Free Dodon!

PETROPAVLOVSK-KAMCHATSKY, December 29. /RIA NOVOSTI CORRESPONDENT OKSANA GUSEVA/ — RIA Novosti was told in the Kamchtka search-rescue detachment that a bear tore a man to pieces in the Kronotsky wildlife refuge. One of the oldest workers of the Kronotsky wildlife refuge and well-known Kamchatka photographer and hunting specialist Vitaly Nikolayenko fell victim to a big bear 1.5 kilometres from the station on the territory of the wildlife refuge. Nikolayenko was taking a photograph of the beast and failed to use the weapon he was carrying when the bear attacked him.

The Dodon Liberation Front has claimed their first victim. A spokesman for Ursa Major, the DLF’s parent organization, repeated his previous statement, adding, “The attempt at appeasement has failed. The man went out in the woods today, and he got a big surprise. You cannot say we didn’t warn him.”

When oh when will the world awake to this growing threat? We’re at war, people!

(Not incidentally, months later, the video that shocked the world and launched the insurgency is still utterly riveting.)

Never Trust A Skirt

I have just ended a twelve-year relationship.

Those of you that rode with us, I hate to tell you this way, and I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss it in person right now.

Tears…memories…recriminations…plate-throwing…we’ve all been through this, no? You build a relationship, and it blossoms into something beautiful, and you think it’ll last forever. Sucker.

Sometimes it ends quietly. You drift apart. You find other interests. You both grow. Things change. No harm, no foul. Go your separate ways.

Sometimes a transition gets you. It can be hard for love to survive a new job, a move, aging…anything, really. Affection is a fragile thing.

Sometimes it’s quick and violent. Fidelity is something I struggle with in this arena, I admit, but maybe if somebody hadn’t been so fucking cold so often, this could’ve been salvaged.

It was a little bit of everything that got us.

Goddamnit. I shouldn’t be blogging drunk and grieving, but things gotta come out when they gotta come out. I’m sorry if I’m raving a little, but this is a lot of my life I won’t get back.

So it’s done. Sayonara. Adios. Game over. Kaputski. Aloha. Farewell, my love. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.


I loved you long and well, and you loved me back, for a time. But when you rip the heart out of our relationship, dammit, there are some things I CANNOT forgive.

And taking the skirt steak sandwich off the menu is on that list.

So long, Mickey’s Gyros. Have a nice life.


Is there a word, like “schadenfreude”, to describe an act that is Thoughtful and Kind yet Vicious and Cruel at the same time? Example: Giving a loved one, on Christmas morning, a GameCube but no games.

I was chided all week for not granting a waiver to the No Presents Before Time Act. The opposition argued that the wrapped presents under the tree were openly crying out to the recipient, and that not freeing them immediately constituted Cruel & Unusual Punishment. This appeal was unanimously denied, 1-1, which decision was immediately followed by massive demonstrations.

My GameLessCube is, I suspect, payback.

Ho Ho Ho And A Bottle Of Rum

Things learned during a week’s Christmas shopping:

  • I would accept eternal popularity of the midriff-shirt-with-super-low-rise-jeans look as proof of a benevolent God.
  • The Supreme Law Of Everything is as true at Gurnee Mills as it is anywhere else: Schnapps improves.
  • The cuties at Gloria Jean’s will give you knowing and admiring looks when you order “Four hot chocolates, about three-quarters full”, whereupon you will feel like Frank Fucking Sinatra.
  • You can have intimate contact with a person for a very long time and yet have no functional understanding of that person’s physical size.
  • The holiday lyric fragment most difficult to clear from the inside of your head is:

    “Now Magic! Now Worthy! Now Scott and Kareem! On Cooper! On Rambis, and the rest of the team!”

  • Drinking enough Holiday Cheer can cause a person to don some gay apparel indeed.
  • Upon finding that the CD you sought is the last of its kind at Best Buy, you may experience a pang of guilt recalling all the time you yourself arrived too late and got skunked. This feeling will pass in less than two seconds.
  • Other patrons will take pity on men in Bath & Body Works, just so long as the men being pitied have the sense to look lost.
  • There is no graceful way to say “About your size but with much bigger tits”.
  • When you are made sport of by a woman singing songs in a tent, you are astride the Holiday Cheer cutoff line.
  • When buying unguents and ointments for your own personal Mother, it is best not to consider too deeply the question of what she wishes to smell like.
  • Shopping via the internet should be avoided, as it does not induce proper Christmas spirit.
  • Plus, sitting home all day waiting for FedEx blows.
  • Especially for those of us with dialup connections and intercom/door release systems that use the phone.
  • I am as inept a gift-wrapper with one working hand as I am with two. This warrants further investigation.
  • This does, too.
  • Administedium

    My hand’s bleeding a little today — stitches came out yesterday — so I’m going to use today for the legal stuff.

