Harry Potter and the Health Inspection of Doom*

The sun rose today as I desperately scoured the dingy aisles of the Restaurant Depot for the perfect paper-towel dispenser. It set as I dressed to go dog-food shopping for a Boston terrier who has lived on scrambled eggs for two days. After that stop, Rob and I went to dinner and a movie, the first civilized evening we’ve had in recent memory.

We passed, by the way. My business will open on schedule.

* Title suggested by my husband, who has many more functioning brain cells today than I do.


Grate Full

I am celebrating Thanksgiving by wearing organic, piney-fresh deodorant. The people around me are thankful for it, I suspect.

It’s difficult to be both extremely thankful for one’s blessings and stressed out beyond human comprehension, although I manage it with the same projection of desperate positive thinking that I use to keep airplanes aloft while I am on them. That sort of energy is difficult to focus for longer than a cross-country jaunt, but I have kept it going for the past month. Tomorrow is the day I learn whether I can open my business as scheduled or be forced by bureaucratic entanglements to wait another month, and I think that the first syllable of information I receive on this topic, one way or the other, will instantly shatter my brain into its component molecules, which will waft around the premises in a frantic mist that mingles with the smell of fresh varnish.

Tomorrow may be one of the most difficult days in my life, which is saying a lot after the past two sleepless weeks, but today, I am boundlessly grateful for the wonderful people who have helped me achieve what I have so far.


Blog War is Blog Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength.

My fellow Hippopotami:

Can you see them dancing in the streets behind me, in this carefully staged photo op? See how they chant my name, paint my colors on their doughy faces, and toss tickertape at my Toyota Prius? It is because I have led them, and you, through war to sweet victory. A wild-eyed Mullah Brian has been discovered hiding in a spider hole, Faggoty-Ass Faggotistan has sunk to reporting on Tofurky, and our boys and girls in uniform-the Boston terriers, the squirrels, the nighttime squirrels, and of course, the chupacabrae-are coming home!

Blog war is over, and we won. Faggoty-Ass Faggotistan is now being run by a democratically elected giant gerbil, churning out blog entries as if it is twirling around in its wheel. The insurgents of Cleveland have been pacified by the go-go boys we parachuted in. And most importantly, judging by a scientific survey of the comments section, the popularity of this very web log had begun to plummet since the war began. I may be resolute, a plain-talking cowboy, but I’m not stupid.

It’s so easy to declare victory and pull out, and besides, war is sort of boring. Next year, Upside-down Hippopotami and Faggoty-Ass Faggots, in matching spandex outfits, will march arm-in-arm at the opening ceremony of the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin; then they will march across the parking lot and back to the Olympic Village, where they will be discovered in flagrante delicto by roving reporter Anderson Cooper, who just dropped by to use the hot tub.

That’s where the real story is, so can we stop talking about how I lied us into blog war by having Goblin Foo Uvula manufacture Photoshopped evidence? PRETTY PLEASE?!?!


One Night in Faggoty-Ass Faggotistan

This just in:

With Goblin Foo Uvula leading the charge, flocks of our Boston terriers, squirrels, and chupacabrae were welcomed into Faggoty-Ass Faggotistan as liberators, with rose petals and Lean Pockets strewn in their path.

This will be a cakewalk, and we’re hearing rumors that a giant statue of Mullah Brian will be toppled tomorrow afternoon.

We’ll have more news as it happens. Until then, you’d better go back to your bars . . . your temples . . . your massage parlors.

Update: Master Spy Goblin disavows any comparisions to Patty Hearst.


The Banging on Hearts and Fingers

My fellow Hippopotami:

I stand before you, all squinty-eyed and resolute, to discuss a new danger in the world. Our happy land has been infiltrated by potty-mouthed Faggoty-Ass Faggotistanian terrorists. Our cherished cultural icons have been maligned, and our way of life threatened.

It is with a heavy heart that I announce that the Upside-down Hippopotamus Congress has declared BLOG WAR on Faggoty-Ass Faggotistan and its devilish (and devilishly handsome) leader, Mullah Brian. Even as I speak, fierce battalions of Boston terriers, squirrels, nighttime squirrels, and chupacabrae have formed a Coalition of the Chillin’ and are amassing on the borders of that wicked and hateful blog. Reports of a crudely Photoshopped giant gerbil attacking our cities are being investigated.

In this time of war, it is essential that all Hippopotami remain sedated and glued to their television sets. “Just Shoot Me” is on in a moment, and after that, if you’re lucky, your TiVo may snag an episode of “Murphy Brown.” At no time must you stop sneaking chocolate-chip cookies or Internet porn, or else the terrorists will have won.
May god bless the Upside-down Hippopotamus. We now return you to “Just Shoot Me,” already in progress. You haven’t missed much . . . Nina’s friend Binny has just locked herself in a medicine cabinet, and Finch is dealing with the implications of inappropriately grabbing Maya’s ass.

That is all.

UPDATE: You are either with me or pressed against me.



My fellow Hippopotami:

Goblin Foo Uvula, spy extraordinaire, has reported that Faggoty-Ass Faggotistan has wickedly stolen my idea for occasionally highlighting the noble and lovable chupacabra.

Friday Chupacabra Blogging is a long and much beloved tradition on everyone’s favorite Upside-down Hippopotamus, and cultural thievery of such will not be taken lying down.* Therefore, I have asked the Upside-down Hippopotamus Congress to declare BLOG WAR.

With god and the following chupacabra on our side, we WILL prevail.

*Although I am not averse to compensation while lying down, if you know what I mean. Hubba hubba.


“Better Wear Your Lead Scarf, Doctor…”

A little birdie made me rememeber . . .
“Wake up!” it said, “for it’s November!”
And then it said, “Achoo! Achoo!”
Poor little birdie had Avian Flu.

Good lord, November! It seems like just yesterday it was last November. If I didn’t still have the skin of a twenty-two year old, I don’t know what I’d do.

We took Goblin to a new vet yesterday because we were getting tired of her trying to rip open the throat of her old vet. She only tried to rip out the throat of her new vet for a little while, and then she got with the program. Her eventual cooperation, however, was not enough to avoid the dreaded “beware of the wild beast” sticker they put on her file.

Despite the occasional massacre, I love going places with Rob and our inhuman child. Everyone always calls us her daddies. Maybe that’s why she walked down the aisle with us when we got married . . . the way to societal approval is through our little wolverine.

Now wake me up when it’s December.