I’m not sure why I think its so brilliant, but lately, every time I see a little dog in a little jacket, I find it funnier than most other things. I was so sure that coming up to the grand age of 31 I’d developed a better sense of humour than that. A wry political comment should be my hors d’oeuvres followed by a meaty cryptic philosophical set up that has no punchline on account of nothing existing and so a punchline not being worthwhile as my mains. Finally a Shakespearian gag as a sweet dessert. That’s where I should be. Instead I’ve spent today laughing really hard at making up Wurzel’s songs on Twitter with my friend Mary (previously seen in THIS BLOG) whereby we have made cheap insinuations about incest and pig fucking, and then at a tiny white Scottish Terrier wearing a red jacket and looking all a bit distressed at the wind and rain situation.
It was impossible not to give it a tiny Scottish voice in my head saying things like ‘ooh my this wind’s blowing right oop my joomper’ and such things. The smaller the dog, the more elaborate the jacket, the better. I saw one of those really tiny ones, like really small, wearing a dogs puffer gillette. Yes this means the owner is a bell end, but at the same time, the dog looked so confused by its wearing of the jacket, a noted ‘I have fur, so why am I wearing this?’ that it was an endlessly hilarious site. I want more confused animals in coats. I have been told that some dogs need coats due to their thin fur, but I maintain that its funnier if they definitely don’t for extra confusion. Let’s put coats on dogs, boots on cats and earmuffs on rabbits. Then, to really confuse them, we should all be naked. Let’s mess up the animal kingdom! Wait, I’ve just read the last part back. Let’s skip the nude bit.
I’m honestly not sure what’s happened to me over Christmas. Just yesterday I fixed both a fridge door light (admittedly it was just changing a bulb) and then a bathroom pull cord switch light (admittedly, only after sending 240V into my left arm when trying to fix it without turning the mains off first). Surely this denotes me as an adult? Not only that, but an adult who exhibits powers only dads get? I’m almost certain I’m not a dad, so if anything, this just means when I do become a dad my powers will so extreme I’ll be able to rewire entire buildings in minutes, build swimming pools and hit anything electrical to make it work. Yet adverse to this clear sign that I am a grown up, I laugh at dogs in jackets, and this morning I spent some time replying to this spam email because it was too fun:
Dear Friend,
Please this email is very confidential and specifically for you alone. My name is Dr. Jessee Lynn Page, personal physician of the 73-year-old entertainer and singer Mrs. Etta James. Like you are aware, she is terminally ill with chronic leukemia, dementia and kidney failure. She brought out your contact from a diary yesterday and she asked me to write
you and tell you to contact her by email at ettajamestheblues@hotmail.com
Do email her at once because she said she has something important to tell you.
Dr. Jessee Lynn Page.
Best. Spam. Ever. Etta James wants to speak to me? I know its spam, but what a brilliant con! I replied with a lengthy email about how lovely it is that Etta remembers me after all these years. I hope to god for some reason it isn’t fake and she replies. Though it is and she won’t. But still what if she does? Though she won’t. But still. Imagine getting that then seeing the dog with the jacket and the Wurzel’s jokes things? Pretty good day huh? Yes indeed. This is on a par with the day last month where I saw a dog so small it was in someone’s pocket, then along the same bit of road I saw two twins who were dressed the same in sharp suits with trilby hats and both carrying saxophone cases. Musical twins. I mean, seriously.
I am so never growing up. Factoids.
