Fox Television--who else?--is a making a movie a about the deranged antics of Travis the Monkey, who pulled that poor woman's face off (it could be Ann Coulter's acting debut). And Judd Apatow is in talks with the man in Nebraska who put his kitten into a bong. But now with movies like Marley and Me and Dog Hotel and with stars using canines as a fashion accessories, I can safely say that dogs are the new people.
I like the old people better, the ones that could talk about Matisse, socialism, God, and had opposable thumbs. Now all the talk is of malteses and doggie day care.
For years, there was grocery store on our corner that sold organic veggies and paninis. It's now a PETCO and sells birdseed, hamster exercise equipment, and pet paninis. I think there are more dog parks than gas stations in L.A. at this point.
To help sort out this doggie craze, I turned to the expert Cesar Milan on his show The Dog Whisperer. According to Cesar, people generally project human characteristics or their own personality traits onto their pet. Perhaps this is explains why my friend's 25-pound python has body issues and a teeny alcohol problem.
These days, many people are unwilling to see their dog as an animal. Let's face it: they are cute, but they will bite. Not only do I look at dogs as animals, I look at myself as an animal, which explains why, since I got my permit, I drive with my head out the window.
What irks me is when people baby talk to you through their dog. "Yes, Cujo, that's Taylor. He was in Punchline ...He does the area rug joke. You like that joke? And you like to pee on area rugs...don't you? ...because you are darling. Isn't he just a sweetheart?"
"What ever Cujo"
I know I'm a minority, and most people are put off by my schnooky honesty about pets. It's just that I believe that, as much as we don't want to accept it, deep down, everybody knows that it's wrong to take an animal, put it on a leash or in a bong and make it OURS.
No animal, domestic or wild, wants to live in an apartment with a lonely person who talks to them like Dr. Phil and psychoanalyzes them as to why they are licking a bald spot on their hindquarters. The truth is these pets are just using us for food. (Sorry Cat fancy, the gig is up)
Last week I had a dinner party. In the middle of the meal, my friend got up and said, "I must leave immediately. My dog needs an Easter egg exactly at 8pm, and the veterinarian said it's best if we celebrate Easter now." She then hurtled away from the table with a bag of bones and two-cup cakes and my parking pass! And her dog is an orthodox Jew!
I think people are obsessed with their pets because pets don't speak. It's that simple. After you hang up the phone, you never hear a dog say "you're a liar and you are making the same self-sabotaging mistakes that have kept you single for far too long."
I personally won't have anything live in my house that can't move the car on street sweeping day or grate carrots. Plus, I don't mind being talked to harshly. I want to be challenged by something more complex than a Wheaton terrier.
But the urge to be accepted, to be popular, and maybe even to get laid has won, and I decided to get a pet. I too want have things in common with strangers and have meaningless conversations at crosswalks about kibble and worms. I yearned to meet someone special at the dog park and fantasized of getting VD and rabies on the same day!
But what kind of pet? I thought adoption was the socially responsible thing to do. So, I went online to google the best pet and found that the ideal pet for me would be a mature, retired circus cat. And that's what I got!
My lion Bart is 900 pounds of bliss with a thick chestnut mane. I found him at the garage sale of Siegfried and Le Roy, the only interracial gay magic act working in the state of Nevada. Sadly, the two, um, men were dissolving the act because, apparently, Le Roy was unable to keep his baby elephant in his pants. In addition to Bart, I also got a Juicer, a sling, and a bunch of those little Russian dolls that you stick in to each other.
But now, the problem is, when I bring my prized Bart to the dog park now, I am the asshole because of a legal technicality that states that an animal's feces cannot be bigger than the smallest dog in the park! Damn the Chihuahuas!
It's always something with these dog people. I met this bitchy guy who was texting while juggling a teacup poodle named "Spicy." He was so condensing to me about my 900 pound lion, saying that "wild animals revert to their natural instincts sooner or later."
I replied, " I am sure you do too after you have your little hit of a crystal meth." Unfortunately, sensing my discomfort, Bart ate the dog and the man's hand. Lions are magnificent, aren't they? A symbol of power, courage and nobility, the three things most Americans lack.
I assure you I am going to make a good place for my amazing dear, adorable Bart, who, despite a truly horrifying roar, is now like MY CHILD. Oh yes! We watchThe View together, and whenever Whoopi looks into the camera, Bart roars and then farts.
I hope that the Obama family chooses as well as I have when they bring their new pet into the White House. Children need to be taught how to handle and work around animals to lessen potential hazards. With this economy, I suggest the kids set a trend and get a pet rock.
This way when they aren't playing with it, Michelle can put it in toilet tank to save water!
In the end, Sasha and Mallia should have what ever they want. When I was their age, I had a monkey named Carole who was great companionship until it masturbated on the mirror one Christmas Eve and had missionary style sex on my grandmother's mink hat. Of course, I took the blame and loved that monkey until it disappeared one day along with its cage.
Yesterday Bart TIVO'd an episode of Lost before his yoga class. Isn't that so endearing?? I'm so proud of him. And his progress is encouraging, because tomorrow it's his turn to move the car for street sweeping.
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