    In accordance with the Laws Of Blogging, here’s my Obligatory Link To Someone Talking About Me, and here’s my Mandatory Monthly Lyric Posting:

    Please don’t mess with me I’ll spit you out like you were Sunny D
    Did you really think you could be mean baby? Listen this next part is key,
    You play a lot of Nintendo, smoke Endo
    As far as men go, when ya gonna hit a crescendo and throw Super Mario and Atari out the window?
    Now, we have something in common-You’re lactose intolerant I’m wack host intolerant
    Stop talkin about smackin crack hoes you’re in college apologies accepted
    I might have left lyrical holes in your mind
    You’ll fill it later with Cable or Hot 97 or Taco-Bell-n applyin, you wanna play? Fine
    Play-doh, roll you through a machine until you come out in little strings
    I’m obscene I really could eat like 5 Krispy Kremes
    Like when they’re hot-

    Like all my tracks are hot
    I’m hot, I’m hot, I’m hot, I’m hot, I’m hot, I’m hot, I’m hot, I’m hot-Like all my tracks are hot

    Stop going on AOL chat to try to find friends, yeah everyone likes you because you said you were tall, slim and
    Liked Dre over Ren, Cage over Em, Rage over them, Bahamadia over Lil’ Kim
    I had no idea you been down with hip-hop since you were ten
    You were out ya playpen rubbin Barbie all over Ken and marveling over your carving
    Of Led Zeppelin in your desk in ya den
    I’m hittin mad skins you got bad skin get rad skins for your MP3 player kid I’m a Real Player!
    Hard like Slayer while you a dater with Darth Vader I’m famous-later-
    I hang with both Ralph Nader and Roc Raida, OK?
    I swear I’m super you play boring Solitaire on your computer combed over hair
    Wear a boober shirt work at Hooters in your underwear look like Mr. Hooper I don’t care
    I was nice to you originally what I’m doin is gonna ruin you like Druid ruins hear the crowd booin naturally
    Actually this is a big ‘ol waste of my time
    I would rather be home playing with my parakeets than making up this stupid rhyme
    I mean, I am a sensitive Pisces and I wouldn’t want to make you start cryin-Yeah start cryin

    You get mad at Napster when nobody’s even heard of you
    I did a search on your name and came up with 1 result-
    It was your computer, you’re a loser
    Lame, your screen name pseudo hip-hop sounding lingo mixed up lowercase/capital letters
    What you think this is Bingo? I got singles out already
    People know my name in discerning circles from New York to LA
    While you earn Colonels jerk pay spurt on dirty curtains in a big shirt singin Hip Hop Hooray
    You’re idle I’m an idol you’re not entitled I got a title
    Nobody trades your file chill child when I said I liked you I was just tired
    Go occupy yourself for a while you’re lost whatever just frick off, vile in denial just step off
    Why you think I get deals from record labels you get deals from drug dealers
    Unappealing insincere won’t eat Happy Meals you spill bong water like tears filled with lost fear
    Do acid and beer and trip out on how your queer little beard looks so weird in the mirror man
    Guitar noodlin and patchouli let me teach you Ital-go Fongule
    When I was in high school I’d a thought you were so fuckin cool
    Anyway as I was saying before my screen name is much better than yours, its’ —–
    What you think I would tell you so you can Instant Messenger me all day?
    I don’t think so I am very important and right now I am eating lunch
    Go get signed to Ruffhouse go away, bid on Ebay for a stuffed Mickey Mouse in a mug,
    A sticky handcuffed pic of buff Courtney Love, one of Prince’s aborted doves, a Jackson glove,
    A blow up Peter Max pillow of Love, a diamond rug, or somethin worth more than all that stuff:
    A cup that Princess Superstar once drank out of

    -Princess Superstar


    As I understand the experience, being the subject of a prison gang rape is an unpleasant thing. So, I am told, is the phenomenon of surgical anaesthetic that immobilizes but does not numb one during a procedure. And the guy Dan Savage wrote about this week would probably not recommend his experience.

