I knew that that stupid poodle next door only had few weeks to live, would I continue to torment her by stealing her food and peeing on the side of her house? Probably. That dog is already so high strung that if she knew she was going to kick the bucket soon, she'd act like Tatiana when she got booted off American Idol this season. She'd want to plan her funeral, pick out the flowers, choose the right music...she might even ask me to be a pallbearer and I'd have no choice but to pretend to be honored to haul her carcass to the landfill.

While T.T. is waxing philosophically, I'm thinking - I don't need to know when my time or someone else's time is up...except perhaps for T.T. He's a jerk sometimes, but he has good traits too. First of all, he's a good bigot. His bark is worse than his bite. He's also my friend. We talk about stuff, hang out together, solve world problems together. I'm a better beagle because T.T. is in my life; and he's a better bigot because I'm in his. We're connected. We're family.

That's why I told T.T. that he's going to see a doctor real soon. If he won't get a checkup for his wife and kids, surely he'll get one for me. We've got more to accomplish in life.

If tomorrow all the things were gone I'd worked for all my life;
and I had to start again with just T.T. and his wife.
I'd thank my lucky stars to be living here today,
cause the Bojangles sign is always lit, and they can't take that awaaaaayyyy.

So I'm proud to be an American Beagle,
where at least I know T.T.
And I won't forget the time we've spent, chasing coons and drinking sweet tea.
And I'll gladly guard our gate and defend our bigotry.
For there ain't no doubt I love T.T.
God bless the U.S.A.!

From the bayous of Mississippi, to the hills of the Smokies;
across the sandy plains of Pinehurst, from pine trees to sand fleas.
From Creedmoor down to New Orleans, and Manteo to Cherokee;
there's pride in every beagle's heart and it's time we howled to saaaayyyyyy:
I'm proud to be in America, where at least I know T.T.;
and I won't forget the laughs we've had, watching All In the Family.
So I'll gladly mark your trees and defend my territory.
Cause there ain't no doubt I love this man... God bless bigotry!

If you love someone as much as I love T.T., do the right thing: make them get a checkup - before they check out.

Should I Take Offense?

2009-03-16T11:29:00.002-04:00

Saturday was one of those cold, wet, miserable days fit only for ducks and afternoon naps. The creek behind the house had started to rise above its banks and puddles made driving hazardous. For this reason, TT told his youngest daughter that she could not use his truck to go meet some friends at the movies, especially when some of the friends were boys. Despite his daughter's tears and rants, TT would not relent.

At one point TT said to his daughter: "All boys are dogs." Now if I had thin skin like many humans do, I might have taken offense. Dogs may be man's best friend, but that doesn't stop him from making slanderous remarks at our expense. What TT meant was that boys are nasty, dirty, base, horny, irresponsible, horny, simple minded and horny. OK, some of it is true...I didn't become the father of 25 whelps by practicing celebacy. But just because I can lick my privates doesn’t make me nasty; nor does my ability to track a gnat in a wind storm mean that I can’t focus on more than one thing at a time.

Teenagers aren’t very bright most of the time. The Third’s daughter got on her cell phone and within a couple of minutes arranged for her boyfriend to come pick her up. TT said, Nuh-uh. Not going to happen. End of story.” His daughter pitched a fit and threatened to run away with her boyfriend, and TT said, “And I’ll dog the two of you down and put him in the hospital and you in the dog house.” Oh no she’s not moving in with me! But you see, here in TT’s statements he’s going to ‘dog’ someone down – meaning to relentlessly track and hunt – as though a human could track as well as a dog. And referring to his daughter being in the dog house means that the person is disgraced or not in favor. My house is very well appointed and a damn sight better than the trailers many humans live in!

Then there’s other phrases that humans apply to my species:

You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. That’s because we’ve learned not to play your stupid games.
Dog-eared: Meaning worn and shabby – we don’t have shabby ears!
Die like a dog: To die in shame and misery.
Thrown to the dogs: thrown away or discarded as worthless. In this case they’re talking about turning their backs on someone. Dogs are loyal and forgiving, unlike many humans.
Underdog: Submissive, little chance of succeeding.
Dog Tag: ID for servicemen so they’ll know who you belong to if you’re lost or killed in battle. We don’t need them. We don’t get lost - we run away, so do us a favor and don’t return to our owners.
Hot dog: It’s pork or turkey, not dog meat! Scared me the first time I went to a Durham Bulls game. Dog days: hot sultry days in summer. They don’t say “Penguin days” when it’s cold outside.
Dog food: Dogs will eat anything, but humans insist on giving us that cheap crap that comes in 50 pound bags. That’s like saying a salad is Rosie O’Donnell food.

