Fatale Abstraction

I think my dad was wishing Bollinger would axe the foreign dignitary if he ever went swimming and got hog nasty in his ears.

I know a guy who worked in a diving pig show while he was in college in Austin, probably about 25 years ago, or so. Now he runs a restaurant in London, so it just goes to show that even if you must endure a crap job occasionally, you never know where you'll end up. Not that swimming with pigs is a crap job. Unless you get hog nasty in your ears.

Where have all the diving pig shows gone?
Long time passing.

You've got to wonder about anyone who doesn't eat pork. Seriously.

I found a really cool website on which to squander precious time daydreaming about one fine day when I'll have pet chickens. It's fabulous, and called mypetchicken.com and they have lots of info on the noble chicken as pet, etc. I was looking at the bantam Belgian breeds and the Buff Orpingtons which I love just for having a name like Buff Orpington, and of course there's the temptation of having the Foghorn Leghorn variety.

Anyway, I was daydreaming, blissed out on the prospect of chicken ownership when I had this wretched realization: um, chickens like to get up in the morning.

I don't.

You have to coop them up at night so varmints won't gobble them up, and then in the morning, they expect to be let out of the coop to scratch around in the yard. Did you know chickens eat fleas? Ees true. They also eat grubworms and beetles and lots of other garden pests. Maybe I could find someone to share a chicken with? Someone who'd let me have the chicken for a half hour every day. Could I rent a pet chicken? Must investigate...