Stupor Bowl
Truth be told, and it so rarely is, I generally do the crossword puzzle while my gal pal is watching Sunday football. It’s good for my brain. Until I have to Google my inadequacies because I’m really not up on my lakes in Australia. But the Super Bowl is different. It’s all about the snacks and a chance to wear black Capri slacks around the house. And dance to Prince.
Our company was a raucous gang of gals and one guy who left after the first play, and some snacks. As I was trundling platters back and forth, I heard shrieks about the Bears quarterback, “How did he get this far? Why can’t they get rid of him? Oh no! He fumbled it! What is he thinking? He’s terrrrrrrrrrrrible.” It reminded me of the screams during the State of the Union blather. Without benefit of Madame Speaker.
The world might being going to hell in a lovely hand basket, but the story in the Sunday NYT Magazine was on Designer-Dog fights. The article was to get folks fired up about the annual February Westminster Dog Show at Madison Square Garden. People with way too much time on their hands are getting pugs to mount Yorkshires, begetting pugshires; beagles to mount bassets, begetting bagels and Labradors to mount poodles, begetting labradoodles. In the article, poodles come off like slutty, species-traitors.
Luckily there was no mention of that anti-gay marriage trope that same sex marriage leads inevitably to man-on-dog sex. Ex-senator, Rick Sanctimoron loved to bring that one up a bit too often. I admit to quickly scanning the article for any references to Gayshires, fagadoodles or, if it were a pug top – Puggots. As usual, lesbians were completely left out of the story, so there were no lesbidoodles or dykeadors. I guess we’ll just have to wait for the cat show.
May I offer you some Kibble?
