The Butcher is like the world’s straightest guy, which cracks me up, because, after almost twenty-nine years, he’s finally gotten a feel for what women like and, when it comes to white guys, he’s figured out that girls like the guys from Supernatural.
Unfortunately, the Butcher cannot tell good looking white guys apart. So, whenever we watch a movie with a good looking white guy in it, the Butcher always asks, “Isn’t that the guy from Supernatural?”
And it never is. Except tonight, we’re watching the new Friday the 13th and the Butcher is, of course, “Isn’t that the guy from Supernatural?” and I’m all, “That guy? Yes, yes, it is.”
“I meant that other guy.”
Holy god, what a day. I hate that they’re all like “elderly man kills guard at Holocaust museum” as if the fact that he’s old is the salient point. Why don’t the headlines say “White Supremacist kills guard at Holocaust museum.”? Must we obfuscate?
Anyway, here’s a cool video by Roseanne Cash. First person to say why I love it gets smooches when I see them.
At this point in the story, my credulity is so strained that I think it’s in danger of snapping.
Dr. Tiller’s murderer regularly hangs out on Operation Rescue websites. He’s in regular contact with Operation Rescue workers. When he’s arrested, he has the name and phone number of an Operation Rescue person in his car. And now that Dr. Tiller’s practice is not reopening, Operation Rescue wants to buy the building and move their headquarters into it.
And yet we’re supposed to believe that this is all just a giant, wonderful coincidence?
In the real world, when one person affiliated with a group kills a person so that said group can get a decent price on the dead person’s property, we call it organized crime and prosecute it as such.
So, we went to the vet yesterday and got her stitches out. They asked us to put a muzzle on her and she was all growling and snapping even at the Butcher until her grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and calmed her down. I asked them if they didn’t just want to sedate her and they kind of laughed, but I wasn’t joking.
So, they got her on the table and on her side and you could tell that she was still freaking out AND that they were really freaked out, as if she would somehow have the super strength to open her jaws hard enough to break the muzzle, which is a feat even alligators cannot achieve.
And we sat at her head and talked to her and one of the techs was rubbing her side and I saw Mrs. W. shift like she does on the couch and I said, “Rub her belly.”
And the tech did and she, of course, calmed right down. They could have done a whole ear-ectomy and I don’t think she’d have noticed.
And that calmed them down, because, I think, it reminded them that she was just a dog and not a scary monster.
And I would like that for Mrs. Wigglebottom all the time–for people who are trained animal professionals to keep in the forefront of their minds that she is, at heart, just a dog and that they scare her.
And it makes me sad and angry that that’s not the case.