    Still, I have to vote for having a fly zoom up your nose as Worst Feeling Ever.

    I wasn’t even bothering him. I was minding my own business when assaulted. It was awful. I think, despite all my violent sneezing, that he’s still walking around inside my head, peering out through my eyes, strolling up and down my brainstem, and snacking.

    I may have to spray Raid into my ears.

    Powerful Medicine

    So Cute Nurse #1 and I pass through the double doors into the prep area, which is also the recovery area. Clearly noticing that I am nervous, the staff helpfully rolls past me a post-op patient who would be a cutie if she wasn’t babbling like Grandpa Simpson and drooling like Homer.

    I begin to suspect this surgery is a bigger deal than was portrayed to me.

    Deviation: Vital Backstory One: Two Weeks Ago. I am having the surgery explained to me by the surgeon, who tells me that it is “an outpatient thing. Takes about twenty minutes. Come in, we numb you up, do the surgery, and you’re out of here. It’s like a root canal.”

    So I am pointed into a closet and directed to change into the gown and slippers. I am permitted to retain my own personal underpants, “as long as they’re cotton.” Happily, I have not worn my trademark satin thong today, and am thus able to keep my butt safe from leering eyes. (Truth be told, my butt isn’t that appealing. It might draw a look, but only out of morbid curiosity, or perhaps if there’s no other butt present to admire. It is the “That 70’s Show” of butts.)

    I change and emerge. I am directed to my holding pen, where I sit in the chair I assume will be used for the procedure. Cute Nurse #1 smiles and says, “No, here,” and motions for me to LIE ON THE GURNEY. She is HOLDING AN IV. This doesn’t look like no root canal to me. Then she tells me we have to get a move on, because THE ANESTHESIOLOGIST IS COMING. Check, please.

    Deviation: Vital Backstory Two: Christmas Day, 1976. My parents are having a dinner party. I have finished, with my customary haste, and adjourned to play with my new toys. We are messing around on the landing at the top of the stairs when the simian child of one of the attendees pushes me. I descend the stairs at an unusual rate and brake using my chin. I am rushed to West Suburban Hospital, where – I am told – I clearly tell the doctor that I’ll hold still so he can sew it up, but that he may not tie me down or put a bag over my head. So the fucker straps me to a papoose board, bags my head, and sews me up. I do not trust doctors, especially those who wish to work without my supervision.

    So I’m deeply bothered by the bait and switch, and take a short break to compose myself. I get dressed and depart. I was properly psyched up for a much more minor surgery than this one. How I hate lying doctors.

    After some time to recover, the fabulously patient person who has kindly accompanied me to the surgery arranges for a summit with the doctor. (Actually, she arranged for a sit-down with Cute Nurse #2, which was a welcome start.) Eventually, we are passed to the doctor, who explains what’s actually going to happen to me. It’s a much more involved procedure now than it was the first time it was presented. After protracted negotiations, we line up for take two.

    Deviation: Vital Advice To Medical Professionals: “We do this every day” is comforting to trusting patients. It isn’t comforting to we mistrustful patients, because we don’t care if you do this every day — we don’t. Adjust your efforts at comfort accordingly.

    So I change, again, go lie down unhappily on the gurney, and get hooked up to the IV. Then I get the “axillary block”, which is too awful to describe. (Especially the part about repeated giant-needle injections in the armpit.) My arm goes to sleep, and sleeps better for the next six hours than I will for the next four days.

    Once my arm is adequately numb and my armpit is adequately bleeding, I am given **** 🙂 🙂 🙂 VERSED 🙂 🙂 🙂 ****

    Do you remember the scene in The Blues Brothers when John Belushi sees the light? **** 🙂 🙂 🙂 VERSED 🙂 🙂 🙂 **** is just like that. Jesus H. Tap-dancing Christ, do I love **** 🙂 🙂 🙂 VERSED 🙂 🙂 🙂 ****. The things I would do for a steady supply of **** 🙂 🙂 🙂 VERSED 🙂 🙂 🙂 **** are disgusting and shameful, and not in the good cheap-woman-cheap-wine-cheap-motel-with-Magic-Fingers way, either.

    The **** 🙂 🙂 🙂 VERSED 🙂 🙂 🙂 **** caused me to be extra amusing during the surgery, to the point where they had to stop several times. I was chided for this, but “hyperactivity” is one of the side effects of **** 🙂 🙂 🙂 VERSED 🙂 🙂 🙂 ****, and what did they expect? Wasn’t my idea, y’know. (Another side effect is “combativeness”, so they should thank their lucky fucking stars that I was funny.)

