IRENE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One night this weekend, a man will repeatedly yell “Is that all you got, Irene?!?” loud enough for the neighbors to hear. In Lynn, this could be a guy taunting the hurricane, or it could just be a habitual argument with his girl.

Tiny, Tiny Dogs



pic via Neatorama

       
                Ah.  Today I remembered why I run along the beach instead of zig-zagging up and down the streets bordering it: Tiny dogs. Tiny, angry dogs, people. Tiny, angry dogs protecting hearth and home. Tiny, angry, kickable dogs the size of footballs. Too bad I like dogs so much. They win.

Favorite New Word of the Day-"Bugnado"

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/44167752?GT1=43001

I Survived a Shark Attack and No One Cares!

by Bud “Kind” Darwell

     
       

       I survived a shark attack, and no one cares. Maybe no one cares because Shark Week's over, or maybe no one cares because of the economy and the war in Afghanistan. I don't know. All I know is when I encountered a Great White on my surfboard last Saturday, I almost became a snack, but I was lucky enough to escape with only a tiny bit of my left pinky bitten. So I gotta say, where’s my hero’s welcome?



       I mean, I remember when I was a kid, when someone survived a shark attack, they were the town célèbre. Dude was in a parade float and everything. Ever hear of The Slesinger? It was a sandwich made in honor of Joe Slesinger, who survived a shark attack with only the loss of his right arm. Hell, his picture still hangs up at Stuckey’s Sub Shop, he’s smiling and waving with his left hand to the camera. I don’t think they make his sandwich anymore though. Nobody likes sardines in their hoagy. Still, where's the sandwich in my name?


       Even my little league team was The Surviving Slesingers. Our mascot was a shark. Well, let me ask you, why is there’s no guy in a foam rubber shark suit dancing on my front lawn in celebration of my survival? I looked, first thing this afternoon when I woke up. If he's not there, then I can't imagine they're printing up team jerseys with me punching a shark on them.

       Maybe the glory days of shark survivaldom are a thing of the past. Maybe facing death in the face is simply not enough--in these exciting days of fast moving Internet, satellite television and extreme sport drinks--to hold a crowd's attention anymore.

       Also, I know what I saw. So what if that oceanographer from the college said sharks haven’t been sighted in this area for a decade. I don’t agree with the Harbor-master either. He said that what I saw was just a seal pup that occasionally comes inland and is curious about people. In my humble opinion, I believe it’s just a coincidence that a seal pup was spotted on the beach the very  same day of my shark attack. So what if hundreds of beachgoers witnessesed this pup playfully scampering and barking for scraps from the concession stand. That doesn't mean what I dealt with was just a inquisitive seal. I know what I saw in that water. And knowing what’s in there, I’d say that’s one brave seal pup--or one stupid one--to be swimming in these waters.  



I mean look at this...........................and then look at this!



      Pretty different, right?  Hard to mistake one for the other. Why do my fellow townspeople doubt me? I'm a thoroughly respectable citizen.
      I don’t buy what that oceanographer dude said about my pinky injury either. It is not the result of a baby seal teething! I tussled with the greatest of whites. I’m like Jonah and Pinocchio combined. So where’s my kudos?

      Sometimes, when I look back on my life, a life filled only with the  failed hopes of shark attack celebritydom, I have to wonder if it's been a life well spent. Well anyway, I gotta go deliver this tobacco smoking device to a client. Later daze, and heed my words: The sharks-they're out there! But don't expect anyone to throw you a parade or nuthin' for escaping alive.
                                                               signed,
                                                                          a hero*

*Mr. Darwell’s views are his own and do not reflect those of this blog. Also, we won't comment on how he can't seem to tell the difference between  babyseals, great white sharks, and whales. As usual, we blame the weed.

                          -Freditor