A Quiz About the Important Things

Sometimes I wonder if other people/dogs can guess what I'm thinking. Can you guess?

In this picture, I am unhappy about:
a. The breakdown of organized labor in this country
b. My kibble. Two cups a day is more torture than sustenance.
c. Assholes. Not the kind I sniff, but the ones I see on TV talking about how well things are going.
d. Michael Bolton
e. John Bolton
f. Corbin Bernsen Fan Club (Denver Chapter) for not letting me join.
e. Anthropomorphism
f. Clowns
g. Kempthorne

A "Head" for Politics

I'm turning this post over to someone else again. I won't go into details about how we met, but let's just say we became acquainted last year. Depite certain unfortunate aspects of his character, I found his arguments compelling and thought giving him access to this forum would perhaps offer a viewpoint not often covered in the mainstream media.

"Greetings!
I'm a tapeworm... Kingdom: Animalia, Phylum: Platyhelminthes, Class: Cestoda, Species: Red-blooded American!

That's right folks, this scolex won't run! The reason I'm blogging is to officially announce my outrage at being barred from being able to campaign for political office. Being a parasitic flatworm, I feel that I have a firm grasp on what it takes to succeed in the American political system. My tenacity, steadfastness, and ability to thrive in a variety of different kinds of intestinal tracts are signs of character that have gone missing of late in the majority of political candidates. Yet while I consider myself to be a patriot, the arcane rules governing the American political process explicitly ban certain classes within the Kingdom Animalia from serving their country as elected officials. To this I say, what are opposable thumbs when compared to the majesty of a scolex? This blatant specism will not stand! To draw a parallel with Sid's recent complaint, why am I any less qualified a candidate for Secretary of the Interior than Kempthorne (see previous post)? He may be better-looking, but I am intimately acquainted with interiors. Besides, I bet I would clean up pretty nicely if I had access to the number of professional stylists Kempthorne's got on his payroll.

So I say, to hell with being content to live in the guts of our definitive hosts and let's show these people who's really running the show! Proglottids unite! Together we can overthrow the culture of corruption! My organization, Para-merica, will lead the new wave of grassroots activism our species needs to make its voice heard! Who's with me? At the very least, perhaps we can rule from the inside. I hear Cheney likes beef."

Proof that Things Can Get Worse

Okay, I've remained silent on political matters for a while now, but this guy (current Idaho Governor Dirk Kempthorne, recently nominated to be the Secretary of the Interior) is proof that the last scrap of reason is gone. Finished. Done. It's been chewed up like a piece of rawhide only to get regurgitated onto the carpet later when it upsets your stomach, and it's no wonder that reason has been abandoned because let's face it, regurgitated rawhide is gross. I'm a dog, and even I'm aware that this guy is bad news. Now, I'm just a dog, but who nominates a guy who has earned a 1% rating on their League of Conservation Voters' lifetime scorecard to be the Secretary of the Interior? Oh, Bush does? Did he think that Secretary of the Interior is someone who comes in and takes dictation now and then, or perhaps someone who goes around with fabric swatches and paint samples and asks Bush about window treatments while the rest of the cabinet gets to sit at the big table? Because then the choice makes perfect sense. I mean, just look at his face. I've seen King Charles Spaniels with more going on upstairs. Observe.








Now, here is a picture of Samuel Jackson. Ignore the guy next to him, who is dead to me. A 'Hairspray' remake? Please. Anyway, we dogs are very good judges of character, and I'm here to tell you that Samuel Jackson would make a FAR superior Secretary of the Interior. He's forthright, seems very smart, and would kick some serious ass. And at this point, wouldn't that be a refreshing change for the American political system? At this point, since reasons other than common sense seem to dictate how things are run on the human side of things, I really don't see why my choice is any less ridiculous. I don't know if he'd even be interested in the job, and I'm a dog so I really don't have anything to say about who gets awarded Cabinet positions, but I vote for Samuel L. Jackson.
That's enough political activism for now. My next political blog will be about how it makes sense to replace U.N. Ambassador John Bolton with singer Michael Bolton.

