Episcopalians to Offer Mass for Dogs
Pic from gabrielsangels.com
Here in the dog lovin’ offices of The Curmudgeon, writing about dogs is not uncommon. We’ve written about hero dogs, abused dogs, well, lots of stuff about man’s best friend. So we were tummy-tickled when the following news item came over the wire: In Danvers, Mass, Calvary Episcopal Church will begin offering a mass for dogs.
It’s about time. Now your heathen dog can be saved. In fact, that’s the whole point. The “Perfect Pet Paws Ministry” will give canine critters and their owners improved odds of getting into heaven. That’s good, cause if my dog ain’t goin’, I ain’t showin’. Reminds me of the “Do Dogs Get Into Heaven” church sign debate I proved in that article that the whole thing was faked, but so darn funny it was worth publishing. Now the Episcopalians have put it their two cents: Dogs can go to heaven, but they gotta pray first.
The mass will offer communion for the humans, and doggie treats for the pooches. Even the misbehaving dogs who for disciplinary purposes won’t be allowed in the mass can have their owners submit a paper requesting a special prayer to be said for their soul. Owners can request prayers for any type of pet, so even evil cats have a chance at salvation. And the dogs will actually have a say in the mass, since barking won’t be banned. So, if the dogs really get into it, they can shout out things like, “Praise the Lord!” and “Amen!” Though presumably they’ll cry out in doggie language.
My guess is the dog mass will be packed, because it will be hysterical, and the people will come. The church will rake in the holy dough in their collections baskets. Heck, it could even get me back into a church, at least a couple of times, to view the spectacle.
I have just one question about the whole affair:
When the collection basket is being passed, what will the dogs leave as an offering?
(Information from: The Salem News http://www.salemnews.com/ )
Oscar Mayer Wienermobile Crashes Into Home
Photo by Tom McCauley (WiTI-TV, Racine)
Here in the Curmudgeon offices we appreciate a good wiener. I generally have them grilled nowadays, but I’ll always have an empty spot in my stomach for a New York City Street Dog with kraut on a steamed bun. Mmm…now that’s fine dining, and there’s nothing more American than a delicious juicy hot dog.
Perhaps this is one reason why the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile captures our interest. Plus it’s just darn funny to see a giant wiener driving around on the streets. For fans of advertising and promotion, the cleverness of the thing is a study in advertising basics, and harkens back to the old days of sandwich boards and Burma Shave.
And so the offices of the Curmudgeon were all abuzz when we heard the tragic news: the wienermobile had crashed into a house. Oh my gawd! Was it alright? Had it been damaged? Did they rush it by emergency towing vehicle to the wienermobile hospital shop? Forget the driver, that human moron, tell me how the wienermobile is!
The report came in. The wienermobile was fine. A few broken bones and a mild case of shock, but after a weeks rest in the hospital shop, it would roll along the streets again, thrilling children and amusing adults. Okay. Whew. Now, who so carelessly drove the wienermobile into a building? Give me his name. Surely that was the most incompetent handling of a wiener…uh oh. The identity of the driver came over the wire. It was a woman.
Don’t they know you can’t put a woman in charge of guiding the wiener? Maybe she thinks the wiener is only interested in her buns, or perhaps she thinks she’s being used, nothing more than a chauffeur – albeit a dangerous one – who does no more than provide a parking space for the wiener. Well heck, that would piss anybody off. You might crash the wienermobile into a brick wall too. I think it best to let a man guide the wienermobile in the future. At least you know he’s not going to smash it and hurt it.
And remember, all you wienermobiles out there…if a woman is handling you, be sure to wear your condiments.
(Note: I am sure the wienermobile is a difficult vehicle to drive and this story is not meant to perpetuate the stereotype of “bad women driver’s.” Anyone might have stepped on the gas instead of the brakes. Right?)
This story was first reported by WITI-TV in Racine, WI.
Another Nude Photo of French First Lady Carla Bruni Sells at Auction
French First Lady Carla Bruni Photo: Pamela Hanson
Here in the offices of The Curmudgeon, some female members of the staff might be showing a little skin, but for all practical purposes, they remain fully clothed. If any of them had posed nude at some point and those pictures found their way to the Internet, I would have found them. Not that I’ve looked, you understand.
