Channel Surfing

Cosmo at NRO's The Corner dug up this story:

"Psychic dogs smell Bush victory

"Psychic dogs belonging to actor Sylvester Stallone's mother have projected President George Bush the winner in November, the Los Angeles Times said Monday. The paper said the dogs foresee the president will beat Democratic challenger John Kerry by 15 percent…

"Jackie Stallone has said her dogs channel messages from the spirit world and send them to her telepathically.

Now I'm not gonna' say anything bad about Sylvester Stallone's mother (well--would you?) but there does seem to be a bit of static on those channels. And it says a lot about the Los Angeles Times for printing the story. Does it count as their token "pro-Bush" story of the week or somethin'?

Then again, this psychic, channel the dog--or fe-lying for that matter (although why you'd want to I haven't a clue)--business is, well, big business. Can't figure why AHM hasn't cashed in on it yet. Guess it's too hard to channel anything when you're laughin' that much.

"A couple of weeks ago, my cat Fritz began talking to me. After a lifetime of silence, his comments were surprisingly ordinary: among other things, he mentioned that he’s not very fond of the kibble he eats on a regular basis and would prefer to be on a more nutritious diet. He also said that he would appreciate it if I got him a better scratching post, one that he could really stretch out his back on."

Doesn't that just figure? The idiot fe-lyin' gets the chance to share his deepest thoughts and what does he do--starts demandin' things. Typical welfare pussy. Bet his human votes Demo-CAT.

"For $100 an hour, [animal communicator Maleah] Jacobs will "check in" with a pet to see how it's feeling, what it's thinking about, and help it work through any special behavioral issues it might be dealing with--all over the phone.

Feelin'? Thinkin' about? Special behavioral issues? Get a life, lady. I'm horny, hungry, or sleepin', and if you call me on the phone during two out of three of those, you will definitely pick up an XXX-rated channel! Oh, and I charged $300 for 30 minutes, pups guaranteed.

"The popularity of Animal Planet’s “The Pet Psychic,” starring Sonya Fitzpatrick, which debuted in 2002, is just the tip of the iceberg. A quick Google search turns up a bevy of Web sites offering psychic phone consultations for animals and their owners. Got a passive aggressive Pekinese who won’t stop going to the bathroom on the living-room rug? How about an angry parrot that screeches obscenities at every guest who enters the house? Or what about a crazed retriever that attacks fellow canines at the dog park? Maybe a chat with a pet psychic will do the trick…"

Diaper the Peke, cover the parrot, and muzzle the retriever. That will be $300 please. Oh, and pay more attention to your pet! (That's free.)

"Like most pet psychics, Jacobs makes very few house calls. Instead, these telepathic consultations usually take place with Jacobs lying on her bed at home where she says she can work better. "When I'm alone on the phone, I'm much more centered and grounded and can get the information clearer and quicker."

Well--finally something I agree with. My "consultations" always took place lyin' on the bed at home, too. I got really centered and grounded, but I took my time so my clients got their money's worth.

Hey Ms. Jacobs! I can channel William Shakespeare. "Lord, what fools these mortals be!"

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Feathers and Furries and Frogs, Oh My!

Sometimes life is great! There's nothin' I love more (besides takin' care of terrorist fe-lyings) than watchin' other canines act silly.

Maury was visitin' last week, but he was real subdued since I last wrote about him--for the most part, that is…

Maybe it's because the season is changin' or maybe they know there's another hurricane wanderin' in our general direction, but whatever the reason, critters started findin' their way into the house. Well, not into the whole house--just the sunroom which is our room. (It's all vinyl and wrought iron so accidents don't matter quite so much, and AHM keeps the door ajar so we can go in and out. Doggie doors don't always work with geriatric, visually impaired oldersters.)

It started with The Bird--a little one who obviously mistook all the plant stuff inside for the plant stuff outside. AHM has a drill for when that happens which involves rushin' around slammin' doors to keep the idiot flapper in the sunroom. Mostly we just sit around and watch the show, but this time Maury was here.

