Calling All Geese - Sue

Phyllis and I had gone to Big Five to look for a new bicycle seat and tee shirts. True to my word, I bought Phyllis a present. I hope it will appease her for the time being, and she will reconsider murdering me in cold plasma.

I've been doing better the last few years than ever. I paid off my Miata and my personally commissioned oil portrait by a New York artist of Rachel Maddow. I've finally put that gambling thing behind me. I've cut back my tithe to a reasonable ten percent, and I don't squander nearly as much of my employer's weekly deposit on booze, dope and lavish parties with famous rock bands. So that is why, when it comes to buying Phyllis a present, money is no barrier. It's just sitting around here in piles like laundry anyway. I may as well bribe her with it. Are you sitting down? I got her a goose caller!

Don't you just want to pinch yourself? I know what you're thinking. What did Phyllis do to win a prize like me? Who manipulated the stars the day we met, and injected me with intravenous love sick? (We're gay, by the way, and that's a whole other story, so stay tuned. And contrary to the liberals in California, I wasn't born that way. I decided to be gay when I was 40 BECAUSE I JUST WASN'T A BIG ENOUGH SOCIAL PARIAH YET. Ahem, sorry for the outburst.) I'll tell you what Phyllis did. She tricked me into this whole thing. She moved here from a thousand miles away, JUST TO CONVINCE ME SHE IS NOT TRYING TO KILL ME. I'm wise to the whole charade, so I have to keep giving Madam presents or I get foreign objects in the lunch she makes me for work. That's how it's all going down. And that's why I don't have any more lavish parties with famous rock bands.

Lucky for me, the goose caller lit her up like Independence Day meets Christmas. With a little practice on her part, we should have half the Canadian Geese from City Park in our back yard, so instead of pooping in the park where all prissy park geese poop, guess what? Our back yard is going to be covered like the Virgin Mary at St. Peter's Basilica, only it won't be from pigeons. It will be from MUCH LARGER BIRDS. One added bonus is that Phyllis may learn to play the Star Spangled Banner on her goose caller, just to regale the neighbors, in much the same way she can fart to that timeless melody. Oh and, by the way, Phyllis got me a present too! An entire case of that nutritious diet drink, Slug Fast.

P.S. If Rachel ever comes to town, I'm going to invite her over for popcorn and a movie. I'll have Phyllis sprinkle the Parmesan cheese on the popcorn while it's still hot, just the way I've dreamed Rachel likes it.

A Better Way to Mop Up Spills...Phyllis

Pete doesn’t know anything because he never reads. I have never seen him even pick up a book. He can’t name even two former presidents, or the capitols of any state, including the one he lives in. He doesn’t know who his Senators are. He doesn’t know who the Speaker of the House is. He doesn’t know that Africa is a continent and not a country.

When it comes to world history, he couldn’t care less. Ask him his opinion on our involvement in Afghanistan, he will respond with a look as blank as my checkbook register. Ask him his views on evolution, church versus state, abortion, race relations, the Keynesian economics, Marxism, global warming, cap and trade… you’ll get a more intelligent response from Lindsay Lohan.

Pete’s philosophy, if you can call it that, is to live from minute to minute. He doesn’t care about anything in the past nor is he concerned about tomorrow. He doesn’t care about what is going on a block away, in the next county, or on the other side of the globe. It’s a very selfish way to live if you ask me. Selfish and shallow.

A conversation with him is like trying to discuss world affairs with Sarah Palin. It’s not going to go anywhere. And if Tina Fey is Sarah Palin’s alter ego, Pete’s alter ego would be…hmmmmm…Howie Mandel…cute and eager, but hello?...anyone home?

No, Pete will never invent any new software, or a better way to mop up spills. He won’t impact our culture with a new, innovative school of thought. He won’t write the Great American Novel, or win a Nobel Peace prize. But when I come home from work and Pete greets me with his wagging tail and his jiggly dance, I think he’s the smartest dog I know.