Pop-Corn Chicken and Oprah

So i was vomiting at about 1am this morning when the Oprah Winfrey show came to mind. Funny how those 2 things run hand in hand. Its guaranteed for the next serval months if i need to induce vomiting that all i have to think of is pop-corn chicken and Oprah.

Anyway, Oprah had a show on her dogs the other day and what "she" has done to train them. She has 3 white labs, very beautiful dogs. Each of them living in the lap of luxury more than i could ever dream. This ex-israeli army soldier, after watching the appaling methods the Israeli Army uses to train their dogs, decided to write a canine training book using the "love method." Lots of singing and praise goes into the training, and of course Oprahs dogs were model students. The dogs have no choice, they have seen first hand what happens to Stedman when he disobeys Oprah. So needless to say there are not 3 more pampered spoiled dogs on the planet to put on TV to demonstrate how great this system is. Oprah then introduces her "dog nutritionalist." Dog nutritionalist?? What the hell is that? This nerd begins to explain how dogs are carnavours and in the wild are used to eating raw meat. So the best thing to feed your dog is raw meat. Now i dont know about you, but for years after watching the pit-bull terrier eating raw meat from local mailmen to the soft fleshy underbelly of grandma's bicep, feed a dog raw meat just doesnt seem too smart. Of course Oprah does the next best thing. She shows what she feed her dogs. Cut up cooked Lamb, sliced carrots, steamed brown grain rice! She then mixes it in 3 individual bowls and forces her dogs to sit for a few minutes before dining. Because as Oprah says, her dogs have to have manners before eating... kiss my ass Oprah.

So after more Pop-corn chicken made its way to the top of my throat, i dabbed the sweat on my brow and layed on the cool linolium floor and rested my dizzy head on a rolled up towel. I glanced down and seen young Mitzi laying next to me licking her own ass. She just didnt seem to have much sympathy for my plight, but she tried to hang in there with me. Watching this "carnavour" one word came to mind. LAMB????? When the hell is the last time anyone has seen a dog run down a lamb for christ sake? And although im sure lamb is quite tasty, Mitzi at the moment seemed to be enjoying something that, her mind, was just as tasty. Oprah can take a flying leap... if lamb ever makes its way into my house that bad boy is going down my throat and not Mitzi's.

If only i could lick my own ass.

Pies and Football

PIE HOLE!!!!! I yell. I am the alpha male and Mitzi WILL obey. She begins barking again..... PIE HOLE!!!! she quiets down for a few minutes to regain her strength. Defiantly she begins barking yet again..... PIE HOLE!!!!! This time she looks up at me, shakes her head, and yelps in my direction!!! My direction i tell you!! MITZI, PIE HOLE!!!!!!!

Out of a 24 hour span this goes on for approximately 19 hours. Most people tell their dogs to hush or shut up. Or (like my mother) make an un-godly squelching sound from the back of her throat that only fish can understand. I wanted to be unique, different from the norm. So, i chose pie hole as my word for shut up. It seems to work. Or maybe she thinks she is getting ready to be fed a hunk of pie, i dont know, but the fact is the damn term seems to ellicit a positive response. I am looking forward to our first walk together in the park. Beautiful woman approaches with her dog to admire my basset hound, we strike up a conversation and discover we were made to each other, Mitzi barks, i yell PIE HOLE!!!! Woman turns and runs away. However, i must stick to my guns. This is a battle to determine who is smarter. Me or Mitzi, and i am determined to win.

I have a dilema. What other colorful terms should i use to correct bad behavior. Especially for something spotted Mitzi doing over the weekend.

