A Typical Sunday

Sweet William loves to watch football. Perhaps I anthropomorphize? What’s wrong with that? I’m not totally delusional -deep down I know what attracts him: a stable shoulder, complete attention (during commercials), a beer label to peel , the occasional snib of a potato chip, the frequent burst of expletives and the loud clatter of absurd beer ads. He doesn’t care that Budweiser’s claim of ‘drinkability’ is empty marketing and if all you can say about your brew is that it’s the coldest then you’ve just given away the fact that your beer tastes like spring water mixed with a little piss - almost tasteless with a twinge of nasty. It’s clear that I am a beer snob and my bird is not. He delights in the claim (made loudly enough) that Miller Lite (sic) has great taste and is less filling. (Less filling? That’s great if the goal is to create greater urine output and hence, eventually, more beer at the Miller brewery). T o my dismay, I believe that Sweet William would happily tear the label off of any beer. Now you see what I have to live with.

But this isn’t really about beer, or football (shit! the Packers just lost to the Vikings), or even politics - the other popular American blood sport, although given the events of the last week, it’s tempting to add a word about the election. Ok, I’ve caved – one word -- well, more than a word. See, I’m untrustworthy. Fits the topic, ya know? But, hopefully the B-man is different. Hail to the chief! (elect). And thanks to the millions of Americans who voted, no matter who they cast their ballot for. Although it is a mystery to me how any fuckwit could have voted for John McCain and his intellectually challenged running mate. Think about it, if Hillary Clinton had performed half as poorly in interviews as Palin did, Clinton would have been dipped in shit, rolled in boogers and drug behind a truck. But that’s all over now, until next week when the 2012 candidates are announced.

Again - enough of beer, football and politics. This whole dealybob blog thing is supposed to be about the bird. Or cheese. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which. Today I’m going to pick the bird; the tiny, free-range green monster whose vulnerability trumps everyone else’s need for attention. He sits up here on my shoulder, the only one allowed on the couch, soaks up all the attention in the room and projects an attitude of superiority the way a lord looks down on his serfs. What more is there to say?