Yes, I'm still alive
(...everybody else seems to be dying, though)
So anyway...
I just got back from Northern California, where I was taking
care of my sickly parents. The step-dad suffered a stroke and
the mom has osteoporosis and Alzheimer's. (That last part's a
secret, since mom doesn't know she has Alzheimer's. Please don't
tell her. It'll only make her upset. For about 24 hours. Then
she'll forget.)
But that's not what I want to talk about this week. What I
want to talk about is this news story that was bursting from
page one in the San Francisco Bay Area. It seems a woman -- a
lacrosse coach at St. Mary's College -- moved to a nice apartment
complex in the Pacific Heights district of San Francisco. God
knows where she lived before. The tough Tenderloin area, perhaps,
or maybe Candlestick Point. Either way, she survived those neighborhoods.
But things weren't going to work out so well for her in Pacific
Heights. (This is called foreshadowing, you know).
According to news reports, a male and female couple, both
attorneys, were housing two beasts known as Canary Mastiffs --
fighting dogs usually trained for violent competition or crack
house duty, depending on where you live. It seems these dogs
got loose from their owners (or were unleashed by their owners,
that remains unclear) whereupon they attacked the sadly distracted
lacrosse coach and ripped her to shreds.
She dead.
She was only 33, just got a promotion at work, had a cholesterol
level of 90 (for all I know), recently moved to the posh Pacific
Heights area of one of the more rarified, high-priced, yuppie-safe
cities in the world, jogged at least 10 miles a day (for all
I know) and was healthy beyond belief.
She dead.
Me? My cholesterol level doubles my weight, I smoke two packs
of cigarettes a day, I drink to the annoyance of anyone around
me, I sit on my ass in front of a computer or guitar, I've had
sex without condoms all my life and...
... yes, I'm still alive. (See how I worked the title in?)
"You better not say that," some airy-fairy Sonoma
Countyite warned me. "You could be next."
Yeah, that's true. No doubt my time's coming. But I still
outlived that lacrosse chick by 14 years and no one can ever
take that away from me.
'Cause she dead. But I'm alive.
Can you believe it? I can't. One more year, and I outlive
Dale Earnhardt. Okay, maybe that was always going to happen,
but how the hell can I outlive a 33-year-old, health-freak lacrosse
coach?
I'll tell you how. When I see a Canary Mastiff coming for
me, I get the fuck out of the way.
What was she thinking? "Oh, look, it's a friendly vicious
dog that outweighs me by five pounds. Nice puppy." I doubt
it. You know why I think she died? I bet you anything that as
she was entering her nice apartment, she was talking on a cell
phone. I bet she never saw the dogs coming.
"Yes, mom, it's a wonderful apartment. And the best part?
They allow pets!"
"GRRRRAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPHHHH...CHOMP, CHOMP, CHOMP."
She dead.
The story gets weirder. First, the two attorneys who owned
the canine adopted a 38-year-old guy in prison, a fellow Canary
Mastiff lover (more foreshadowing) to be their son. Then they
found pictures of the jailbird and the newly-minted mama having
sex. Later, they found pictures of all three of them having sex
with the Canary Mastiffs, including the males.
Guess that's where the Canary part comes in.
This couple has balls of steel, but then they are attorneys.
The male shylock had the temerity to say before Bay Area news
cameras, "She must have been wearing some kind of cologne
or used steroids. She must have done something to provoke the
dog."
Nawwwww. It wasn't the cologne. It wasn't the steroids, either.
It was the low-cut top and those short skirts she was wearing.
That's what attracted the dog. She was asking for it.
And now... she dead.
Look. I'm not saying don't eat healthy. I'm not saying don't
see your doctor regularly. God knows, I'm not trying to get everyone
to live like me. I'm just saying that, ultimately, it isn't going
to matter. We're all going to die, eventually. With the possible
exception of my parents.
Oh, I almost forgot. The Canary Mastiff? The one who attacked
and killed the lacrosse coach? His name was -- believe it or
not -- Bane.
He dead, too.
* * *
NEW SEARCH ENGINE: I got rid of Google
and added a new search engine. We'll see. Google was fine and
all, but they never bothered to update my site. This new one
is called FreeFind. It puts an ad on the search results page,
but it doesn't bother me. Hope it doesn't bother you. (If you
ever see a pop-up ad on the search results page, let me know.
Now that would bother me.)
* * *
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but you haven't received an e-mail, that means you got lost between
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* * *
STANDARD DISCLAIMER:
This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into
it, you're on your own.
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