Congratulations to my lovely sister Julia, who became engaged with the handsome Matthewon Tuesday night! Hooray for everything!

Congratuations to the two young lovebirds! I hold aloft an ivory goblet, brimming with rusty ale! Let us drink deep from the salad bowl of life’s essence! Let the bones of my enemies be snapped in half in celebration of this momentous day! May their soft, gray brain tissue be chopped up and distributed lightly on a crunchy Mediterranean salad, like feta cheese from the bowels of perdition! Let us tear lions asunder!

Huzzah!

Happy birthday, you guys.

In keeping with this week’s theme of animal posts…

What’s up with ringtailed lemurs?

Why do they look like that? They are so dumb!

This one looks like he’s scared. What’s he so scared of? Getting AIDS?!

People, I mean it. Lemurs are just plain dumb. We should pack all of the lemurs in a big old dump truck and then drive the truck into the cold, clear waters of Lake Huron. That’s what I call justice. Sweet, lemur-drowning, vigilante justice.

Seriously, scroll back up and take another look at that goofy bastard. Look at that look on his face. It looks like he’s lost the remote control! Hey lemur, check between the couch cushions you ringtailed retard!

I hope that you found your visit to the John Larroquette Project to be encouraging and edifying.

Where have all the bees gone? The bees are disappearing!

What will we do? I need my bees!

POLLINATION!!!!

What is causing this disaster? Pesticides? Pathogens? The sadness of Darrell?

Something needs to be done about this horrific doomsday scenario. I demand that Congress stop their bickering and backroom haggling and get down to the business of crafting practical bee-producing legislation. I further demand that said legislation have a series of unrelated riders attached to it increasing pork-barrel spending thus contributing to the bloated state of our federal government. Then I demand that the bill be pigeonholed in committee by Sen. Dick Durbin of Illinois.

Then, and only then, will I be satisfied.

In hopes of raising awareness of this pressing issue, I present to you THE BEE SONG, free of charge. It is my prayer that this song softens hearts and opens minds to the plight of our lovely, precious bees.

Hey everybody, it’s raccoon time!

Look out! You’ve got to dodge the zany raccoons as they run hither and thither!

On my drive into work this morning I saw no fewer than three (3) dead raccoons strewn across the shoulders of the road, their stiffened little arms outstretched vainly toward the heavens.

ZOOM! You just barely missed hitting Stone, the Raccoon Chieftan! He dodged you just in time. Uh oh. An SUV just barrelled over him. Stone is lost!

On Friday night, Adam and I saw a raccoon get torn in twain by a pickup truck. Its lifeless body spun across the road as the truck sped onward. It sounded almost exactly like the meat flop, which was satisfying.

Soon, all the raccoons will join Stone in the sweet raccoon afterlife, and be rewarded by scores of virginal raccoon attendants. This is called the circle of life.

BAM! You got one! Nice work, friend. You might want to turn on the old windsheild wipers though, because you’ve got some raccoon splats all over it.

On Friday, while I was stuck at home dealing with a busted garage door opener, I wandered into the sunroom of our house to find our cat, Ben Franklin, positioned thusly:

Look at that. His very pose and demeanor violated me.

In that horrible instant, I felt like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate, trapped in a bedroom with an unwelcomed seducer. I still do not know what my cat’s intentions were on that ill-fated afternoon, but I shudder to think of the possibilities.

How can things ever be the same between us after this? How can I look my cat in the eye? I may not have been molested, but what happened was at least in the same ballpark.

If you need me, I’ll be in the basement, huddled in the crawlspace under the stairwell.

Do you remember when we were kids, and we used to pick dandelions on warm summer afternoons?

Remember how we’d flick the flower off the stem with our thumb and say, “Momma had a baby and its head popped off!”

Yeah…

That was more than just a little messed up, wasn’t it?

I mean seriously, Momma had a baby and its head popped off?! This was cause for serious concern and alarm, not an excuse for some morbid botanical re-enactment. Momma must have been having a very hard time grieving this tragedy, yet there we were, callously beheading dandelions like they were medieval gypsies.

Oh well. I guess this children’s rhyme is obsolete now that the Supreme Court has banned partial birth abortion.