When its potty time, 9 times out of 10, Frankie the rat terrier will follow Mitzi outside. They will play and dig, and dig, and dig. What they dig for i dont know, hopefully they wont hit a water main or sewage flow pipe. Saturday Mitzi did her business as usual, with Frankie looking on. Mitzi then begins to follow Frankie around the yard. Frankie goes to her #2 area. She likes to go under the big tree in the far corner of the yard. Now Frankie being a long legged terrier has an interesting "haunch" when she goes. She hikes her rear end as far in the air as it can reach, all the while tucking her two front legs in between her back legs. It looks similar to Olga Korbet from the '72 munich games during her balance beam rotuine. Very spider like. In this position Frankies "bulls eye" is a good 3 inches above Mitzi's head. Soon the conveyor belt is turned on and "product" begins to move on the assembly line. Right towards Mitzi. Now dont worry. Mitzi, though she like to dig in dirt and chew paper towels, is a lady. The dinner bell doesnt ring if you know what i mean. Instead that famous Basset Hound nose (2nd only to the bloodhound) goes to work. Now i immediatly began clapping and screaming no!! But i need a unique term in case it happens again. A term Mitzi will know is only for that particular instance.

Now i realize i cant use anything with the word "hole" for this. That would just be bad. I cant discourage her from sniffing, thats what she does. The only appropiate term i can think of is...... FSU!!!!!! I think that pretty much says it all. And those of you who are Gator fans will completely get the meaning. I will have to scout the back yard all weekend to and wait to see the deed being done. It might take awhile. Maybe i should get in the trees like the deer hunters do, then as soon as i see it happen, leap from the tree screaming FSU!!!! FSU!!!!! FSU!!!!!! The neighbors will love it

Go Gators

The Basset Log - Part 4 -Crate Training

One of the most important tools for any owner of a new puppy is a crate. Effective crate training can speed up house training and give the owner piece of mind when he/she can not be home for an extended period of time. The crate will fire up a dogs natural instinct as den animals. They feel safe and secure in there crate. It will curb the dogs chewing and tearing things up around the house.

I purchased a brand new crate for Mitzi. It is a wire metal one so she can see out on all four sides. There is plenty of room for her to move around and be comfortable. Yet, not too big where she can go potty in a corner. I have a nice blanket inside, along with some toys so she can entertain herself in between naps. The first day i bought it, she went right inside. I put some treats in the back and she would go in and eat, look around and chill a bit. I couldnt be happier with the crate and i think Mitzi really likes it too.
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Heres a picture of the crate

My Next Purchase

I have decided on my next big purchase. Its an important one that i feel will help me in all aspects of life. But why should i do the talking when there is a fully interactive website with details of this wonderful product which will soon be mine. Be sure you have your speakers on.

My Next Purchase

The Basset Log - Part 3

My all time favorite movie is JAWS. The mechanical shark, nick named "Bruce", was a 25 foot goliath. They made 3 of them. A left turning shark, a right turning shark, and the one that can explode out of the water. They used that one in the climatic scene when Quint met his untimely death. I love that scene, shark laying on the back of the boat, its jaws chomping in a non stop frenzy until its teeth find its mark in the soft meaty flesh of Quints tummy.

The sharks teeth were the size of a shot glass... Mitzi's teeth are the size of sewing needles and equally as destructive. Mitzi the loveable Basset Hound has begun to chew. and chew... and chew...and chew. She is a droopy eyed wood chipper. She will knaw on whatever is in her path. Shoes, aluminum foil, any and all paper products, plastics, the cast iron legs of the coffee table, Frankie the rat terriers buttocks, carpet, her own paw, human flesh.... everything. Now, she is young, and she is beginning to teeth, so anyone that has been around a teething baby knows what a nightmare this can be. I am beginning to train her that chewing people is bad. She will chew, i will pull back and give her a harsh "NO!!" she will look up at me with those sad pitiful eyes and yelp right back with a "YEELLP!!" As if she were saying "look jackass!!! you try making it 5 minutes with these teeth and not chew on anything."

