Came across this picture on the internet, this is what I got from it.

Showing dogs isn’t a hobby.  It’s a destructive lifestyle, that often leads to alcoholism and poor wardrobe choices.  It started innocently enough for Lance Pefferton (LP), some 65 years ago in the animal shelter.  At the time the choice between the alley cat and the mutt wasn’t as clear as it is now.  As a teen in the 40′s a feline seemed equal to a canine, to LP a pet was a pet.  Taking the mutt home in his parents Studebaker, Lance gained fondness for the pup cowering in the seat next to him.  ”Whats to be afraid of, lil’ guy?  I’ll name you Mutsie and show the world you’re the greatest.”   Call it fate or destiny, but on that day LP and Mustie’s paths crossed, and the two were joined on an inseparable journey into the depths of dog shows.  Within weeks, LP underwent a metamorphic transformation from outgoing all American boy to a reclusive shadow of his former self focused only of Mutsies fluid gait.  LP referred to himself as Mutsies master but, clearly given the sacrifices LP gave to prance Mutsie around turf fields, it was Mutsie who held the leash in this relationship.  At first life on the road was easy.  LP took it as his calling that he was to present Mutsie to the world.  The long nights of grooming and repetitious prancing didn’t bother him at first.  It was a cheap price to pay for those blue ribbons and moments of glory under the lights.  It seemed the pair would conquer the world.

Fast forward to present day, gone are the lights.  The blue ribbons of years past accumulate dust.  The Purina sponsorship checks stopped rolling in years ago.  Although still donning his plaid twead jacket, and brown polyester pants, a shell of his former self rests inside.  There wasn’t a definitive starting point of decline.  The drinking took hold gradually.  It was a  means to deal with the chaos of the grooming center backstage and the ever present fear of defecation under the lights.  As his once linear path meandered more and more, LP leaned further on the bottle.  Mutsie suffered most from his demise.  Once a regular on the podium, Mutsie was rarely groomed and bathed.  Her twisted birdsnest of a mane, along with LP’s drunken stumble and vomiting during the Ft. Worth Invitational, caused a lifetime expulsion from the “sport.”  As LP faded,  Mutsie slipped exponentially.  I suppose she could of outlasted LP’s decline but she couldn’t escape the expedition of dog years.  In his apartment, drowned in debt, despair, and bottles LP stares mindlessly into the fuzz on his tv.  His cable was turned off again, and this time as if a twist of the dagger in his heart, it was shut off during the Westminster Dog Show.  Just as LP’s fist clenched in anger, a glimmer caught his eye.  There in the corner, barely visible behind a mountain of unpaid bills was Mutsies urn.

Through the highs and lows, the late nights, the thousands of miles, he’d do it all again.  Retracing the years back in his head, he could see himself as a teenager in the animal shelter.  He knew he made the right choice.  As the reflection off Mutsies urn scorched his retina, he tipped back his stein and let the Old Milwaukee cascade down his throat.  Then not forgetting Mustie he poured out an equal amount onto the floor.

“Here’s to you Mutsie.”

* The preceding was a coffee induced ramble.  Bottom line, I don’t want to waste my life.  Time is short, as are midgets.

Wherever I go, my Census and Me!!!…..My Census won’t be used for “counting every man, woman, and child.”  Instead I’ll utilize it as toilet paper, a napkin, a coffee filter, roll it up as a telescope, a frisbee, fold it up as a sailor hat, a rag to wash the floor, put it in the spokes of my bike so it sounds like a motorcycle,a nonstick liner for my casserole dish, a floor mat for my truck, a blanket, chopped up for confetti in a pinch, taped back together as head cover for my golf clubs, and umbrella, a sail for my boats in the bathtub, taped on my pants to hide the coffee stain, scraping ice off my windshield, a shim for the wobbly table at the diner, rolled up as a straw, a sled, taped on my window to “go green” and insulate my house, replace a roof shingle, a scoop to clean out the litter box, a coaster for the coffee table, a kite, a handkerchief, paper airplane, crumpled in my speedo for bulge enhancement, insoles for my sneakers, a mousepad, cutout as a paper snowflake in winter, taped back together in Spring as a tent for camping, a shield for sword fights, something to 3 hole punch when I’m bored at the office, something to fill in between stacks of $20′s when trying to pull a fast one on the mob, a folder, a paper target for my BB gun, on second though maybe I’ll crumple it up as a basketball and put it in the trash can.

Not sure what you’ll find useful about this post.  You probably just wasted 30 seconds of your life, and continue to waste time as you read me typing about you wasting time.  I suppose you can try my technique for putting on pants and see if it works.  And opposed to the saying, I don’t put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else.  I put them on two legs at a time.  And now I put them on two legs at a time while wearing a helmet.

US to Sell $81 Billion in Long-Term Debt Next Week

World Bank Raises Forecast for China’s Economy

Coming soon in the life and times of Aquapasture.  A return to higher education, finishing long delayed projects, consolidating anything and everything, an important promise, and most importantly…a direction.

This might sound cornier than a tank full of Ethanol but, to me life is about finding out what floats your boat.  There’s  great weather, hurricanes, calm water, and rough seas on the horizon.  Learn and appreciate along the way and before you know it nothing will be able to sink you.  It’s not a single thing that’ll keep you seaworthy, but a combination of experiences, lessons, relationships, and perspective that’ll keep you off the ocean floor and basking in the sun.

The image of the Far Side cartoon of the guy pushing on the door labeled “Pull” pops into my head.

So stupid people, we here at Aquapasture Industries have teamed up with an Indonesian sweat shop to offer you some new apparel so those of us in public can spot you and avoid you, therefore saving everyone precious time.  Fear not common sensers, we haven’t forgotten about you.  You’ll have the opportunity to purchase our “Constipated Holmes” shirt.  When you encounter stupids, just tell them to read the shirt when they finally come around to making a conclusion, forming an opinion, or figure out how to make toast.  Of course the shirt may throw them for a loop and they’ll spend hours trying to figure it out.  Between you and me it means, No Shit Sherlock.  Oh one last thing stupids, we’ll need your social security number when you place your order.  We apologize for this inconvenience, it’s a Nigerian commerce regulation.