Guess he thought AHM had ordered up fresh food for breakfast (we don't call him Maury the Mouth, aka the Eatin' Machine, for nothin') or else he was practicin' for the Olympic springboard diving medal. When that bird zoomed across the room, Maruy went up in the air, jaws snappin', did a couple of twists and even threw in a half-gainer before landin' in the big metal water bowl. You'd be surprised how fast even the hard-of-seein' can find the outside door when faced with a flailin', flyin' Jack Russell and a water bowl tidal wave.

AHM yelled, Maury tried to retreat, which involved much slidin' on wet linoleum with four legs goin' in four separate directions, a couple of belly flops, and a sloppy dive out the door into the outside water bowl. The Bird just sat on the top of the roller shade and laughed. Okay, it chirpped, but it sounded like laughin'. Eventually it came down to sit on the window ledge and let AHM pick 'em up. (She does that kind of stuff all the time--little wild things always let her pick them up and carry them around. Suppose it's a lesser-of-two-evils thing--her or us.)

Lots of nasty words later, AHM had all the water mopped up, and things went back to normal. Maury hid in the dog bed in the farthest corner of the bedroom and my kid Hem would occasionally wander over to taunt him. When that got borin', Hem went outside and found another playmate--a shrew.

We all learned long ago not to bring our dead trophies home for AHM to have stuffed and mounted 'cause she doesn't ever do that--just tosses the critter into the trash bin as if our hard work was nothin'. So now we bring 'em back alive. She's not pleased with that either, even tho' it's much harder to do. So there was Hem playin' on the floor--the shrew would scurry one way, then another, then forward, then back--and Hem would herd him around until the thing was runnin' in circles. (Little Girl thought she'd join in until it headed toward her and she retreated under the bed. She's larger than any of us and is the biggest coward.)

Naturally AHM eventually discovered the unexpected guest and went through the pick-'em-up-put-'em-out routine again (the shrew was staggerin' around like he was on a three-day drunk, so it wasn't hard) and gave us the usual lecture. We all sit politely and listen, of course, but Hem was obviously not pleased. He went back to harassing' Maury and chased him outside.

Everyone sorta' behaved for the rest of the day--AHM had to go to work in the afternoon and while I know she'll always come back, some of the others wonder so they're reeeeal good just in case. We made it through dinner without one fight--even Maury figured out it wouldn't be a good idea to irritate AHM any more--and settled down for the evenin'.

Most of us settled down. Maury, on the other hand, was in and out, in and out constantly, givin' us the antsies with the endless back and forth. Then he came back inside, hoppin'. Yeah, that's right. He was hopping.

AHM was workin' on the computer with Hem and me sittin' close by hopin' she'd let us do some surfin' when Maury hopped into the room. Kinda' hopped, really, 'cause we have polished, hard-wood floors and his paws kept slidin' out in front. So it was more like a hop-slip-thunk into the room.

We all just sat and stared for a few seconds, tryin' to figure out what the hell he was up to this time. Then Maury hopped onto the white sheepskin sleep pad--and shoved his nose right up a frog's butt! Yep--a big ole' frog was now leapin' around the room. AHM almost threw the keyboard.

More shoutin', more Maury skiddin' on the wood and linoleum to get out of the way, and one last wild thing for AHM to gather up while mutterin' somethin' about Noah and the Ark.

But I gotta' tell ya', the show was almost better than my fantasy of seein' the Rockettes Christmas extravaganza at Rockefeller Center.

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Tenne(don't)see

I remember readin' on one of the Homespun Bloggers' site (sorry, I can't remember which one) about all the idiocies that seem to be centered in Tennessee--usually involvin' canine abuse or indiscriminate discharge of firearms or both at the same time.

Now I don't know much about Tennessee. Been through the state once so I probably whizzed on a tree or two, but that's it. All I know is Silly Human Female decided it was a great place to be which is enough reason to add that state to my never-go-there-even-if-dyin' list.

It's a good thing, too, 'cause they're probably runnin' out of room--especially if this guy keeps eatin'.