French President Nicholas Sarkozy
Such is not the case for French First Lady Carla Bruni. She was, after all, a professional model before marrying French president Nicolas Sarkozy. The photo in question – Carla Bruni in Bed – is a tasteful black and white soft-focus image of famed photographer Pamela Hanson taken in 1994, and features Bruni draped with white sheets tastefully covering her naughty bits. It’s made me think about many things, including naked pictures of Michele Obama. A little too much, perhaps.
Bidding for the photograph started at $3,380. That seems like a lot, but a
Carla Bruni
similar photo of Bruni last year sold for a whopping $91,000 smackeroos, so this final price was a little flaccid. Could interest be waning? Has the novelty that is Carla Bruni faded?
So all this has set my mind rolling. About the difference between Europe and the strangling morality of the United States, about the harmful view of “dirty”sex versus the acceptance of violence, and about naked pictures of Michelle Obama. Can you imagine if a nude picture of Mrs. Obama were to surface. We’d really hear about the antichrist then. Look at what we do to our beauty pageant winners if pictures of her boobies turn up. There would be a donnybrook inside a melee wrapped up in a riot. God forbid our children should see a picture of a naked human body, but violence permeates everything, even Saturday morning cartoons.
Carla Bruni
This example of nudity versus violence in media is a tired one, but no less appropriate. Hundreds of years after the pilgrims – who were Puritans, after all – we still structure our society around their repressive rules. They believed in total depravity: That each of us was born full of sin. And never forget, they were driven out of England and Holland.
As for nude photos of French first lady Carla Bruni, I wouldn’t pay you $19.00 for one. Not to insult her, but her pictures are all over the Internet for free.
And she’s just not my type.
Except for the “female” and “naked” part.
Girl Steps Into Open Sewer While Texting
Kawagoe manhole cover by Compound Eye / flickr
Here in the posh pad that is The Curmudgeon offices, I see texting going on all the time. The youngsters particularly seem to enjoy it, and they traipse up and down the hall, on their way to the restroom or the copy room or the conference room or O’Reilly’s Pub, the little place I run on the second floor with an outdoor deck overlooking Puget Sound. Make a pretty penny too, but my point is, texting texting texting, sleek little fingers tap tap tapping their vital messages such as HOWRU? GO N 2 P and IM@WRK & MY BOSS Z HOT 
. My point is that is exactly what Alexa Longueira was doing when she stepped into an open manhole.
Alexa Longueira - Dangerous texter.
As reported by channel 2, local N.Y. CBS news, Miss Longueira was tap tap tapping when she fell into the sewer, suffering deep cuts and bruises. The manhole had been left unattended by a N.Y.C. Department of Environmental Protection worker. She was helped out of the stinky confines by an apologetic DEP worker. Nice work protecting the environment, boys! I think eliminating the streets of 15 year old texting girls is protecting the environment.
“It was just really gross and it was shocking and scary,” CBS quoted her as saying. “Because of their careless mistake I got hurt.” When pressed further she confessed to her mindless texting activity and added, “Regardless of whether I’m texting or not if there was a cone there I’m gong to see a big orange cone,” she said. “I walk that sidewalk every day, I don’t expect a big hole there.” That”s right, sweetie. You don’t have to pay one bit of attention to where you are walking. Everyone else will take care of you. The world is just a big, soft, fluffy cloud. Why, last week when your mom drove into that brick wall, WTF? That wall didn’t used to be there. Somebody is responsible for that wall!
You and I both know what comes next. The lawsuit. The girl dreams about falling now, so that’s like mental anguish and loss of sleep. And the mother confirmed they might sue. “It could have been an elderly person, a mother pushing a stroller. It could have been anyone.” Yes, but it wasn’t. It was your dumb ass daughter. True, the manhole should not have been left open and someone could have gotten hurt, but the girl has to share some responsibility as well. Put your damn phone in your pocket and watch where you’re going.
