Comes the news from The Old Gray Lady that some of NASA’s space cowboys have gone from the right stuff to the good stuff, which is to say that they’ve been getting good and hammered before slipping the surly bonds of Earth. Are you shittin’ me? You want me to sit on top of a giant tube stuffed with high explosives and a lit fuse, one that’s already gone blooey twice, and expect me to do it stone cold sober? What the fuck are you on? I know what I’m gonna be on. Booze, and plenty of it, thanks just the same. These yahoos should be testing for sobriety, not drunkenness. Jesus Christ. Do I have to think of everything? That is all. Dis-miss.
Meanwhile, my sincerest condolences to The Big Man on the loss of his canine comrade. I’ve said sayonara to Mom and Dad, an aunt, a couple grandmas, a father-in-law and more than a few friends and acquaintances, but it’s the dogs I miss the most. Jojo the street fighter from the wrong side of the tracks in Alamosa, Colorado, laid low by a bum ticker. Fuerte, his daughter, who made the mistake of listening to the voices in her head when age had her by the ears with a downhill pull. Bandit, a foundling snuffed by a speeding mail carrier just as she was starting to become interesting.
Tina almost made the podium, but she was a cat. Right now she’s leading her category (Felines I Have Known), but Ike and Turkish are still out on the course. And between you and me, I think Turkish is on the program. If he doesn’t test positive for something, he’s going all the way to the top.by