The Third’s daughter never did run away, nor did she go out with her boyfriend over the weekend. I locked my doors in case TT was going to send her to my house. Unlike many parents, when TT says no, he means it.

It must be hard on human parents to deny their children everything they want. Dogs don’t have that problem with our kids. We let them play while they’re young, teach them not to chase cars or to take stupid risks or hang out with the wrong crowd, and we make them work for their room and board, and to respect their elders. In return we allow them the freedom to be what they were created to be. It works out pretty well most of the time. The ones who don’t learn often don’t grow old enough to have children of their own.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road?

2009-03-05T10:37:00.003-05:00

Wednesday morning, TT and I were on our way to Raleigh, driving down U.S. Highway 70, when we witnessed something tumble beneath a pickp truck just ahead of us. At first I thought it was a swan because white feathers were floating all over the place. Once it righted itself, I realized that it was a chicken! A big, juicy, fat, estrogen-injected, male-breast-enhancing, hen. Where it came from, I don't know. There are no farms and there was no poultry truck ahead of us. This chicken just appeared out of thin air and got knocked silly by a pickup.

TT started laughing, as he carefully drove around the chicken who was standing frozen still in the middle of the right lane. Obviously the chicken didn't know what had hit her or what to do once she saw the traffic all around her. Cars started pulling onto the shoulder to avoid hitting the chicken again. I watched from the rear window for almost a mile as cars, trucks and tractor trailers drove around the shocked bird. The last thing I saw as we went over the hill was this tiny white object in the middle of the road and a huge tractor trailer sqeezing past on the right hand shoulder.

TT remarked, "Why was that stupid chicken out in the road?" I guess she was just trying to get to the other side of the road; though there was nothing over there either except a church. Maybe the chicken wanted to go to church. If I'd been knocked on my beak by a pickup truck, I'd want religion too. The hen's problem was how was she going to get across three more lanes of rush-hour traffic? And once she got there, who was going to help her? It was Wednesday - the middle of the week. God wouldn't be back until Sunday - He's not interested in hanging around an empty building.

Chickens are tasty, but they're not very bright. Roads are death to animals and humans. I've seen my share of possums, raccoons, foxes, deer, squirrels, skunks, rabbits, cats, and dogs left mangled on the side of the road, but this would have been the first chicken I've seen killed crossing the road. So why are so many animals killed while crossing the road?

I ponder these things, and I suppose it's because the paths of humans and the paths of animals often cross but seldom go in the same direction. Our world is tiny, man's world is infinite. We're equipped for this world; man is equipped for something larger. Roads divide beasts and connect humans.

Maybe that chicken made it to the other side of the road. I hope so. Out of respect for her, we ordered sausage biscuits for breakfast at Bojangles. And sweet tea. Bojangles has the best sweet tea.

The Ten Commandments of Bigotry

2009-02-24T06:31:00.007-05:00

This morning The Third woke me with much banging and cursing. I poked my head out of the front door to see what the fuss was about. TT was manhandling two large stone tablets into the back of his pickup. He glanced my way, saw me watching and shouted for me to hop into the truck. I declined. I’d gone out hunting last night and had to DVR 24, so I wanted to catch up on Jack Bauer before somebody else told me what happened.

Around lunch I moseyed on down towards the front gate and saw where TT had planted the tablets in front of some azalea bushes. He’d also installed a flood light that pointed directly at the tablets; I suspect so his beer-drinking buddies wouldn’t run over them turning into the driveway.

I recognized the tablets because they used to be at the gate to the family cemetery back in New Orleans. When the levees broke and inundated the cemetery, ol’ TT took the fan boat out to retrieve them. He said that they had been passed down from God to his forefathers. I had my doubts, because most of TT’s relatives never learned to read.

