Save Tinkerbell from Paris

"I am not a purse!"
So Miss Paris Hilton was released from Prison today. The Australian reported that she was released due to an undisclosed illness after serving three days of a 45 day sentence. In the last three days I have read three different articles chronicling her stay in Jail. I know that her first day passed without incident and that she invented a perfume and cured cancer on the second and third. Or maybe she found her spiritual center. My question to the news media is "Do they really think we care?" And where are these people who care? Where do they live and how much time do they spend contemplating the life of the blond Flat Stanley. I am surprised by Google News; I thought them to be above pandering to the lowest common denominator.

Her early release does not trouble me, people are freed from prison all the time. Maybe she lost her marbles without her blackberry and lackeys to listen to her inane utterances. If California's law makers ignored Paris' fragile mental state or that of her, now motherless, rat-dog they may as well hand out condoms to fifth graders. Their incarceration of her in the first place does not impress me. Driving with a suspended license does not automatically make one a threat to society. Yes, she was warned but are they trying to make an example? If they want to bust her on something, how about dog abuse. Have we ever seen Tinkerbell walk on her own four feet. The dog probably has brain damage from all the flash bulbs popped in it's face. Really, it's her empty head and our obsession with the minutia of her existence that poses the greatest risk to society

Lazy Dogs in Suburbia

Yesterday I piloted my maroon Daewoo hatchback-affectionately known as the "golf cart" or "spec" by friends and family-to my friend's four-acre compound in Middletown, NY. My mutt played in the swamp behind the house while I enjoyed my four hour respite away from the New York noise I treasure so, yet feel compelled to leave once in a while. Later in the day, a trip to Target proved that Sebastian, my dearest canine, is a lazy bum. I never thought him to be a lazy animal, sloth like and shiftless, yes, on occasion, but never lazy. He stalks squirrels, rats, and raccoons in Central Park. He dives in to the Hudson river to fetch sticks while keeping an ear open for deer, but refuses to put any effort in chewing a stupid rubber toy. My friend recommended a cylindrical rubber toy, the Kong, which the loving pet owner fills with cheese, peanut butter, or aerated liver pate. The toy is designed to keep your pooch's attention engaged with the extraction of the aforementioned treats instead of your shoes, your couch, or your Billy Joel LP collection. We returned home and filled the toys with the pate(my friend bought it for her dogs). Sebastian licked the Kong as far as his tongue would reach(ooh that sounds dirty) and ran to the swamp. I gave him the Kong for the ride home;he would have nothing to do with it.
Maybe Sebastian has no use for the machinations of yuppie dog owners. That is, in fact, what the Kong is. They feel bad that the dog is home alone so they buy these toys to keep them busy. I am one of them. Sebastian never chewed rawhides and I was not willing to rip apart a pig ear like my former roommate would. He just doesn't chew. This distresses me because he'll masticate a tree branch to death in the dog run. I feel bad knowing he's home alone, simply sleeping on the couch. You would not believe it, but they sell dog t-shirts at Target. This product has no purpose. It does not protect little chihuahuas or yorkies from the cold. Why does this exist? Sebastian would scoff at me if I attempted to put a sweater on him, "Mother! Look at my hair on the floor, I was born for cold." He'd run away if I brought out the 'rocker tee.' I hope there is a special place in the afterlife for people who abuse dogs in this manner. Paris and Britney will be first in line and they will be dressed in un-hot clothes and carried around by Amazon women with one breast.
I guess Sebastian may not be the ultimate city dog or maybe he is lazy. Perhaps he thinks that home is for sleeping and eating and outside is for everything else. One day we might have a place in the country where he can run like the wind.