BCNUL8R
Are You a Metrosexual? I Can Cure That
Huggy Rugby. These guys are sexually confused.
Here in the offices of The Curmudgeon, the men dress fashionably but not effete. I am considered fashionable only because the fashion industry has caught up to me, with my casually rumpled shirt and course jacket, no tie and shoes that are comfortable and cool. I have always thought that people who are slaves to fashion – male or female – are misguided puppets who do what the fashionistas tell them only because the fashionistas want you to give them your money. And lot’s of it. That’s the only reason the fashion changes from year to year…so you’ll have to buy more stuff.
Think about it. Am I wrong? No. I am not. The fashion people and the advertisers have been suckering women ever since Eve put a fig leaf in front of her cootchie, but advertisers really hit pay dirt, really superseded every scam ever perpetrated, when they invented metrosexuals. They got men to spend a fortune on beauty products and clothes just like the ladies do.
I have received many letters from faithful readers who have exclaimed, “Please help me, Mr. Curmudgeon. I am buying beauty products just like the ladies do.” Well I’m happy to say that I will help. I will cure you of this metrosexual brainwashing which has gripped you in its steely maws of foppishness. So read, pay attention, and learn, Grasshopper.
Question: Dear Curmudgeon. My girlfriend complained about my beard hurting her face. I bought a faux-ivory razor by D.R. Harris & Co. for $99.00 for a really close shave, but my girlfriend still complains. What should I do?
The Curmudgeon: You paid how much for what? $99 bucks for a faux-ivory razor? Woah. How’s this: Schick Quatro Titanium Razor & Cartridges $9.49. This has four blades made from real Titanium—not faux—thank you very much. Oh, brush your teeth and gargle. It’s your breath, dude.
Question: I needed a really close shave, so I bought a badger-bristle shaving brush by Czech & Speake for $84.00. Did I do good?
The Curmudgeon: No. You did stupid. Badgers? We don’t need no stinkin’ Badgers. You should have bought a Van Der Hagen natural shave brush for $7.49. It’s natural too and it works great. Better than the hair off some Badger’s ass.
Question: I find that the shaving cream is really important to my shaving, so I use Luxe Formula shaving cream by Fresh for $18.00. That’s good, right?
The Curmudgeon: That’s good, wrong. Look Mamma’s boy, read my lips: Barbasol 2 for $3.00. It was good enough for your father and his father before him. Plus they used to put up all those cool signs along the lonely highways. That’s tradition, Dude.
Question: Hi Crusty. I like to put a good exclamation point on a shave, so I use Baldessarini Del Mar Aftershave by Hugo Boss at $49.00 a bottle.
The Curmudgeon: That’s Mr. Crusty to you. Slap a little Skin Bracer on your face, Bucko. It stings like it’s supposed to. Panty waist!
Question: I know you’re down on men’s grooming products, but I have sensitive skin and use Razor Burn Relief Plus by Lab Series for Men for $25.00.
The Curmudgeon: OK, but you don’t have to be a sissy about it. This stuff doesn’t sting, it’s been around since forever, and it smells great. Plus it’s got the word “virgin” in it: Clubman Virgin Islands Bay Rum $6.79 .
Question: I use Rush Cologne by Gucci for $40.00. You don’t have a problem with cologne, do you?
The Curmudgeon: No, I only have a problem with you. Ask yourself, “What would Steve McQueen use?” Old Spice Original, $11.99.
Question: A real man wants a deodorant when engaging in various manly pursuits like rugby. Contradiction by Calvin Klein works great for only $14.00.
The Curmudgeon: You mean “Huggy Rugby” like that picture up there? We’re not just talking about sitting around in your tighty whities here. All I have to say is Original Speed Stick by Mennen – $2.99.
Question: Damn! You’re hard to please. How about Acqua di Colonia Soap by Rance – $11.99.
The Curmudgeon: How about the Original Ivory Soap. No additives. Just soap. The next time you’re camping in the wild, you can use this stuff right in the river and it won’t hurt the trout you’re going to catch later for dinner. Plus, it’s the only soap that floats. Now that’s cool.