Across the top of the first tablet was the inscription: “Ten Commandments of Bigotry”. Below this was chiseled in Imprint MT Shallow font the following commandments:

1. Thou shalt not hate, but thou shalt dislike, everyone. TT obeys this first commandment pretty well. There’s a difference between a racist and a bigot. The Rev. Jeremiah Wright is a racist; Rush Limbaugh is a bigot. Racists are small-minded, bigots are broad-minded – equal opportunity discriminators.
2. Thou shalt not listen to NPR. You see, this is why I’m not so sure God gave these tablets to TT’s ancestors. I understand the sentiment – the NPR reporters will put you to sleep with their monotone delivery. I suspect it’s their way of brain-washing their listening audience; but radio wasn’t even around when God was supposed to have given these commandments.
3. Thou shalt not blame George W. Bush for every problem in your life. Then again, only God could have known that GW would become President and that he would be blamed for Hurricane Katrina and the World Trade Center bombings and Enron and faith based initiatives.
4. Thou shalt not lay down with liberals. Duh! Some truths are self-evident.
5. Thou shalt not associate with, donate to, or fellowship with, racists that belong to the KKK, the NAACP, Acorn, PETA, OPEC, DNC (not the store – the political party), W.A.R., MEChA, and the ACLU. OK, I can see how hanging out with people who hate everything from a person’s skin color, political persuasion, religious preference or even hate our God-given freedoms can be a downer. Racists are miserable people…and there’s a lot of them…everywhere.

On the other tablet was the second set of commandments. The first tablet contained the don’t's, the second contained the dos.

6. Thou shalt preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I didn’t know that America’s Founding Fathers were guilty of plagiarism!
7. Thou shalt speak your mind. This is another commandment that TT excels at. Political correctness be damned! Say what you mean to say; just understand that there’s a difference between transparency and shallowness.
8. Thou shalt take responsibility for yourself. Amen brother! I thank God I’m not like those dogs who crap on the sidewalks and expect humans to pick up after me. TT hates it when he goes to the movies and people leave their trash under their seats. But I think the intent of this commandment is that we are all endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights, and along with these rights comes responsibility to live up to our potential and not be lazy whiners who expect others to do what we’re put here to do.
9. Thou shalt honor the memory of Archie Bunker so that thou days shalt be long upon this Earth. Now that was a wise man. I remember him tell Meathead, “People who live in communes are Communists!” and “ In my day we didn't have no Anglo Americans or African Americans, we was all Americans so if a guy was a jig or a spick, it was his own business.” Or how about: "Why don't you go to sleep and dream about the tragedy that is your life."
10. Thou shalt order your life as follows: God, family, neighbors, community, country, the rest of the world, yourself. Too often people get caught up in materialism or causes or celebrities and lose touch with reality. We are all connected, we’re all messed up together. It is up to bigots to point people towards their place in this world – even if you manage to piss off everyone in the process.

Normally I mark everything that belongs to me, but these tablets are too sacred to pee on. They rank up there with the 10 Commandments of Theater Attendance (http://www.dirtymoviecritic.blogspot.com/)

I suppose I’m proud that TT obeys these commandments. Sure, it’s frustrating for him at times - sort of like herding cats or sniffing butts; but they have led him to great spiritual truths and have made him wise, and have helped him overcome numerous obstacles since birth. TT is a hero, a giant among men, a sage and mentor, and a pretty good shot with a 12-guage.

Reflection

2009-02-18T11:18:00.004-05:00

TT knows that I don't take to a leash very well, but when human law demands it, I'll bear it for a little while. He and I have an understanding: If I'm wearing the leash, I'm in control.

Humans have a concept they call 'freedom'. Freedom means the ability to do what a person wants; as long as they don't interfere with another person's freedoms - which they call 'rights'. It's all very complicated, because everything someone does, every decision a person makes, affects somebody else. To create order, humans need a lot of laws. Natural laws aren't good enough it seems. Usually, human laws end up giving one group preference over another group; so they come up with laws that countermand previous laws and laws that counter those laws. As a result, mankind has ended up wrapping themselves in choke collars that limit them from being all they were created to be. The funny thing is, they each think they're in control of the other end of the leash.

As most animals know, except probably for the feline, avian, amphibian and reptile species, freedom means the right to do the right thing, not to do whatever someone or something wants to do. These sub-species either do not care or do not have the capacity to comprehend their roles in nature.

Take cats for example. Although quick on their feet, cats lack the superior traits inherent in canines, apes, and dolphins. These traits include: loyalty, social skills, courage, compassion, and a work ethic. Cats are loners, anti-social and selfish. They are cruel - choosing to torture and prolong the misery of their prey. Cats are lazy; they'll whine until they're fed, then they'll turn around and claw the hand that feeds them. Come to think of it; there are a lot of humans that fall into the same category as cats.

