My Dog Ate My Blog Post…and other lies

There’s the culprit. She took my blog post off the coffee table and ate it as she sat under this Leyland cypress. She had the runs for three days after – my writing is not easily digested.

The more alert among you may have noticed that I posted absolutely nothing when it was my turn the last time here at The Nudge Wink Report.  I would’ve written, but I’ve stumbled onto something that’s bigger than mere humor bloggery.

It began innocently enough.  As you may know, I’ve begun brewing beer in earnest, and blogging much less.  The inherent risks of moving ten or eleven gallons of very hot, sugary wort without burning or breaking myself were becoming more and more clear. Not wishing to suffer a scalded hernia, I knew it was time to look into getting a pump.  As a quick aside, my long-suffering wife has been a saint in tolerating my frequent expenditures for all sorts of Teutonic-sounding gizmos.  I’ve learned that it’s always best to at least attempt buying used stuff before whipping out a credit card ordering from BeerBruerAddiction.com.

Games Over

It can be a struggle being a curmudgeon, but sometimes they make it awfully easy for me.  Take for example the “news” story I recently read which implied that there was some consideration for making gaming an Olympic sport.  To clarify, the term “gaming” does not refer to the games which already award medals to the best players/teams in a given sport.  Sports such as handball, synchronized swimming and curling are already well established Olympic fare.

This is a humor blog, and as such, I have a moral obligation to make at least one reference to this boob. Video games are dangerous – people shouldn’t be allowed to wreak carnage on others simply by pushing buttons! (Image of actual Trump Tweet from the interwebs)

The gaming to which the article refers is the video form.  In fairness, I should disclose that the “article” to which I am referring is barely more than click bait in its depth and quality. I scanned through two or three paragraphs worth.  Someone from the gaming community was going to meet with someone from the Olympic community to talk about the possibility of gaming being recognized as an Olympic sport.  It’s possible that this whole subject has been inflated just to rile up old coots like me.

What’s In A Name?

Not the actual cat. Image from the interwebs

Some folks in Iowa recently named a rescued kitten “Firecracker” after veterinarians determined that the feline’s facial injuries had likely been caused by some sort of fireworks. In the interest of blog humor, I won’t get on a soapbox and rail against the sadistic nature of the cretins who perpetrate such acts upon innocent, sweet animals (or even cats for that matter).

Instead, I’d like to question the wisdom of christening a cat with such an awful name.  If it was a feisty tabby with an explosive personality and the potential to tear digits to shreds, then a moniker like Firecracker might be an apt handle.  Naming this little guy after the explosive that blew his whiskers off seems a bit cruel.  On the plus side, since it’s a cat, the name doesn’t really matter as they only respond to the sound of electric can openers anyway.

Naming pets is kind of an egotistical act of futility.  In the wild, they manage just fine without any sort of name at all.  Thanks to us, African parrots are all called Polly, toucans are Sam, and orange cats are typically Morris. If that zoo had the foresight to not tag that gorilla a nice African sounding Harambe, 20-somethings would have far less to put on their ironic memes and T-shirts.  Bored frat boys would not likely popularize the battle cry of “Dicks out for that gorilla they killed in the zoo that time.”

Remember my last post? It sucked too! Image from keppcalm-o-matic dot co dot uk

It’s fun to go to the off-leash dog park and listen to frustrated owners calling out the poor choices in names of their disobedient dogs.  New dog owners often give their pups awful names, unaware of how often and loudly they’ll have to use it.

“Cumberbatch! Come!….CUMBERBATCH!  Come on boy!”  That shit never gets old.  If my allergies weren’t so bad I’d go spend the morning at the off-leash cat park.