Smile Politely

Coulter gets Lucky

Man, we keep edging closer and closer to that end of the world thing that’s not going to happen and it’s really stressing me out. So far, my biggest concern is going to work. I’m still not exactly sure what time of day the end is supposed to be here, but I think if I see some sort of lava falling from the sky I’m going to go ahead and take a half-day. I would take a whole day now, but with a 100% chance of this being bullshit, I’d rather save my days off for the Christmas break.

The other big question for me is wardrobe. For some reason, “the end of days” strikes me as sort of a dressy occasion, but I’m just not that big of a suit and tie fella. I suppose I could wear a nice sweater/slacks combo with a jacket, but even that seems wrong. Common sense tells me that any sort of apocalypse scenario is probably going to mean high temperatures, so I could just wear shorts like normal, but this really doesn’t seem like a time to be underdressed.

Other than that, I think I’m ready to go. If, and it’s a big assed “if,” the end of the world does happen, I hope I have time to call a couple of people and say, “Holy shit, can you believe this is really happening?” In the meantime, let’s get it on.


As you’re all probably painfully aware by now, we have three dogs, Lou, Lucky, and Bruce. Today, I’d like to tell a little story about two of them, Lou and Lucky. Lou is the blonde one and Lucky is the gray one. Here’s a picture of them in happier times.

I came home last week for lunch and when I opened the door of the house, one phrase came quickly to my mind. “Jesus freaking Christ, that smell could knock a crow off a shit wagon.” I didn’t have to get all CSI on the situation to uncover what had happened. Apparently, Lucky had a case of loose bowels. Actually, “loose” is probably giving his bowels a little too much credit than they deserve, but that’s the adjective that probably works best. Since Lucky was in a kennel, he was sort of screwed with this condition … or so you would think.

I’m sure he was worried that I might never come home again (since that’s how dogs think), and he didn’t care to spend the rest of his life lying in his own waste. What’s a dog to do? It turns out he’s far smarter than I thought, so instead of crapping in his own kennel, he brilliantly opted to press his freaky little dog ass against the side of his cage and blast all of his refuse into his brother Lou’s kennel.

It was truly a brilliant bit of thinking on Lucky’s part, as his area remained stunningly clean. In the meantime, Lou seemed less than thrilled. It’s very seldom that I’ve seem a look of genuine surprise and bewilderment on a dog’s face, but that was the look Lou was rocking when I walked in the room. He appeared to be going through several emotions at the same time, in fact. He was a little canine Marlon Brando, making all kinds of faces in an attempt to somehow understand and explain to me why his brother had duked all over his home.

Lucky was simply lying down, happy with having got that out of his system. It only seemed fair that I try to extricate Lou first, as he was innocent and justifiably freaked the fuck out. He pressed against the side of his kennel and walked around on the dry spots like he was trying to avoid falling into red-hot magma, which was possibly sort of the case. I’m just glad this wasn’t the week MTV was supposed to do Lou’s Cribs episode. He was nervous enough the way it was.

The good news is that I had plenty of time to do some cleaning, since I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be eating any lunch on this particular day. There was even a good chance I would be skipping dinner, as well. The bad news was that there were a lot of nooks, crannies, and bars to deal with. This is why it’s always good to have an extra toothbrush in the cabinet. I considered calling those people who clean your house after there’s been a gunshot victim in there, but I feared they would show up and say, “No thank you sir. We do not need money that badly.”

I feel this story will become funny to me in another week or so. It is funny to Lucky already. Lou is still pretty raw, and I believe he may never find it amusing in any way.


Happy Anniversary, Smile Politely. They had a fine little party this past Saturday night at Mike N Molly’s. On Tuesday, one of my buddies pointed out that he’d like to go, but he wasn’t sure he had enough time to grow some sort of beard by the weekend and would feel out of place otherwise. Regardless, I think a fun time was had by all.

Seth poured a bunch of whisky into my refreshing cider drink when I wasn’t looking. I think it was supposed to freak me out when I took a drink, but instead it just made me realize that I can truly drink about anything that has alcohol in it.


Okay, this is really just a song and not much of a video. Either way, I’m not sure what the piss it is or where the piss it came from, but it’s sort of funny. Yes, it’s sort of stupid, too, but Joe Pesci saying, “fat fuck” is always going to sort of make me smile. Enjoy.

Really, who the hell thinks Joe Pesci should make an album? It’s probably the same person who thinks Katy Perry should make them.


  • This was my favorite conversation of last week. “What kind of beer is that? It smells like cauliflower.” “You got me. I’ve never tasted cauliflower.”
  • I love how all the jukeboxes all over town are all nice and fancy, and yet somehow they suck worse than they ever have.
  • It’s weird how I usually throw my change in those Salvation Army kettles, even though I don’t agree with some of the things they stand for. Helping the needy = good. Being anti-gay = really not that good. Yeah, I know they say they aren’t, but really, they sort of are.
  • People need to stop pushing other people to their deaths … seriously.

Buona sera, senorina, kiss me goodnight.

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