Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Memorial Day Evening

It's one of those nights, you know, after a long day of visiting friends for the Memorial Day cookout and the pre-visit preparation of stuff to bring. One of the spouses is really tired and wants to turn in early; so, she does. The other spouse is left to fend for himself and makes a mocha with Kauai peaberry coffee beans, then goes out in the yard with the three hounds to decide whether to haul the trash out to the curb or see if the boy does it when he comes home later. He decides on the latter course of action, mainly because he already cleaned up the beagle puke earlier and because he's afraid the neighbors may see that he is wearing only a t-shirt and his Izod bowling-motif boxer shorts.

He comes in with the dogs and gives them rawhide chews, the discounted kind that are not bleached white, but are a mottled, brownish-gray color. It's not that the dogs have a preference when it comes to gnawing on pigskin or horsehide, whatever they are made from, it's that the nicely cut white ones are way more expensive.

There's nothing good on the boob tube; so, as the beagle and the two boxers contentedly chew on their animal skins, as if fresh from a kill, and his lovely spouse is deeply breathing, he finishes off the article on John McCain in New Yorker, realizing that he won't be voting for McCain for President in 2008, especially if John-boy keeps the ghastly-looking combover, because if a man is compelled to cover his naked pate with what sparsely covers the rest of his head, the man, the real man, can never bare his soul and reveal his true nature to the world.

After checking out the New Yorker cartoons and Ian Frazier's attempt at humor in his "Chinese Arithmetic" essay (The medical procedure to cure the condition is a slit along each side of the turgid member to drain the blood engorging the spongy tissue within it, which is probably no laughing matter.), he decides to surf the Net and ends up at the PETA website. Checking the job openings, he discovers an opening right up his alley. Perusing the "Primary Responsibilities and Duties," he is hit by a magical, mystical word leaping, as if by karma, from the page: Litigate.

And he immediately realizes the mind-numbing implications. No longer would he receive telephone calls at 2:45 in the morning, like one from an allegedly inebriated individual wondering what was the best thing to do, blow into the machine or the police officer. No longer would he have to hear someone who allegedly stole half of the DVD's of several local libraries scream that he was fired as a huge deputy sheriff held the convicted felon against the wall by the neck because the short, rotund dude would not go peacefully to the big house, apparently realizing at that moment he had failed to pack enough petroleum jelly for the two-year stint. No longer would he have to chase down deadbeat clients who owed money or, worse yet, who bounced checks to pay his fee, which, in turn, caused him to bounce checks, one for the electric bill, which was found to be the cause of the blackout for the entire eastern half of the U.S. a couple years ago, as the electric company's check to Niagara Falls bounced.

Why would he no longer be required to endure these problems? Yeah, you guessed it. He'd be representing chickens!! Animals! They don't use phones! They don't talk (except those weird kinds of birds)!

In one moment, perhaps a pivotal moment in his half century on the planet, this revelation has made him swear off ... meat and meat byproducts ... so that he can truly say that he is committed to the objectives of the organization. His curriculum vitae will reflect his advocacy on behalf of the canine community against the chains and shackles with which the local Abercrombie & Fitch yuppie community sought to limit the freedoms of dogs. He figures he can throw in all the civil rights litigation, too, but only in a brief footnote in smallish-point type.

Yes, he will do it ...

Posted by Bill at May 31, 2005 12:09 AM