It Is Hard Out Here for a Pimp

Sometimes I like to open up the blog floor to my peeps out there in cyberspace. This post is from my buddy Miles in Montana. Check it.

"Yo, I am Miles Davis C-Man and I am here to tell you that life is one hard m-er f-er for us pimps. I gots the sick life for a dawg, but I is here to drop some truth. I'll bang out the positives first cuz I am one of dam eternal optimists, and I am hopped up on barbs all day, so things look pretty damn fine. I am luckier than Sid cuz - I gots myself a dog door and some hot ass female K-9 accompaniment, if you know what's I'm sayin'. Props to my chocolate deeeelight Selma Sue. Damn, that bitch is H-O-T, I hit that at least 5 times a day and it is fine. Like I was sayin' I spend my daze grabbin some rayz and smoochin on my bitch, but all is not sunshine and hot ass for this Pimp - HELL no. I have a big doggie style job - guarding my territory 24-7. Those bitches that live in my hood thinks that they can be invadin' my ground, those bitches gots another thing comin'! The hoods that really piss me off are the ones that bring their dogs to urinate on my fence, yo, that sh-t just ain't cool. My voice is TIRED from barkin' day after day after day. You think I am barkin' for my health? Get the picture - yo bitch a$$ ain't welcome here - unless you gots the biscuits - hell yeah!
Oh yeah, and those neighborhood bitches think they can sneak up cuz my hearing is going and I can't see so well no more, I is OLD yo! I outsmarted those bitches cuz' I gots my girl workin' our corner to keep me informed of the events, and she can see just fine. Damn.

Man, bitches, walk your a$$es somewhere else, I say, this is the MAYO'S CORNER - step off yo.

Like I be sayin', it is hard out here for a pimp - Peace out."

A Rodent Runs Through It

This is me hunting baby woodchucks. I thought someone might find the images of me eating the baby woodchucks somewhat disturbing, so I chose an image that I felt captured the nobility of pursuing rodents. Note the determination and the fortitude involved in my eternal quest for nourishment in a world largely devoid of sympathy. Contrast this, if you will, with the pursuits of the Great Oppressors. Fly fishing has been on my mind lately. I understand that many of the Great Oppressors (humans) choose to spend hours in the water trying to catch fish not with the impressive arsenal of explosives that is at their disposal, but with a simple rod and reel combination. I understand that the ones who call themselves "fly fisherpeople" (or "fly fisher Great Oppressors") do not use bait (!!!!) and that they often THROW THE FISH BACK IN THE WATER!!!! If this isn't the sign of a ruling elite driven mad by its excesses, I don't know what is. Even their leisure pursuits are dedicated to the disruption of the natural predator/prey cycle. It's as if they're saying "Oh my, I certainly am hungry. Why, if I don't catch any fish today, I'll certainly starve. Oh, is that a fish on the line? Why it is! Oh, well he certainly is tasty-looking. But, I feel there must be a better fish out there somewhere so I'll simply throw him back. It certainly is wonderful to have all day to spend doing nothing but standing in a river trying to catch animals that I'm not going to eat while my dog sits on the couch at home wondering where in the hell I am. What a wonderful pasttime! It's a good thing I don't need to catch my own food to survive! Leave that to the proletariat!" Hmmph.

Three Letter Word for Awesome: S-I-D

So, that's enough posts with other people/animals in them. I've decided to spend time getting back to the important things: like me! As you can see, I'm pretty smart and make the best out of really crappy tiles. I don't mean to brag, but the amount of ass-whupping that goes on when I lay my words down is usually pretty intense. Is BOOYAH in the Scrabble dictionary? Because it sure is when Sid's in the house!

What Would Corbin Do?