Dogs, on the other hand, are endowed by our Creator with the capacity for love, for service, for looking out for the less fortunate. Dogs are the most heroic of all of God's creatures. We accompany soldiers into battle, police officers into dangerous drug busts, guard our master's families and homes, lead the blind, sniff out bombs, search for the missing, recover the lost. When our human is injured, we'll either get them to safety or go get help. And when it's time for a companion to die, we remember them. Often, the bond between a dog and its companion is so strong that we will follow them to the grave.

God created dogs first because He knew that mankind would need us. TT needs me, and I need him. Sometimes he can be thick, but I know that he loves me and I love him. I've got his back. Some humans understand things like loyalty and patience and forgiveness; but dogs - well, we live it every day.

The photo above is of Blue and his companion Ruth Gay of Labelle, Florida. Ruth fell one evening while walking Blue, breaking her nose and dislocating a shoulder. She was unable to get up and Blue stayed by her side. At one point Blue began barking and charged at something in the dark. Later in the evening, Ruth's children came by to check on her and found Blue barking excitedly. Blue led them to Ruth, who was taken to the hospital. It was only after Ruth was taken away that the family noticed wounds on Blue. He was taken to the veterinarian where it was discovered that Blue had numerous bite marks from an alligator. Blue risked his life to protect Ruth. Greater love has no one (animal or human) than to lay down their life for one they love.

Tuesdays With Bubba

2009-02-11T07:31:00.009-05:00

Back in New Orleans, Bubba BiGot Jr. III and me used to spend Tuesdays exploring the coastal plains' bayous, swamps, and forests. Often Bubba and I would sit for hours in a flat bottomed john-boat while Bubba fished, and I snapped at mosquitoes and dragonflies. It was during those peaceful and serene moments when Bubba would talk to me about serious things - like about God, politics, and his hopes for his children.

Some people call Bubba BiGot a bigot, and I suppose that he is in some ways. In fact, Bubba is called by God to be a bigot. He's said so several times. Missus BiGot, his wife, says that Bubba misunderstood; that God called Bubba a 'bigot'. But that doesn't explain how he became that way, 'cause you see, Bubba is genetically engineered to exist as a bigot. He didn't just learn how to be a bigot from experience as most bigots learn, it's part of his makeup!

Many humans associate bigotry with racism, but they're not the same thing. Racism is when someone hates someone else because they are a different color or from another culture. A bigot, on the other hand, doesn't hate. A bigot, and I'm speaking here of Bubba because he is the best bigot I know of, simply dislikes everyone. Bubba is an equal opportunity offender. His list of dislikes is so long they can't all be listed here; but here's a few of the things bigots dislike:

Women with hyphenated names - Bubba believes that a wife who retains her maiden name is not serious about her relationship with her husband. Perhaps she's embarrassed by him or his family. Regardless, Bubba advises men to get a pre-nup if they know their fiances' are considering keeping their maiden name.
Liberals - People who believe they have the right to tell others how to live. Liberals despise individual freedoms and are envious of those who rise above their circumstances. Bubba places liberals just below terrorists, pedophiles and debt collectors.
'Religious' people - Bubba despises those in-your-face Christians who believe they are called by God to convict other people of their sins. Often religious people are so busy tending to other's people's sins that they ignore the poor, the sick, the homeless, the innocent and those unable to care for themselves.
Godless people - Bubba gets really turned off by fools who rely on their intellect and education as being sufficient. They mock God or claim He doesn't exist. These people are self-deluded, so Bubba says, "The hell with them."
'Victims' - There is a class of people who believes that they have been wronged by everyone and everything and they demand that other people compensate them for the supposed wrongs. These are people who lack the character necessary to rise above their circumstances. Bubba often quotes Martin Luther King Jr. who once said, "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." And he quotes John Kennedy who said, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country." 'Victims' expect everyone else to give them value rather than earning it themselves. Bubba says that these people are breathing someone else' air.
Traitors - Bubba is extremely loyal, and he values his word. Bubba won't promise anything, but he does what he says he will do. Traitors are those people who have no backbone, who allow popular opinion to dictate their actions. Traitors are liars. Traitors try to legislate natural laws to fit their own interpretation. Bubba says that most politicans and judges are traitors because they attempt to change reality and common sense by writing laws that require people to do what is not logical or natural.
Pigs - Pigs are actually humans that expect others to clean up after them, as evidenced in the photo below from Inauguration Day. Pigs leave their trash in theater seats rather than garbage cans because they feel they've paid enough already. Pigs don't care how much work they cause others, but they're the first to whine if someone causes them to work. Pigs have no self-respect or conscience - they only care about getting as much as they can in life with as little effort. Bubba ranks Pigs just above Liberals, but often they are both.