Its time to take back control of the house. The only way to do this is to put her to work. She is like a termite, im sure there are plenty of trades out there that could use this fury little chewing machine. Perhaps the fire department can use her to replace the jaws of life. She could rip through the metal of a car in half the time. A post hole digger would be good. If you hold her ears and tip her sideways i would put her up against any chainsaw in the land. She would make a great sewing maching, or landscape mulcher. If she could swim she would make a perfect beaver. Put some bling bling in her grill and stick her in rap videos. We could ground her and make her the ultimate electrician tool. Maybe the military could clone her and send an army of Mitzi replicas to flush out the insurgents in Iraq.

I dont know. But whatever the answer i know one thing..... we're gonna need a bigger boat.

Bucket full of side kicks

I used to pretend i was Elvis. I would tuck my blue robe into my jeans, wet my hair and slick it back into what i thought was a pompadore, stand in front of a full length hallway mirror and lip sync into a hairbrush. After time i would not lip sync but would actually sing the kings classics. Dont be Cruel, Hound Dog, Return to Sender would melt from my vocals smooth and flawlessly... to this day i am positive i sounded just like him. I was only 8 or 9 and Elvis had already gone to that big fried peanut butter and banana sandwhich in the sky.

Theres a natural progression in childhood imitation. What i should have done was make a smooth transition from Elvis to something easy...lets say John Travolta. Now i did love Grease and would sing Greased Lightening, but i never took on the Travolta persona as feverishly as Elvis. Instead i made the impossible leap of imitating Elvis to thinking i was Bruce Lee. Now, the degree of difficult of being Bruce Lee is about a 9. What made it even more difficult was the fact i did not begin my transformation until high school. Bruce Lee was 5' 6", lightening fast, and strong as an ox. I was (at the time) 5'9"-5"10",weighing in at close to 200 lbs. with the cat like reflexes of a dump truck. I was a big boy. I could have made a great stay puff marshmallow man.... i chose the greatest martial arts master of the modern era. I talked my mom into getting me all the gear...kung fu outfit, Nunchaku (my weapon of choice), Replica gloves like Lee used in the opening of Enter the Dragon... everything. In my mind i was a bad ass. My training regieme consisted of me doing the Bruce Lee KIA!!! scream, punching the wall while wearing my gloves and using my lethal 2 foot high sidekick. Only thing i actually got good at was the Nunchakus. So picture this... i was in the band, wore gargolye sunglasses at night like The Terminator, and usually my Kung Fu top. Its no wonder i couldnt get a date for the prom. I would always picture myself walking down the halls of my school and spotting a gang of roughians haseling poor beautiful Lisa Vega, until i rolled up with my bucket full of 2 foot sidekicks and save the day.

As i got older i abandoned the Bruce Lee phase after i found my own voice and path. But occasionally i find myself going the way of the dragon when i pass by a mirror... i will strike the pose of Bruce and throw up what has now become a 1 foot side kick. I should have stuck with Elvis.

FREEDOM!!!!!!

I can freely admit without fear of ball numbing torture from my friends and family that i am afraid of the florida cockroach. Mainly because most people have an inherit fear of these little bastards. With me however, my hatred is personal. I am positive the word is out in the roach community about me and my fear. They have have been mobilizing against me for years, this morning i raised my alert status from orange to yellow.

I feel like Gulliver on the island of Lilliput sometimes. As of late they have been sending in paratrooper squads in the wee hours of the morning. Over the last month i have had at least 3 parachute directly on my forehead. Only other thing that can jolt me awake faster is a charlie horse in my calf. I would stand a better chance going against the entire Chinese army that these things. Its not like we are not well armed. The stores are filled with counter roach weaponery. Bombs, little hotels, chemical warfare, grainular stuff you put along the basboards, something called deet. We send in specialy trained people to kill, yet they still come. And there not slowing down.

