Friday, February 24, 2012

Would you kill the puppy?

I spent last weekend at a friend’s place. There was beer, pizza, bacon… that's the complete list of items you need for a good time. Everything was just sOOper (except that one of the dogs took a shine to me and kept jumping into my lap. This was all well and good until he decided, while still sitting on me, that he was going to ‘service’ himself. Needless to say I felt quite violated. I’d wrongly assumed I meant more to him than that).

Now, the friends I was with, we’re the kind of people who like to argue. Even if we don’t care about the subject, we’ll dig our heels in and argue anyway purely for the sake of pissing off the other person. But when we ran out of real life issues to discuss, we moved on to the hypothetical, the standout amongst which being: ‘If boiling a puppy alive and drinking the broth would cure cancer, would you kill the puppy?’

First up, a few things had to be straightened out:
1. How many people can you save per puppy? (one)
2. How old is the puppy? (8 weeks)
3. What kind of quality of life did the puppy have? (bred in poor conditions purely for this purpose)
4. What happens to the puppy if you don’t kill it? (sent to a third world country to be used for food)
5. Finally, and most importantly, is it a cute puppy? (no)

The worrying part is that I answered a little too quickly, ‘Of course I’d kill the puppy.’ It concerns me that my automatic response was ‘Kill them. KILL THEM AAAALL!!!’ No. I’m not pro-puppy murder. But I was forced to admit that I value the life of a human being more than that of an animal. If it was someone I cared about or a helpless puppy, I’d kill the freakin puppy.

I’m not a bad person. I’m pretty much a vegetarian except for when it comes to the delicious animals. Cows are ruining the environment with their gassy-ness, so it only makes sense that we should turn them into hamburger patties. And as for chickens and pigs? Well, if we weren’t supposed to eat them, they wouldn’t be so tasty. Every other animal has my permission to live. Except ducks. They’re pretty tasty, too. And turkeys. Birds in general, I guess. Kill all the birds.

Friday, February 10, 2012

Stunned mullet

Dear Sir,

Hello. You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but you came to my attention recently as you made your way past my place of business.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and having walked by the Comedy Theatre earlier in the day, I was well aware that there was a matinee performance of Yes, Prime Minister. And we all know what a matinee performance means: the city streets will be full of the elderly.

Now, you are probably wondering why you stood out amongst all of the blue-rinse-set and the Harry-high-pants’. Well sir, it was because of your hair.

It is advisable to avoid certain hairstyles, the comb-over and the mullet being two prime examples. This is why it stunned me so to see that you had somehow managed to combine the two. The level of shock and amazement led to me quite suddenly and loudly yelling ‘COMB-OVER MULLET!’ in a public place, which of course you did not hear. Because you are old.

While I admire your level of self-assuredness, you may want to consider investing in a mirror, as it is clear to most members of the general public that you do not own one.

The amused.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Why I feel sorry for guide dogs

Today at work, my manager saw a guide dog waiting for its owner to come out of the toilet. It was lying on the ground, its head resting on its front paws, and she swears to Jeebus she saw it sigh.

I’d never really thought about it before, but it must suck balls to be a guide dog.

You’re born, you’re adorable, but there’s no time to enjoy your puppyhood. Nope, you’re shipped off to live with a family who will love you and take care of you then ABANDON YOU after twelve months and send you to puppy boot camp for intense training. Your fellow cadets will play pranks on you and call you ‘Nancy’ and your drill sergeant will make you drop and give him twenty if your boots aren’t shiny enough, which is really rough because you have four feet and there just isn’t enough time to shine all of them properly. Also, word of warning, you don’t want to know what he’ll do to you if you poo inside.

If you keep your head low, resist the temptation to chase your tail and don’t sniff anyone’s butt, when you’re old enough they’ll release you. But it’s not like getting out of prison, where you can’t function in society because you’ve seen things, man, and it’s changed you. You won’t get your freedom. You’ll be sent to spend the next decade with a human; a human you don’t even get to choose, so bad luck if they turn out to be a jerk who listens to dodgy music and makes you watch TV talent shows.

You’ll help this person all day every day. No annual leave. No double pay on public holidays. No pay at all. You won’t get to hang out with your friends, fall in love, chase the postman or bury anything in the backyard.

For what purpose does a guide dog live other than to serve?

So I salute you, humble guide dog. And I remind you that your owner has to sleep at some stage, and it’s not like he/she is going to see all the spots where you’ve dug up the backyard. Just saying.