Dear Mom,
Things are fairly normal here... as normal as one could expect. Today I came home to a dog with four wet paws. I asked the wife if there was any halfway decent reason that the dog had four wet paws. She didn't know, but she found out fairly quickly: he had taken apart a trash bag. In a possible attempt to cover up the mess, he spilled a container of bleach all over the floor. I'm just waiting for him to have four blond paws.
Not to be left out, the cat walked up to the table and started munching on a piece of buttered bread. I could see this from the dog but the cat??? The vet was right - he's a big dog in a cat suit.
I have to run now: the roast is ready and I want to get it out of the oven before the dog does.
Love,
lefty
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I have mentioned that Philly radio it the absolute worst in the nation. Poor countries with no radio at all have turned down the opportunity to listen to it. One has the choice between GONZO ZOO RADIO [canned applause], classic rock that plays the same two songs by the same six artists and NPR. I switch stations a lot. The other morning it was NPR, as GONZO ZOO RADIO [canned applause] was running a marathon discussion of colored dresses. I have to admit that public radio turns me on to some interesting facts... facts that I am unlikely to come up with anywhere else. This morning I learned of Afghanistan's absolute fanaticism for cricket. Who would have known?
Apparently the denizens of Afghanistan rush to bars and restaurants with televisions so they can catch up on the latest match. As you can tell, I know as much about cricket as ballet, probably less. I can identify ballet. Not so much cricket. Actually I'm fibbing... everything I know about England comes from Monty Python. I remember a sketch with a bunch of guys dressed in white, throwing what looked like a billiard ball really hard at some tall wooden dowels. One was licking his lips suggestively, in slow motion. There - my entire knowledge of cricket.
Think of the possibilities: game postponements because they have to clear the field of opium poppies. Game postponements because they have to clear the field of body parts. More game postponements because they have to rebuild the field after the latest round of freedom exportation via drones. The players must have nerves of steel because the cars in the parking lot keep exploding. And you never know which of the little Taleban/ISIS/ISIL/CIA children in the stands is a suicide bomber. They start all cuddly but the end isn't pretty. Basically they have to have a squad dedicated entirely to rebuilding the field (wait - I remember - it's called a PITCH!) between bombings. It's odd but thus far, no one has thought of moving the action and excitement indoors (on Sunday Sunday SUNDAY!). I hear Halliburton is going to get the no-bid contract to build the bomb-proof indoor stadium, at the bargain price of four hundred million dollars. Don't tell anyone you heard it here.
Meanwhile, excited to prove to the world how modern they are, the Afghanis have put together a women's cricket league. Unfortuntately, through no fault of their own, the league has stopped playing for a few seasons, until they can get a few small issues under control. Between the bloody noses because the women can't see the balls, the hand-chopping-off for touching balls and the odd beheading, the games tend to run short (and bloody). Then there's the unfortunate bit about beheading the audience because women aren't allowed to watch sports.
You know, all this talk about blowing stuff up reminds me of something I might have heard on NPR: Congress has just passed a bill encouraging themselves to dress as suicide bombers for Halloween. This is the kind of legislation we can all get behind. Far behind.
Things are about to get (more) interesting at airports. As if rectal probes of eighty-year-old wheelchair-bound ladies weren't enough, there are now bomb-sniffing elephants. I suppose the TSA likes them because they work for peanuts (ouch) and are significantly more accurate than the minimum wage previous bag checkers normally hired by the agency. Frequent cries of "Get your trunk out of my trunk" ensue. I kid, though... the TSA isn't using them - the army is. If this ever goes wrong, the cleanup will be immense. Do you suppose they will get vests?
Lastly, scientific proof behind people driving expensive cars being asshats.
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