Several years ago i spotted a big one on the carpet. I picked up my shoe and began to beat him mercilessly for well over a minute. I went into a rage. Like Mel Gibson in "The Patriot" with his little axe hacking away at the British. After my onslaught had subsided, i went into the bathroom to wet my brow with cool water. I decided to go to bed, killing the enemy can be quite tiresome. I left the carcass on the floor to revel in. My plan the next morning was to draw and quarter him via Mel Gibson in "Braveheart" to send a warning to the roach armies. The next morning when i woke... the god damned thing was gone!!!!! I know i killed him. He was smashed beyond recognition. Just like the death and torture of William Wallace had the apposite effect on the scottish as the british had hoped. I belive the same hold true here. I killed there William Wallace. Now they are coming for me to win there freedom.

I swear in the hours after discovering the body of the roach missing, faintly behind the drywall i could hear bag pipes playing. Only Mel Gibson can help me now.

The Basset Log - Part 2

Puppies in general will "go potty" approximately 3,437,134 times before they reach 6 months of age. Mitzi so far is on pace to shatter the outdoor land speed "potty" record. She must make a trip to the back yard ever 3 minutes or so.



Her goal to be the worlds best was increased by the use of bribery. My roommate/sister rightfully began giving young Mitzi a reward for a successful evacuation. Evacuation meaning ta ta... tee tee gets no reward, but ta ta will garner her a little doggie biscuit. Now these particular biscuits have been in my sisters possesion since the Reagan administration... mainly because her previous dogs werent that crazy about them. Mitzi on the other hand considers them pure gold to the taste buds. She knows where they are at... and she knows how to get them.

This morning before leaving for work i led Mitzi outside. She sniffed and plotted her landing zone, flew low to the ground to avoid radar and went into attack position. Tee Tee!!! No biscuit. Undaunted, Mitzi began sniffing again. She took her time, taking up a defensive stance by keeping me in front of her. She then took the all too familar "haunch" that dogs do while blitzkrieging the villages. I began to praise. She finished and began wagging her tail, fully knowing what will come next. I began to lead her back into the house, i passed by the crash site and glanced down... low and behold there was nothing there... just wet grass and no soldiers. She fooled me. I stood there for several seconds looking for signs of life but i saw nothing. I am not lieing.... she is playing me like a fiddle!!!

I gave her a biscuit.

The Basset Log - Part 1

Born Febuary 6, 2007.
Arrived April 6, 2007.

Mitzi Mae Dakota, Tri Colored Basset Hound.

The first weekend spent with this little bundle of joy is over. Underneath her droopy eyes and floppy ears, lies the heart of a poet. A renaissance dog, destined for greatness........... as soon as she learns to poop in the grass.

Friday night went very well. Dog slept comfortably in her travel crate. I placed the crate lovingly at the foot of my bed to give the new arrival a sense of security. It was also in just the right position to allow myself room to safetly leap from my slumber onto the floor (in a matter of seconds) in case there has to be an emergency early hour evacuation of any and all doggie secretions. Puppies under the age of 9 weeks have the bladder control of a 98 year old human male. Only difference is the lone fact that we are (by law) not allowed to place a 98 year old in a crate overnight.

Sleep tally for night 1 - Mitzi - 6 hours, Owner - 2 hours

As i wiped away the sleep from my tired eyes, i greeted the new day with a vigor and excitement only reserved for days that involve gator championships or naked breasts.

Tally, Gator Championships - 2, Naked Breasts - 0

Greeting me me oh so lovingly was Mitzi behind her little locked crate door. Sad droopy eyes looking up and tail waggin as if she was saying, "ok dipshit... get ready." Sheeplishy she emerged from her tomb and into her new home. She looks up at me, i look down at her... and via some kind of Vulcan mind telepathy technique she said.. "you aint ever putting me in that fucking cage again". You see, 8 week old puppies are smarter than 37 year old men. We see cute and cuddly, they see sap. They know who will eventually rule the roost. She had me hello. Through out the day, the new head of household had me picking her up and carrying her outside, praising her with "good girl" in a high pitch girl voice, that i know all the neighbors heard, just for squatting and relieving herself on the grass. If i would get that kind of praise i would have been doing it years ago.