Those are just a few of the things that Bubba dislikes. He bitches a lot, especially when it's hot and the fish aren't biting. On occasion, Bubba will get so mad he'll beat the water with the paddle, like he's trying to beat the stupid out of somebody. A couple of times we've tipped over (that's why Bubba wears a lifevest in a john-boat:) ). But it's while Bubba is venting that he's learned to talk out his issues. Sometimes he prays, and that calms him down, and I don't have to worry about him tipping the boat. I can swim, but he weighs too much for me to pull him ashore.

Bubba puts on a front for other humans; it's part of his reputation. But in spite of his harsh criticism, Bubba feels a responsibility to make this world a better place.

Usually, on those Tuesdays with Bubba, we'd ride around in his truck until he could find someone he could help. It might mean changing a flat tire for a woman stranded on the highway, or buying a box of chicken at Bojangles and giving it to a beggar on the street. A few times Bubba has picked up hitchhikers and taken them to the next town. If no other opportunity presents itself, Bubba will drive down to the rescue mission and volunteer to serve food.

Sometimes Bubba will bring one of his kids along on our Tuesday outings. Tuesdays are all about reflection and relaxation, and about making a difference. Bubba teaches his kids what he feels they're not learning in school, then he shows them how to put other people first so that they don't grow up to be Liberals or Victims. Often the people that he helps are not the same color as Bubba. He may dislike a people group, but deep down inside, Bubba loves people - he just doesn't like showing it.

When God assigned me to Bubba, I thought that I'd screwed up and was being punished. Now I know that Bubba and I are much alike. I too am a bigot: there's a lot of crap we don't like, but we do what we can to make things right...we just enjoy bitching about it.

New First Dog

2009-02-04T10:56:00.004-05:00

I was watching the fair and balanced news channel this morning and learned that the new President of the United States has narrowed his choices for a new First Dog. The choice will be between a Labradoodle, a cross between a Golden Lab and a stupid Poodle (first bred in Australia).

and a Portugese Water Hound - what's it going to do, herd poi in the Reflecting Pool?

I know America is a melting pot, but why couldn't the President just check with his friend from Massachusetts and get a good old American Heinz 57?

Here's info on the Labradoodle: http://www.discoveringlabradoodles.com/alelinkdirectory/Labradoodle-Information.html

and here's info on the Portugese Water Hound: http://www.thebreedsofdogs.com/PORTUGUESE_WATER_DOG.htm

Uh-oh, 'The Third' is Not Happy Today

2009-02-03T07:45:00.002-05:00

The Third stopped by this morning and told me to hop into the truck with him. I just lay there for a couple of minutes staring up at him with one of those "You talkin to me?" expressions, and enjoying his cursing. After showing him I wasn't intimidated, I casually strolled over to the truck and took up the shotgun position. It's not like I had anything better to do. The Third was upset over something he read over breakfast this morning. He talks to me a lot; tells me things he doesn't say to humans. Guess he's worried somebody will sue him for saying what's on his mind. I listened, but I'm not sure I understand why he's so upset. I just wagged my tail and gruffed at the right opportunities so he would know I was paying attention.

The thing that got The Third (hereafter referred to TT) riled up this morning was a letter claiming that the reason so many Americans are losing their jobs, is because foreign workers are coming in and taking them. Something about 1.5 million jobs were taken by legal foreigners last year while 2.5 million Americans lost their jobs. TT said, "Who knows how many jobs the illegals have stolen from Americans!" Shoot, I could have told him that. None of our groundskeepers and housekeepers speak English, though I'm sure they understand it.

I'm not too worried about being insourced myself. Most of the dogs around here couldn't track an elephant in an elevator.

Anyway, TT pulls into this printing shop on Geer Street and we go inside. TT orders 500 bumper stickers, which he intends to hand out to all his friends...I guess they'll each get 100. Here's what TT wanted the bumper stickers to say: "REMEMBER THE ALAMO! OCCUPY MEXICO CITY!"

The man who took the order seemed hesitant at first, until TT got in his face and shouted "You hablas ingles?"
The clerk replied "Si, Si, Senor".
"Hasta pronto!" TT insisted.
"No problema."
TT turned for the door. "Vamos!" he said, looking at me. I just sat there. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
"Get in the damn truck Bubba!"