Question: But I like my soap to really foam and lather up.
The Curmudgeon: Listen up, nancy boy. This stuff lathers up good and smells great, like fresh cut grass. Manly, yes, but she likes it too. Irish Spring Green Deodorant Soap $2.79
Question: Guys have to cut their nails just like the ladies so I use the clippers, tweezers and nail scissors by Erbe $149.00.
The Curmudgeon: Yeah, but what color nail polish do you use? Listen, Ru Paul, These come in a leather case. 7 stainless steel tools and 1 of them is a 3 in 1 utility knife. Nuff said. – Red Men’s 7 Piece Grooming Kit $8.99
Well, class, I hope I’ve managed to help you break the metrosexual destructive spiral you’ve found yourself in. Your personal hygiene needn’t suffer. You can get the products you need at a fraction of the cost. All of my recommendations are available at Walgreens, by the way, who are not paying me but should be. Class dismissed, and lose the bottled energy water and buy yourself a nice Brita water filter.
(For more information on metrosexuals, including a great quiz to determine if you are one, go here.)
Hey, Piven, the Show Must Go On
Photo by haveN / flickr
In the comfortable but not overly cushioned offices of The Crusty Curmudgeon, this item came across my virtual desk in silence. Gone are the old days when the news teletype wire in the corner sprang to life with its clackety-clack, heralding the arrival of important news. Nevertheless, the item captured my undivided attention: The producers of Speed the Plow by David Mamet have filed a grievance with Actor’s Equity Association (the actor’s union) against Jeremy Piven.
Piven dropped out of the show just two months after it opened to favorable reviews, claiming that mercury poisoning was the culprit, causing him to collapse in his home. The rumor-mongers said otherwise, claiming instead that Piven was out late partying and had grown bored with the play. I am not here to argue whether or not Piven was sick or bored, or whether he was on his death bed puking up rancid bits of raw seafood. If that is why you are here, go suck down some raw fish instead.
No sir, I am here to argue—well, actually, I am not here to argue at all. I am here to simply tell you how it is. The show must go on.
I don’t care if you’re puking your jellied guts out…the show must go on. I have done performances where everyone had food poisoning, and we were all running off stage and throwing up every chance we got. I remember one time most explicitly when I had been decapitated. I still did my performance of Hamlet that evening…headless!—my head filled in as Yorick, the skull—and THEN, and only THEN I went to emergency and had my head reattached. Because the show must go on.
If Piven is bored with Speed the Plow, he should pack his theatrical bags and skedaddle back to Hollywood, because I have never known an actor to become bored with Mamet that fast. Mamet dialogue is full of intricate nuance. It is like playing on a Steinway Grand when you are used to Casio. It provides a challenge to an actor akin to…well…performing Hamlet without your head attached (I got great reviews that night.)
And one more thing. The role Piven vacated has been occupied by William H. Macy. Macy is one of the finest actors working today. He is an actor’s actor. This is such a monumental improvement that it seems suspicious.
I’m thinking the producers poisoned Piven on purpose…to get rid of him. That’s what I would do.
THE SHOW MUST GO ON.
Playboy Playmate Tiffany Livingston Detained Trying to Escape From Plane
Here in the offices of The Crusty Curmudgeon, many of us have to endure hours of air travel across the globe as we rush off to cover presidential inaugurations and Kings being sceptered (or whatever the hell they call that when they do this thing and say, “Okay…Now you be da King!”) As far as I know, none of us have ever freaked out on a plane flying high in the sky 
and tried to beat a hasty exit. But now it has happened to someone who is not one of us. She is a Playboy Centerfold.
It was aboard JetBlue Flight 522 on Thursday, in route to Newark to Orlando, when suddenly Playboy Playmate Tiffany Livingston freaked out, jumped up from her seat and frantically began trying to open the door of the plane. It’s unclear at the time of this writing exactly what transpired at that moment, but we can imagine that the 200 male passengers on board ran to tackle her (and probably cop a feel.)