That was saturday... very fun. All involved absolutely loves (except for Frankie the rat terrier) the puppy. I leave confident for the party at 7:30pm. There were 3 people to puppy sit for me. Puppy will be crated when my sister retires for the night, I will arrive home take puppy to potty, and then escape into the bliss of sleep.

On my arrival I go into the bedroom…. Crate door open…. No puppy. I begin looking for Mitzi.
On the couch asleep is my sister…. On the love seat sprawled out is my nephew. Laying beside my sister almost appearing to be pushing her off the couch is Mitzi, dreaming whatever it is puppies dream about… probably world domination. I wake Brenda and she seems pleased that I have arrived home. I thought she was relieved that I arrived safetly after drinking most of the night. She tells me that she put Mitzi in her crate… the crate that all the websites say is the dogs little sancuary… and as predicted, began yelping. Brenda tells me she just couldn’t leave her in there so she took her out. I send Brenda to bed… poor girl, rings under her eyes. She did look very uncomfortable sleeping on half the couch and giving up the other half to an 8 week old dog. She is weak… she gave in to the puppies demands, I have read all the experts, they say ignore the puppies cries. I am confident my plan will work. However, apparently Mitzi has never read those articles on the internet.

The Michael Jordan lead Chicago Bulls played the Cleveland Cavaliers in round 1 of the 1994 NBA playoffs. Guarding Jordan was Craig Ehlo. Ehlo is easy to spot. He is the poor soul in all the commercials and video clips of Jordan driving in front of the key and lofting a jump shot, scoring the winning basket. Ehlo hits the floor head in hand as Jordan pumps his fists at the slient, stunned Cleveland fans.

Ehlo did a valiant job guarding Jordan, the leagues best player. Ehlo lasted through Jordans onslaught for 60 minutes until being deflated by that final legendary shot. The shot that caused an exhausted Ehlo to crumple to his knees…………………………………………. I lasted for 20 minutes.
Bassets are known for a couple of things. Howling being 1 of them. Mitzi made the calculated decision to practice her howling on Saturday night. The experts can kiss my ass… IGNORE??? I lifted the pitiful crying and dejected puppy from her "sancuary" and placed her on my bed. After a few minutes of wimpering she slowly crawled up next to me and placed her head on my shoulder. She became silent. As I began to drift away, I swear I hear her whisper in my ear… "we both know who the boss is… don’t make me get medival on your ass"
Sunday night Mitzi was not placed in the crate… once again she slept on my bed. This morning I awoke to her small puppy teeth lightly chewing on my finger. That was my que. My master needed to be taken out. I followed her instructions to the tee… wearing my blue robe I stood in the crisp early morning chillness, and in a high pitchied girlie voice I utterd "good girl… shes a good girl Mitzi"

And I cant wait to get home so I can do it all over again :)

Don Imus, Al Sharpton & Howard Stern

As an avid Howard Stern fan, i loved his show this morning as he disected the debate between the Reverend Al Sharpton and the beleagured talk show host Don Imus. Howard has zero love for either one of them, and he freely lambasted Al & Don for about 1 1/2 hours.

Don Imus is a baffoon. He said something extremely stupid, and should apologize. But why go on Al Sharpton's radio show??? Is Al Sharpton the voice of the entire black community? Sharpton has a history of doing some strange things of his own. Who exactly was it that convinced Imus to jump into the lions den?

This got me to thinking... Stern has been doing his brand of humor for over 25 years. Reinventing morning drive radio... he has done and said everything. He is controversial and he has pissed many people off during the years. Why hasnt Al Sharpton ever gone on the warpath against Stern? Certainly there has been things said and done on Howards show that could be called offensive to the African American community.... personally i have no clue. My opinion is this.... Its easy going after Imus.... Stern will put up a fight. Stern would throw all kinds of comments Sharpton has made over the years right back in his face. Sharpton once again has gone after the easy target. He would need to do his homework to accuse Stern of being a racist.

Don Imus and Al Sharpton are a good match.