    Recovery is hazy. None of the cute nurses slipped me their phone number, which was disappointing.

    Maybe they’re waiting ‘til I go in to do the left hand.

    Grooming, Interrupted

    I have just completed the finest shower I have ever taken alone. (It ranks about #6 on the all-time list, for those of you scoring at home.) My deep and fresh-smelling thanks to Jason and Janet, who brought me a giant arm condom left over from a major trauma of Jason’s, which keeps the bandaged bits from getting waterlogged in the shower. It worked nicely, unlike shaving with the left hand, which took sixteen times longer than usual.

    The sad thing is, shaving is one of the easier bathroom activities to manage as a temporary southpaw. Brushing teeth is tougher than you’d think, application of deodorant to the left armpit is almost-but-not-quite impossible, and twirling a Q-tip in the right ear is a Cirque de Soleil trick. We shall not speak of The Big One except to say that man can accomplish amazing things when properly motivated.

    (Also unworthy of comment: The irony that a large chunk of the reason for my surgery, the right-handed nature of mouse usage, was also responsible for the development of a new skill set in the left hand that is especially useful when homebound, high, and way bored.)


    The two-and-a-half hour wait was improved this time by bringing my own book, sparing me – and you – another round with CATFANCY and Heifer International. Points were deducted, however, for the child looking to set a new Guinness standard for endurance screaming. (73 minutes.) Annoying Honorable Mention: Someone who is awaiting hand surgery should not have to fill out forty forms all seeking the same information. I propose an optional condensation of medical release forms into one page, ”I Hereby Certify That I Would Have Signed Anything You Asked Me To, Plus I Promise Not To Sue”.

    They called me, eventually. I went back with Cute Nurse #1 — BTW, do anything make a nice watchin’ butt nicer for watchin’ than scrubs? — and we entered the prep/post-op area.


    This much typing took me an hour. Time for another V&V. Tomorrow or Friday, Part II.


    Surgery Monday. Might be away for a couple days. Probably won’t get e-mail, either. (Especially if I get Vicodin. Boy, do I love Vicodin.)

    You’re one of those people who write me, kindly keep it up, and I’ll get back to you ASAP.

    You’re not, why not?

    Continuing Coverage

    (Carmel, New York-AP) — The Putnam Legislature last night went on record supporting a section of the Americans with Disabilities Act that says service animals must be allowed in all commercial establishments. Most people are familiar with seeing eye dogs for the blind, but some people in wheelchairs use monkeys that are trained to fetch things from shelves in stores. Putnam Legislator Sam Oliverio doesn’t know of any disabled person in Putnam having a service monkey, but he wants the county’s laws to be ready in case someone goes into a store with a monkey. (Thanks, bondgirl)

    It’s happening! It’s happening! The legal prejudice against monkey butlers is being worn away through tireless activism and advocacy! Someday, God willing, the Supreme Court will rule that there is no difference between “service monkeys” and “servant monkeys”, and the tuxedoed Jeeves and I will walk into the Jewel together, I with my list and the monkey butler with his cart, heads held high. Until that glorious day, my friends, strength. The dream shall be realized. It is inevitable. Our cause is righteous, and we will go as bananas as it takes! No monkey butlers, no peace!


    (MOSCOW) A performing bear mauled two Moscow theatre workers to death and wounded another after he broke out of his cage overnight, police said. The bear, named Dodon and a star attraction in the Russian capital’s famed animal theatre Ugolok Durova, became enraged and fatally attacked 33-year-old Umar Zakirov. He then set upon Zakirov’s colleague Shedov Timur, 32, who also met an untimely end. “The bear tore two people to pieces and wounded a third,” a police spokesman said, adding that the beast was now back in its cage.

    A spokesman for the political action group Ursa Major was quoted as saying “Until the political prisoner Dodon is freed and his good name cleared, well, let me put it this way: If you go out in the woods today, you’d better go in disguise.”


    As to the MP3 player: The right side of the headset is noticeably quieter than the left, which causes me to tilt my head while walking, which causes me to veer left, which causes me to fall, which causes people think I’ve had a stroke, which causes them to summon an ambulance.

    But that only happened once.

    And the paramedics understood. They can’t figure out their MP3 players either.