Fun trip to the vet (for me. Maybe less so for my cat)

I went to the vet today and there was a lady there with a cat and she said the cat's name was Roscoe P. Coleslaw.

"Ross" was a white cat, but he looked gray today because yesterday she found him playing around in the chimney. He was there for a bath. His lady had an injured arm stuck out in an L shape with an ace bandage wrapped all the way from her wrist to her armpit.

There was also a lady there with two cute, yippy little dogs who were very friendly. There were just like the lady, who was a cute little lady wearing tiny shorts who kept her cell phone glued to her ear the whole time. She told the person on the phone that some third person was "an-noy-in-GUH!" and also told that person on the phone, who was apparently a co-worker, that she LOVED her and that she LOVED working with her and NEVER wanted to not work with her.

I like people like that because they are loud and talkative and energetic and think everyone wants to pet them on head, and they are so certain of it that you can't help but do it. I like dogs like that, too.

I myself am more like Roscoe P. Coleslaw, sneaking around the chimney.

Eliot Rex

According to this NY Times article Eliot Spitzer believes himself to be living a Greek tragedy.

Perhaps this means he stands in front of the bathroom mirror with the shaving razor in his hand saying, "Et tu, Joe Bruno?"

Eliot. You were not brought down by wrathful or fickle gods. You were not the victim of the cursed House of Spitzers. You seem to think running Daddy's business is some kind of exile from the kingdom, but you still have both of your eyeballs and all of your family members, and you haven't been hung upside down and flayed in even the most modest of areas, like an elbow or the top of your bald head.

You can argue that you were the victim of hubris, but it's more accurate to say you were the victim of penis. You like to rent young snatch while prosecuting others for doing the same. That's hypocrisy, fool, not poetry.

Though you'd better hope the missus never heard of Clytemnestra.