Category: Bad news

The Return of the Shit Monsoon

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 22 Comments
The Shit Monsoon Redux
They say the job ain’t over ’til the paperwork is done, but I think this one’s gonna take more than one roll of toilet paper.

Well, shit. And I do mean shit. As in shit fountaining out of the downstairs toilet for the second time in three years.

Here’s the long and the short of it: Herself and I were enjoying a glass of the finest European sidewalk-softener and a bit of TV last night when she hears a bubbling sound from downstairs. She goes to investigate and I hear another kind of sound altogether, reminiscent of the racket I was making in 2009 when the exact same thing happened to me.

So now it’s wash, rinse and repeat time again. The carpet is coming up, along with the tile, and some drywall is coming out. We’ve already relocated Herself’s office to the kitchen, where the cats may use her keyboard as a springboard to the windowsills for perimeter inspection.

My office, meanwhile, houses the 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment and its equipment, to wit, one (1) sand-filled polyurethane waste receptacle, i.e., the litter box. Not exactly a box of roses, but hey — when the whole house smells like a toilet, what’s another turd or two?

Outfoxed

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
Fox in the chicken house
I can't look at a red fox without hearing, "Hey, dummy!"

The first fox of the season popped round this morning as I was prepping for a ride.

He (or she) had a refreshing drink at my front-lawn sprinkler, then wiped out a few chickens belonging to a neighbor before leading us all on a merry chase around the ’hood.

Little sucker was as shameless as a House Republican, but absolutely without fear (this is how you can tell the difference between a chicken-stealing varmint and a House Republican).

I briefly considered sending the obnoxious sumbitch to the Great Beyond with one of the quieter family firearms — something in a .22 long — but decided against it. He (or she) is just doing what comes natural, and I don’t have the State’s permission to bust a cap in his (or her) ass.

But Turkish, Mia and Buddy will be enjoying some strict supervision in the backyard henceforth, and I may invest in a bag of BBs for the old air pistol. A ping in the pooter may persuade this grinning rascal to seek sustenance elsewhere.

Trouble every day

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments

Hey, whaddaya know, it’s Dec. 12, which means … something. I dunno what. I got nothin’ here.

Oh, yeah — this was the day back in 2000 that the Supremes pulled the plug on Al Gore’s campaign, which had been on life support for the better part of quite some time.

Well, as “Odd Bodkins” cartoonist Dan O’Neill was fond of saying, “Reality is a 5-4 decision in the Supreme Court.”

We now return you to the reality-based community, which is already in progress.

Another coda

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 4 Comments

Those of you who follow the DogS(h)ite may recall my remembrance of  friend and neighbor Marvin J. Berkman, who died two years ago yesterday at age 85.

His son, Howard Berkman, who played and sang at Marv’s memorial, died last Saturday in Paonia, Colorado. He was just 62.

Families being what they are, the two were not always close, despite sharing a love of music. Here’s hoping they’re getting along better now, maybe even jamming occasionally.

Here’s a MySpace recollection of Marv’, apparently written by Howard.

Cops! redux

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 18 Comments

Hm. It appears I was mistaken in my Party Palace post — les flics did nab the young man in question (he was hiding in the attic, says the legitimate tenant of the actual house on the property). Now, instead of squatting in a refurbished garage with a motley collection of drug-addled evildoers he is enjoying three hots and a cot at taxpayer expense.

His mother, who owns the property, is in no hurry to get Sonny sprung, which suits the neighborhood just fine. Two of his pals who remained at large popped round twice on Tuesday, looking for Christ knows what (perhaps a mislaid debit card that’s now in Mom’s hands). I have photos of both and a license-plate number, and so do the cops.

Meanwhile, today we have enjoyed our first scumbag-free day in many a moon. I should have a case of beer delivered to the squadroom.