That I understood. On the way out the door another brown skinned human stopped and held the door open for us. TT confronted him, "De donde eres wet-back?" I thought the brown man would attempt to strike TT but he took one look at me and changed his mind. He replied, "Yo soy de Durham". TT demanded to see his green card and the man looked my way again before complying. Now I know why TT wanted me to go with him to the printing shop. TT held the card up to the light, flipping it over and over, though I could tell he didn't know what a green card looked like anyway. He flipped it back at the brown man and said, "Take a bath will ya? It's a long time until Saturday."

I don't fault TT for disliking Mexicans; after all, those stinking sissy cockaroacha chihuahuas are good for nothing except barking and hiding in the purses of female humans. They're always quivering with fear when they meet a real dog, and try to cover it with incessant barking. All they can say is "Yo quiero taco bell! Yo quiero taco bell!" TT gave me a burito grande from Taco Bell once, and I had the runs for two days.

We went back after lunch to pick up TT's bumper stickers. There was a taco truck parked in the printing lot and TT put a sticker on the truck when the driver wasn't looking. Oh yeah, I had TT email me the link to the letter that upset him. Here it is, you might have to cut and paste it into your web browser:
http://www.numbersusa.com/content/resources/video/commercials/elevator-commercial.html?jid=83591&lid=9&rid=928&tid=686245

Welcome to my home

2009-02-01T22:47:00.000-05:00

Hi, I'm Bubba Duke. I'm a coon dog and this is my home. Come on inside and check out my crib. I had my master build one like it for himself.

As you can see, the home's open space and tasteful furnishings reflect my flair for style.

Notice the live plants inside - perfect for hiking up the old leg. Mighty convenient hiding the bathroom right there in the living area.

The kitchen - my second favorite room. My favorite foods are steak and crab legs.

This is where me and the bitches get it on...you know - where the magic happens.

Downstairs, check out my home theater. When I'm not napping, I'm studying humans by watching television, even though there aren't a lot of dogs in the movies like there was when Lassie and Rin Tin Tin were around. However, I am a big Elvis Presley fan and own all his movies and CDs. My favorite songs are "Hot Dog" and "Hound Dog". Check out his video below.

Elvis learned to move like that when his dog tried humping his leg. Here's a little known fact: My great, great, great, great cousin on my mother's side was backstage the night Elvis did this performance. On his way to the stage, Elvis stepped in cousin Droopy's poop, which you'll see him trying to scrape off his shoe while performing "Hound Dog".

I grew up on a farm just outside New Orleans, Louisiana. I'm technically a beagle, but I spent most of my youth chasing coons in the bayou's. When Hurricane Katrina came, ole Bubba BiGot Jr, III and myself did the only sensible thing. We moved to higher ground. Bubba, (I call him The Third), took my advice when FEMA gave us a settlement check for the trailer. I told him to invest that money, so he did. He bought $14,257 worth of Power Ball lottery tickets. We won and now we're living high on the hog in Granville County, North Carolina.

The first thing I noticed about North Carolina is that there are too many subdivisions and highways. A dog could get killed just crossing the road to take a leak on somebody else's property. Another thing I noticed is that there aren't as many coons here as there were in Louisiana. Plenty of deer, but they run too fast and can't climb trees, so they're no fun. I'm limited to a few acres here so I thought I might as well make the best of things and fix up my house a little. The Third ran out of money before he could finish furnishing his, so I let him sleep over when he and the Missus can't get along.

It's true that I miss all the fields and swamps I used to hunt in. I was raised to work hard for my living. At six months I was treeing the neighbor's cat. Once I had to fight off a gray fox who was trying to steal my food. The Third noticed my courage and treeing ability and taught me how to hunt coons in the woods. Now, down in Louisiana, where the alligators grow so mean, a coon dog could spend days chasing coons. The Third couldn't keep up with me, so I was always barking and telling him to hurry up. Most of the time I could tree a coon within minutes, but these humans just can't keep up. Still, it was a good life. Things were simpler back then. Dogs knew how to balance work with leisure. Sleep all day, hunt all night. Humans, on the other hand, sleep all night and wander off and get into all kinds of mischief during the day.

I've been around awhile. I've observed what's going on in the world. Unlike humans, common sense and knowledge are passed on to us through our genetics. We know who we are and where we came from and don't waste time trying to become what we are not. I've got some opinions, and I'm going to share them with you from time to time. Be sure to drop back now and again to see what's going on in a dog's world.