A source, unnamed of course, told The Curmudgeon that it was a bad case of high anxiety mixed with her neglecting to take her medication. I don’t know. It seems like a bad idea to step out of a plane at 35,000 feet unless you’re D.B.Cooper holding a satchel with a million bucks in it. Back then, a million bucks was worth something.
“She said she’s gone through this before, but never this bad, and didn’t have…her medication,” a source told The Curmudgeon.
“[Livingston] has dealt with minor anxiety issues in the past, however she has always maintained a high level of professionalism in the modeling business,” said Kathleen Longsderff, Agency Director at an agency that Livingston was with previously.
Longsderff, of New England Models Group continued, saying that Livingston “began
modeling in New England and then traveled to Paris in 2008. She went on to successfully model in Barcelona, Tokyo, Hong Kong and Singapore.”
Livingston, from Merrimac, R.I., was taken by the Feds and placed under federal custody on Thursday, as reported by the New York Post. Charges are still pending. I guess the charges would include Freaking Out in the 1st degree.
Before all you collectors of fine art go running to your stash of Playboys that you’re hiding from your wife, forget about it, unless you have the Singapore version, called VIP, from 2009. In the mag she was described as “not just another pretty face.” No, she’s not. She’s a pretty bod too, and unfortunately, her head got the better of her this time.
Girl Punished for Making a Face in Yearbook
Photo by KENS 5
Here in the photogenic offices of The Curmudgeon, not only are the environs photograph-worthy, but many of the staff are attractive people—like the pictures that come with a new wallet. To document both, each year I organize a yearly staff photo. We have our share of clowns too, who can be expected to make a goofy face or hold up “bunny ears” behind another. It’s harmless really, and if that’s their personality, buy all means let it show.
That’s what 15-year-old Charlie Patton, a student in San Antonio, Texas, did, when she made a funny face in her school photo. What she wasn’t expecting—what nobody could suspect really—was that she would be punished. Yes. Those keepers of morality and taste, those “deciders” of what constitutes humor and what does not, have decided not to publish her photo in the yearbook, eliminating her entirely.
She was only trying to make people smile, she said. “The camera girl looked at my mom and said, ‘You alright with that, mom?’” The mom said “Sure, of course.”
But it wasn’t alright to school administrators. They wanted to see what else they could pin on the girl. They began comparing the photo to gang signs to see if they could find a connection. I wonder how long they discussed the possibility of planting drugs in her locker?
The education Nazi’s released a statement saying, among other things, that the yearbook represents the school and all students, and every student should be presented in the best light. “Students who make inappropriate faces or gestures or who do not follow the school dress code in their yearbook photos are asked to retake their photo free of charge.”
But Patton, who is active in the school drama department, said she wasn’t asked or given the option of retaking her photo.
I suppose it would be okay if a mentally challenged person made a funny face, because, you know, they always had a funny face, or maybe the school wouldn’t want retarded people from being associated with their school.
Schools are always complaining about parents taking more responsibility for raising their kids so the schools aren’t saddled with this extra charge, instead being allowed to do only what they are meant to do, and that is teach. I’m not buying that story anymore. Apparently, they are in the business of raising your kids, of dictating to them the difference between right and wrong, of damn well teaching the bible if that’s what they want, whether you want them to or not. The mother was right there and gave her approval. You can’t have it both ways.
How dare you disregard this girl’s mother’s decision. The villainous student appears to me to be a well-raised, intelligent, attractive young lady. You need to butt out of her life—of all student’s lives—and work on improving the shoddy work you all do with education. A world-wide disgrace, our education system is, but go ahead and spend your time trying to find gang symbols in smiling photo’s or how to get “One nation under God” back in the pledge of allegiance. This was in Texas? Why didn’t you just have a member of the gun club shoot her?
I’ve been trying to watch my language, but you know what?
Bug off, assholes!
(Information for this story came from KENS 5, written by the esteemed Stacia Willson.)
American Idol: The Saga of Broken Dreams
drama masks painting by GotMeAMuse / flickr
On Tuesday, the Curmudgeon offices were bustling but not tumultuous over the new season of American Idol beginning later that night. I had, in fact, never seen American Idol before, but I did not share this information, for fear of sounding superior and raining on their parade of anticipation and joy.
