He be due, doobie, doobie do, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers


Man it has been hot across the country. In Chicago they’re sweating like Mitt Romney shopping at Wal Mart.

Roger Federer won his seventh Wimbledon. He has done better on grass than Willy Nelson.


The Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes divorce is sad because it was clearly a union of the heart based on honest love and not some sham career-building beard, whah, haha, ho, whew, I thought I could say it without laughing.

Brad Pitt’s mother has endorsed Mitt Romney. That is great, but I am going to hold out to see what Ashton Kucher’s mom thinks.


Since you asked:
Used to write for Dave, Shelly and Chainsaw, mostly Chainsaw. They got let go by KGB, picked up at Jack FM and, for some reason during that change, they will not so much as respond to my e-mails. For years I was a fairly sizable contributor/listener character and then nothing. 

There is some heartbreaking scene in a movie I can’t remember the name of where this adorable mentally challenged little boy’s father disappears and the boy is inconsolable. He is certain it was his fault and that he did something to make his father mad and promises over and over again to be good if he will just come back.

That’s the way I feel with the DSC. 

More things Wrigley used to do:

When you rubbed his belly he flopped on his back and put his paw over your shoulder for a little doggy hug while he made delighted snoring noises. 


When he was happy his tail would twirl like a propeller. "One of these days we's gonna has us a flyin' dawg," I said over and over. 

He had a ferocious-sounding bark that only a fool would ignore, but if they did and broke in, Wrigley would be there to great him warmly.   

Wrigley wanted to be included in everything. He even tried to follow you into the bathroom. When you came back out, guess who was sitting there wagging his tail? 


Wrigley never fully grasped the concept that some things you ate  were not meant for him. 


To his last days he would prance over to see you with sheer delight. When he was a puppy he would get turned a little sideways, but he kept coming forward, sideways or not. 

Watching Wrigley pad away, from behind he looked just like a growing lion cub. 

His cushion was by the fireplace so if we were in the kitchen his view of us was blocked by the couch. But if we opened some food, his sweet, goofy head would pop up over the couch like it was spring-loaded.

Often Virg would be on her computer in the kitchen and I am sitting on the floor with my back to the couch watching TV. When Wrigley got tired, to monitor both of us, he would lie where he could see both of us with his head on the ground. When he looked to the left at Virg, his left eyebrow went up. When at me he would slightly tilt his head to the right and the right eyebrow would go up. 


Lord I miss that sweet knuckle-headed dog.