What a Fool Believes

In my younger and more vulnerable years my friend gave me some advice at a party that I’ve been turning over in my mind of late.

“Bud Light is piss beer. All fuckin’ watery and weak. It’s the worst,” he told me, “but just remember that all those who party in this world haven’t had the advantages of drinking this goddamn exquisite New Glarus Spotted Cow like you have, old sport.”

I knew he’d say a lot more, as we’d always been unusually communicative when in a liquored-up way, both understanding that things that had a great deal of meaning needed to be talked about a great deal, points repeated throughout the night, scrawled into our skulls, until the meaning was lost and we passed out. So he went on to talk about Bud Light and selling out, how the drinking of the former was an act of the latter. It was a small act but, as he said, “It’s those fucking small acts that get us, old sport. It’s nefarious. We let them slide and repeat them and then, you know, like, years later, you’re voting Republican.” Whenever we split off at that party, he would find me again to point out someone with a Bud Light and mutter “Nefarious,” or “Republican, old sport.”

But what of Pitbull? I wish I could ask my friend. A crowd in ecstasy at his feet, one fist pumping to the heavens, the other clutching an ice cold Bud Light. Look how joyous Pitbull is. What’s nefarious about that? If that’s not happiness, I would ask him, WHAT IS HAPPINESS? But he’s a Republican now so I don’t speak to him.

http://deadspin.com/heres-what-you-would-see-if-a-grizzly-bear-was-eating-507658705

I wonder if Grizzly Man Timothy Treadwell got reincarnated as that GoPro camera and when the bear shows up he’s like, “Hooray! Bears! I love you!” until it opens its jaws and he’s like, “Oh no, not again!”

Meanwhile, at that very moment, Werner Herzog, standing in a jungle looking all austere and German, interrupts himself to say, “I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if a familiar voice suddenly cried out in terror and was suddenly silenced.” And then he continues on for another half-hour about how obscene the jungle is—which it is.

• How to tell if your monkey’s a witch: It wears a witch hat.
• If you need to get rid of an exotic animal—monitor lizard, Burmese python, jackalope, Ke$ha—dump it off in Florida. That new M. Night flick with Will Smith and his creepy, blank-faced kid, the one that’s gonna have some lame twist and suck, but not suck in a good way like The Happening (which, have you seen The Happening? It’s a The Room-like laugh riot), the one where they return to Earth a thousand years from now and the animals are all huge and buckwild, the one called After Earth? Well, the animals are all huge and buckwild in Florida right now. So it’s fine. Just toss the beast somewhere in the Everglades and run, goddammit.
• So you’ve got a guinea pig in jail. Who hasn’t, am I right? You can either cry about it at GPIJA (Guinea Pig In Jail Anonymous) or stop being such a little baby, get Thin Lizzy, and do a jailbreak. What the hell’d you get a guinea pig for if not to live a life of danger?
• Yes, eccentric blind billionaire, we do have a seeing-eye ferret and, yes, its bark will sound remarkably similar to the busted old wiener dog we haven’t been able to find a home for.
• Each Golden Retriever retrieves something different. One owner told me that her Golden, Molly, retrieved tapes (scotch, masking, cassette, VHS, celebrity sex). Another owner, who burst into my office, frantic, told me, “Dr. Luft, I went to Scooter’s doghouse yesterday and I found a stack of human hearts!” I responded, “That’s perfectly natural,” because I wasn’t listening. When the owner repeated the claim with greater hysterics, getting my attention, I replied, “Jesus, that’s… I mean, yikes. Yeah, we’re gonna have to kill your dog.” What I’m saying is sometimes what is golden only glitters because it has some poor bastard’s blood all over its snout.
• You guys: Don’t put kittens on the Internet when bulldog and Shar Pei puppies are, like, a bazillion times more adorbs. I mean, can you imagine a photo or GIF or video with some Shar Pei pups dressed up as, oh, I don’t know, the cast of the FX network’s excellent 1980s Soviet spy thriller, The Americans? Come on! That would even light the pitch-black hole where your heart should be, Benedict Cumberbatch!
• BONUS TIP: Miniature horses do not have souls.

Oscillating around the Whole Foods salad bar
I tossed some carrot shreds on my heap of kale
Mariel Hemingway nearly squashed me
Beneath the steel wheels of her shopping cart

Toad the Wet Sprocket sang “All I Want”
Hemingway apologized and smiled
I revealed myself to be the great-
Grandson of Wallace Stevens

She knocked me all the way to Key West
“Su casa es mi casa,” I declared
At her Granddad’s mess and lived
The rest of my days as King of Cat Hair