Oil's Well That Ends Well

I mentioned the other day that my life is somewhat “one of mindless meandering, with no goals of any substance, and no real sense of purpose.” While this is certainly true, I’ve always had an Owen Meany-esque feeling that I must be here for some important reason. Don’t even start with that whole “yeah, but that’s just a psychological self-preservation tool that lazy-asses like you possess to excuse … nay, justify … your pathetic existence by identifying your slacker lifestyle as part of a grand plan in which you ultimately save the planet through action entirely dependent on your sloth.” You know why? Because fuck you, that’s why … it’s true.

Let me explain …

I’m sure that after reading everything I’ve written about the hell-hound, you often ask yourself “Why? Why does he keep her around? Even the staunchest dog-loving-SPCA-card-carrying animal rights activist wouldn’t blame him if she had some type of ‘accident’.” I’ve often wondered that myself, and I’ve concluded that, ironically, it’s out of sheer laziness. I just can’t work up the motivation to make the call and have her capped.

I say “ironically”* because my laziness is, along with the aforementioned devil-dog, an integral part of the situation I currently find myself in; the situation which has finally revealed to me my true purpose in this life. You see, in addition to the dog being extremely bloodthirsty (and quite sharp of tooth, I might add), she also sheds. Not the “oh, spring is here, perhaps I should give the dog a quick brushing” type of shedding – that’s not even close. If you watch closely enough for a couple of minutes, you can actually see new hairs pushing out through the follicles, launching the old ones into the air, where they form giant dust-bunny hairballs before they even reach the ground. (This is ill-advised, however, as she is distrusting of people who stare at her, and doing so will often result in a loss of a digit or two, if not a full limb. I'm typing this with my nose.)

Ummm … Dead Acorn, you’re kind of rambling here. Cut to the chase.

Anyway, while surfing the net on the taxpayer dime keeping myself up to date on the topics of the day, I read that hair can absorb up to 3 times its weight in oil, and that there is a call for donations to aid in the cleanup of the oil volcano currently gushing into the Gulf of Mexico.

Yeah, baby ... six years of constant shedding + Dead Acorn too lazy to ever have swept = environmental disaster averted. Of course, I assume FEMA will send people over to collect it, because my lazy ass is busy watching Glee**.

* I'm pretty sure I don't know exactly what "ironic" means, but ironically, I don't think anyone else does, either. Like all those people who make fun of the Alanis Morrisette song "Isn't It Ironic" by pointing out that her lyrical situations aren't examples of irony. Umm, I think some of them are. Not that I'm a big fan of Ms. Morrisette ... far from it ... it just seems that "ironic" is a label used quite often inappropriately. Luckily, since no one really knows a precise definition, it's not really a point worth expending much time arguing about when you could be drinking a beer, though the same cannot be said about blog post footnotes, where I think it's safe to say that enough can't be said. Ironic, huh?

** ummm ... not really. That one time when you stopped by unannounced, I don't even know why the tv was on, much less why it was on that channel.