The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Tuesday, May 13, 2003
 
I am feeling ill today.

Sure: The muzak is clocked to twelve on the stereophonic. OK: Neighborhood waifs are gaily frolicking in cordovan shoes on the garbage-strewn streets. Yes: The dogs in their holiday sweaters are dancing on their hind legs.

But those dogs (or perhaps just a lone perpetrator) have also, for the past six days consecutively, done unspeakable things to my morning newspapers. And that fact, no matter how much I may otherwise be inclined to good cheer, dampens enthusiasm.

A newspaper in such condition makes for an unenjoyable breakfast. This, I understate. Transgression A-1: The Family Circus has been desecrated. The morning coffee: ruined. Monotony: unattainable. I am an inflamed maniac of untoward thoughts.

The sickening, vulgar nature of the situation demands retribution. I will have someone thrown into jail for this! Mark me. Mark me here. The record will show.

Vin Diesel has suggested to me that any person who instructs his beloved pet to behave in such a manner is pathologically insufficient and, most probably, illiterate.

I cannot but agree.

Vengeance will be wreaked.

I am too stoked for further blather.

That is all.


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