"When it comes to burger binges, few are in the same league as Matt Ward. The 5-foot-11-inch, 360-pound Ward holds Krystal's current world record of downing 21 of the bite-size burgers in two minutes. The Murfreesboro meat-eater is tuning up for the biggest burger battle of his life: the eight-minute Krystal Square Off World Hamburger Eating Championship, with a first-place purse of 10 thousand bucks.

''I love 'em. I'm a big beef eater, and Krystal is probably one of my favorite hamburgers to eat. They're bite size. They're cheap, not too expensive, so I like it,'' said Ward, 24, a commercial salesman at O'Reilly Auto Parts in Franklin and the married father of two young sons."

Ah ha! Franklin! That's where SHF slunk off to. She's no Slim Suzy herself, so visitors better watch their step or they'll be flattened by all the flab floppin' around.

On the other paw, I don't even want to think about this guy somehow managin' to father two kids.

''It was my wife that got me started. She told me that I should go for the $100 first prize at Smyrna and to go do it for the fun of it,'' said Ward. ''So, now I'm going to the big show in November.''

So how big is his wife? Ya' know, AHM watches our diets like a hawk just so we stay healthy. (Contrary to popular belief, most canines I know do not gorge themselves on food until they barf. That's a rumor spread by fe-lyings.) This poor kitty poop's wife has gotta' be a fe-lyin' lover to be so, well, Machiavellian. Maybe ole' Mark should check the "fatness" of the life insurance policy his Missus took out on him.

"To the International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE) — the governing body that promotes the sport, its eaters and their interests — the upcoming Super Bowl of burgers with its $17,500 purse (top prize and two runners-up) is a very big deal."

Sport? Eating is now a sport? Does the International Olympic Committee know this? And can you imagine the size of that "governing body?"

''It's the largest purse offered in the United States. For us, it's enormous, because it expands our league, the sport, and I think that the Southeast has been underrepresented,'' said IFOCE chairman George Shea."

This guy has one hell of a sense of humor. "Largest," "enormous," "expands our league." Good to know he's got his tongue in his cheek instead of wrapped around a Krystal Burger.

''The competitive eating community is highly focused, and there is enormous excitement among the eaters, who have been clamoring for a national hamburger circuit. The great eaters have already signed up: Cookie Jarvis, Badlands Booker and Sonya Thomas,'' said Shea, who puts the Krystal Square Off among the grand slam of IFOCE events. (The other three are Nathan's Famous Fourth of July Hot Dogs Contest at Coney Island, ACME Oyster Eating Contest in New Orleans and National Buffalo Wing Fest in Buffalo, N.Y.) The IFOCE will sponsor 70 events this year featuring overindulging of lobsters, watermelon, ribs, spinach, doughnuts and pizza.

I will never beg for rib bones again, I will never beg for rib bones again, I will never beg for rib bones…

"Shea estimates that eight of the major known eaters will wind up at the finals, but admits there will be dark horses in the running. ''This sport is wide open by rookies coming out of nowhere. You easily will have three or four come out of the blue and show great ability. It definitely will happen. There's plenty of talent out there that has yet to be discovered."

He should try recruitin' at the local Wal Mart, 'cause pound for pound they've got the biggest collection of rookie overeaters I've ever seen. (Explain to me why they all wear polyester stretch pants? Do none of them own mirrors? I'll tell ya', sometimes I'd like to have a terrier-cam just to video those bottoms from--er--the bottom up.)

"When Ward won at last year's Tennessee State Fair, he blew away seven competitors, eating 13 more burgers than his nearest foe."

Well, at least now we know why there are unexpected earthquakes in Tennessee.

''The money is a big part of the motivation, but the main thing for me is I love attention.''

Yeah, he's getting' attention all right. Probably has every coffin-maker in the country beatin' a path to his door.

"Meanwhile, he's training rigorously for the world championship. ''About once a week, I get a 24-pack of Krystals and go home and time myself. I also drink a lot of water, like two gallons back to back, to stretch my stomach. You have to get through the pain to win.''

Now there's a whole new meaning of the "No Pain, No Gain" mantra.

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