vituperation

October 27, 2002

What do Deliverance, Forrest Gump, Die Hard, Ralph Reed, and I have in common?

People on the subsciber list know. Speaking of them, many thanks to all who replied to my special notify yesterday, there’s no way I can individually reply to each. Your thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated.

When we were in Gatlinburg a couple of weeks ago, we went into a store Robyn really likes called "Creations by Caroline" so she could look for some new Quarry Cats, little rock-powder statuettes. Generally I tag along through the store because they have a small toy section with oddities that amuse me. This trip was no different.

From the ceiling in the toy section there hung a thin filament of fishing line. On the end of a line was a plastic cow. A winged plastic cow. Even better, the cow - a Holstein, like the one Gateway computer boxes are patterned after - has batteries, which make the wings flap. As the wings flap, they propel the cow in a circle at the end of the string, over and over and over.

It’s called a Holy Cow, and I fell in love with it.

However, I didn’t buy one. I don’t know why, I just didn’t. And as to be expected, I did nothing but think about the Holy Cow and how much fun the cats would have with it once I got home. About ten days ago, I decided to try and track one down online. After a hellacious search I finally found one on eBay that was cheap and had the "Buy it now!" option.

Oh, and speaking of eBay, there are still a few hours left on the things I’m selling there right now.

I bought the Holy Cow, and it was delivered Friday.

The cats are mostly uninterested, or scared, except for Miz Poo. I’ve taken a few pictures for you over the weekend. Please ignore the stuff in the floor; we’re rearranging things because of all the furniture swapping going on right now. Note the creepy smiley-faced soccer ball hiding in the room. That bastard’s looking at me wherever I go.

The Holy Cow flaps through the room, going round and round.

The Holy Cow continues to fly in circles. Note the happy expression
of purpose on its face.
Don’t mess with this cow, it says.

Miz Poo faces the Holy Cow, which is currently off.
The cow stares back, tauntingly.

Finally, I give you a video of Miz Poo and her first encounter with the Holy Cow as it flies. She isn’t quite sure what to think. It’s right here.

Catherine Crier is my new hero. I started reading her new book The Case Against Lawyers this morning, and I think I’m in love. How can you not be enamored with someone who says things like:

I do not believe that all children currently diagnosed with ADHD are candidates for medication such as Ritalin. A large percentage of them would be better served with less sugar in their diets, more exercise in their systems, and some serious stimulation for their brains beyond the one-way input from a television set or the often mediocre teaching that simply drills facts and figures with no real intellectual challenge. (p 46)

Go Catherine!

So far, this book is right up there with Philip Howard’s The Death of Common Sense for kicking some shyster lawyer butt.

Incidentally, if you surf over to "catherinecrier.com" looking for a home page for her like I did, you’re redirected to abortionismurder.com, and greeted completely unexpectedly with graphic images of the results of late term abortions. Just so you know.

I suspect it isn’t her site.

Next time: how Fred sells the big bubba gym.