My owner, J., was bitching about some stupid law South Dakota's stupid governor signed today. I told her to write Corbin Bernsen about it because whenever I have a problem, I write Corbin Bernsen about that problem and it seems to go away. He never responds, but I like to think of it as sort of praying to God. Sure, maybe he's just some perfect and remote deity who may not communicate back with us when we pray for his assistance, but perhaps the simple act of writing Corbin Bernsen is just a mechanism through which we can discover the answer for ourselves. Or perhaps they do answer our prayers, God and Corbin, but choose to make us think that we are providing our own solutions. It is not for me to pretend to know Corbin. Nor am I really that religious. I can't explain why it works. I can only try to explain to J. that through the simple act of writing Corbin Bernsen, one may find absolution.

C'est Injuste/C'est Moi!!!

Proof that life is occasionally brutally unfair...

yet...


... followed by proof that occasionally, it is not unfair. How else to explain the swing of the pendulum towards all that is good, righteous, and unspeakably cute? Namely, how might a world so cruel as to contain a cat that dines upon steak and other precious foodstuffs at the table of the Great Oppressors also contain...me? I do not presume to know the answer, I only ask that you look to me for your guiding light. Sort of like the full-spectrum lightbulbs that J. screwed into all of the lamps in the house. I don't know how B. and J.'s seasonal affective disorder is these days, but I've never felt better. When they're gone I just sit under the light and bask, bask, bask. Those things are awesome! The only thing better for a sour mood is... you guessed it... ME.

There Ought to Be Clowns...

It's so important to be well-rounded. This is one of my most recent pieces of art. You can't actually tell from this photo, but when you view this up close the Seurat-like pointillism becomes apparent. I used blobs of toothpaste to create texture and then added dots of color to form the soulful expressions of these two clowns, who are forced to put on their happy masks to bring pleasure to those in power. This is just another way of saying that we're all clowns: colorful, masked, beautiful, dying on the inside, and yearning to be free.

Heel Thyself

This is me on my road trip across the country last summer. This is a poem I wrote while on that trip. I think it's really important to be passionate about things, and I think this poem might give you a better sense of who I am. I hope you like it. I sure do.

KENTUCKY DOGS
-by Sid the Dog
Oh! Kentucky!
I like it in Kentucky,
where the dogs run free!
Eating blue grass and horse meat
with loose mentality!
You'd better take my picture,
because it's easy to see!
That Kentucky, feels so lucky,
Because it got to meet me!

Poetry is really a passion of mine. I keep dropping hints to THEM that what I'd really like to do is go back to school and get my MFA, because what I really need is STRUCTURE! I mean, sure I have lots of time to write all day, but in terms of honing my craft and maybe getting some good academic experience I really think an MFA is the way to go. But when I try to tell THEM about my feelings, they just don't seem to get it. I mean, sure, it's expensive and I'd have to take out student loans, but this is my passion and I'M TRAPPED, DON'T THEY UNDERSTAND THAT? Dammit, I just don't think THEY understand that while I might take my job of defending the house from the mailman very seriously, my passion lies with my art. Does anyone out there ever feel like they're trapped inside the house all day? In a sense, aren't we ALL trapped inside the house?

Hands Off My Poop

Poop like this gets me steamed! Apparently, the good people of San Francisco are planning on exploiting the canine residents of the city by converting dog dung into energy. A "recycling" company (recycling years of dominance on the part of humans if you ask me) is going to set up a collection system for poop within SF parks. This poop will then be placed in a sort of compost bin, where the methane gas resulting from the natural disintegration of the poop will power the tools of the oppressors that can be run off methane gas. Experts predict that the poop of well-fed American dogs could produce 20 to 30 dollars worth of energy per ton of waste.
What I want to know is, where will that 20 to 30 dollars worth end up? Will it end up back with the workers? Dogs, stand up and demand your rights to the means of production! This is our poop! Remember, it's a slippery slope we're dealing with here. We cannot allow the fumes from our poop to be used to drive the engine of their capitalist machine! At least not without some sort of cut... I propose some sort of energy cooperative in which dogs bring the product from start to finish and reap the benefits of our labors. Something! Anything! Workers of the world unite!
It's time to take to the streets, dogs of SF... I thought you could use this picture of me for some of the HANDS OFF MY POOP campaign posters. Don't I look resolute?