I do not understand the hubbub this show creates in its millions of loyal viewers. I do watch other similar shows—in as much as it can be said I watch television at all. I turn the TV on to a program I like, but then I don’t watch it. I am compulsive, I’m afraid, compelled to write, so I do, glancing at the television here and there. One such show is America’s Got Talent, another is Dancing with the Stars (first season) and the like, but I always give up on the show before the season is over. That is because the wrong people for the wrong reasons get moved along to the next round.
This happens when the producers, in all their wisdom about attracting viewers and keeping them, eschew the very point of the show, which is to reward talent, not freakishness, not mediocrity, and not downright embarrassment, which in the world of reality television has become a marketable commodity. If they only promoted the people with real talent, the audience would leave in droves, or as Yogi Berra once said, “If fans don’t come out to the ballpark, you can’t stop them.”
So I watched American Idol—Ok, parts of it—and saw instantaneously that this show is the same as the others (and in fact I guess it can be said that Idol is the mother of the others.) So, I won’t, I don’t think, be a regular viewer of Idol either. But I finally saw that the reason I find these shows ultimately worse than distasteful is that they are not merely manipulative and contrary to their own premise (although, they DO move the really good ones along too. After all, there is a recording contract at the end of this and lots of money to be made) but they are really about crushing dreams.
I have been there. I have worked professionally in show business since I was 16 years old, pretty much exclusively. I went to a Theatre Conservatory-acting training program, and then to the National Shakespeare Conservatory in New York. I lived in a roach-infested apartment, went to the cattle calls, traveled the country in search of the next paying job, and damn did I have fun. I have had my share bad auditions. Oh, Lord, have I ever. I have met people in real life whose sole (soul?) dream was to “make it” as an actor, but who had not even a modicum of talent or ability. They thought they were good. So wrapped up in this dream were they that reality was invisible to them. They couldn’t see that they stunk up the joint.
Idol and it’s offspring is the sad exhibition of holding a dreamer up in front of us so that we may throw sticks and stones and spit on them. The nerve that guy has, to have a dream like that. Who does he think he is? Is that why we hate them? That they have dreamed in futility? When they are finally dashed on the jagged rocks of reality, we cheer their demise, their arrogance, and their human desperation.
I have been there to see the torn and beaten corpses on the sharp stones.
People watch these shows like they slow down to look at a bad traffic accident:
It breaks my heart.
Man Calls 911 After Hooker Doesn’t Deliver
MBK (Marjie), flicker, Creative Commons, http://www.flickr.com/photos/mbk/2387406602/in/photostream/
Here in the health conscious offices of The Curmudgeon, we may partake in healthy eating practices, but we are not above a couple of Big Bufords from Rally’s or a bag of sliders—and plenty of ‘em—so it’s not odd to consider that a fellow may have met a woman in a White Castle. What is surprising, is this fellow went to White Castle to meet a hooker, and have an assignation in the bathroom. What a romantic spot for sex, eh?
You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. So this guy—William Ferris, obviously a handsome, adventurous guy—goes into the john with the hooker and she only kisses and performs oral sex on him. He thought he was going to get more than that, I mean, $50 bucks is worth the works, right? He was pissed off. So he did what any intelligent guy would do: He called 911 to report the crime of robbery.
No matter what you may think, cops aren’t dumb. The dude’s story isn’t making sense to the officers that responded to the scene. Wouldn’t you know it? He gets two “not dumb” cops who probably want to make detective. They question him. They grill him. They make him repeat his story a hundred times. They taunt him by swinging a Tak-Home-A-Sak in front of him, promising him all he can eat if only he’ll tell them the truth. Ferris can’t take the pressure and he confesses.
What a dumb ass. He was charged with solicitation and making a false police report. He was also warned that he will be charged with trespassing if he “returns to the White Castle on Harrison Avenue. Presumably, he can still meet hookers at the White Castle on Henry street.
White Castle doesn’t deliver. Neither does the hooker.
(This story appeared on TMZ.)
