Everything Stinks of Ass

Let me apologize upfront to New People.  I get embarrassed - well, not embarrassed, but concerned in the way a host should be concerned - when anyone with a readership accustomed to more acceptable behavior sends their folks my way.  You come in, you sit down, I walk over and tail-burp into your chips.

That's just the way things work here.  Sorry it wasn't what you wanted!(*)

Hope you enjoyed the 7K-word sort-of history lesson/obsession.  I promise to someday proofread it.  Now:  Let's talk butt juice!

Dog hasn't been 100%, lately, and was due for his annual poking and sticking anyway, so:  vet.  I do not like our vet, here, and he doesn't like me.  He is VERY concerned about pet hygiene and I'm very much concerned that IT'S A DOG.  I will not brush a dog's teeth no matter how many complimentary tubes of poultry-flavored toothpaste you give me.  (The one time I tried, the dog was all DUDE I AM A DOG.  He's a smart dog.)  Teeth, ears, coat, criminal record.  All must be cleancleanclean!

This visit I got tsk-tsked about how spic-n-span the inside of the dog's ass wasn't.

Dogs have little sacks inside their anus.  These are called "anal sacs."  It's where they store their special individual personal snowflake scent, and that's why dog's noses go right toward other dogs' rears.  Checking papers.  Something like that.

Look!  A graphical representation!

You're welcome!

Apparently, you're supposed to "express" the sacs regularly.  This involves putting your fingers in the anus and squeezing the sacs so any residual fluid splugggghes out.  Failure to do so can result in infected sacs!  No one likes infected sacs!  It leads to discomfort when the dog's doing the pooing, probably other bad things.

Anal sacs anal sacs anal sacs.

This expression of inner booty was another thing none of my previous pooches have ever had to have done.  And Current Dog did get an infection once, so it was appropriate, then.  This time the crapping was happening just fine.  The doctor insisted!  So splurggggggh.

Last time, Dog and I trotted to the park and washed all the spillage off and agreed to never speak of what had happened again.  Because man's best friend's rear end's covered in stuff rejected from Odor Central.  It is the greatest concentration of funk you will ever encounter.

Not pleasant!

And when it's 30 degrees and all the fountains are turned off, you don't have any option but to bring it home with you.  I have now, inside the apartment, washed the poor thing's ass three times.  Pretty positive his backside smells like roses, but I can't tell.  The stench is clinging to my nostril hairs and it's freaking me out.  Logically, I know my hands are clean, because I've scrubbed three layers of skin off with soap.  But my fingers don't smell like anything but dog's ass unless I jam them up my nose and into my brain.  (Even then, the knuckles are suspect.)  The windows are open and the air freshener is either crying or laughing or speaking in tongues and does anyone know where I might get a case of syphilis powerful enough to suck off my schnozz?

This year reeks from the start.  Soon we'll be forced to choose between Mitt and Hill (**) and subjected to the oncoming ska revival and we'll hate ourselves and everyone else and hopefully someone will have the courage and the firepower to do something about it.

Once the air clears I'll be back with The Top 56 Reasons it's Okay to Strongly Dislike Vampire Weekend, or concert coverage from May of 1987, or something.

(*)  There's a Harlan Ellison anecdote - actually, a Stephen King anecdote about Harlan Ellison - that tells how the first words out of Harlan's mouth at a public lecture were:  "I just had a vasectomy on Tuesday and I'm still bleeding.  If you don't believe me, ask my girlfriend."  An elderly couple got up to leave; Ellison said, "‘Night, folks.  Sorry it wasn't what you wanted!"

"Sorry it wasn't what you wanted!" has become my fucking mantra.

(**)  Unless Bloomberg enters the race.  Then, there will be one vaguely acceptable candidate (Obama, McCain) from whom Mikey will siphon votes.

*

What else smells like ass?  Kate Nash's t00nz.  Come on, people.  Stop going nuts over substandard shit.

*

And that new Cat Power record smells like an ass that's missing a foot.

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It warmed the cockles of my testiclesles to see a clip about Mug Money on Gothamist yesterday afternoon.  When I first moved back to New York, I adjusted the old amount for inflation and made sure I always had $50 in my pocket.  Of course times have changed in a couple ways:  Everything's gotten shopping-mall-safe; and everyone's carrying electronic goodies - iPodphones, sideberries, whatever - that can be bartered for your life.

*

Hey!  What's worser than blogs?  Tumblr blogs!

Instead of someone making a public announcement every time they take a shit, now they ping you every time they feel like they might fart.  Even if I love your stuff, I don't need to hear you say "Excuse Me" every five seconds.

tags: kate bush  mitt romney  

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