Saturday, March 18, 2006
Those who serve
It is easy to take our liberties for granted, but we must always remember the brave canines who fight so that we can be free. Brody the Bulldog has posted on his blog a harrowing tale of his exploits as supreme commander of the Armed Revolutionary Forces. I urge you to read this historic account and to support our troops in every way possible. And by every way possible, I of course mean that you should have a yellow-ribbon magnet on the back of your SUV.
Mugsy issues fatwa
Last night, I attended an excellent concert in Grand Prairie. It was a double bill of two of my favorite Islamic rock bands, the Strokes and the Eagles of Death Metal. The Strokes were outstanding, and the Eagles, while not exactly virtuosos (their moonlighting drummer’s guitar playing notwithstanding), were every bit as much fun live as I expected. In their finale, the gospel song "Speak in Tongues," they played musical chairs with three drummers and drum sets. (They used two drummers for most of the set but apparently needed a little extra oomph for the closer.)
As enjoyable as this musical celebration of Islam was, it reminded me of one of my pet peeves (no pun intended). It seems that every time I go to a show, I am surrounded by humans who are more interested in taking blurry photos with their cellphones than in enjoying the music.
This unholy behavior must be stopped, so I feel it is my duty to issue a fatwa! When you go to a concert, you are to watch the show, enjoy the music and put your cellphone camera away. Dancing is optional. I am willing to allow one photo as a memento of the event. But to spend the whole evening holding up your cellphone and trying to take a masterpiece picture is simply going too far. I see the fruits of your annoying efforts on your tiny screens; they’re no better than what you’ll find in the newspaper the next morning. Think about it for a moment: You have one of the biggest Islamic rock bands in the world performing just a few dozen feet away from you, and you’re watching it through a 1-square-inch video screen on your phone. What an utter waste of time, not to mention an annoyance for any pug who may happen to be standing behind you with your phone glowing in his face. Those infidels who dare to violate this fatwa face loss of cellphone privileges.
As enjoyable as this musical celebration of Islam was, it reminded me of one of my pet peeves (no pun intended). It seems that every time I go to a show, I am surrounded by humans who are more interested in taking blurry photos with their cellphones than in enjoying the music.
This unholy behavior must be stopped, so I feel it is my duty to issue a fatwa! When you go to a concert, you are to watch the show, enjoy the music and put your cellphone camera away. Dancing is optional. I am willing to allow one photo as a memento of the event. But to spend the whole evening holding up your cellphone and trying to take a masterpiece picture is simply going too far. I see the fruits of your annoying efforts on your tiny screens; they’re no better than what you’ll find in the newspaper the next morning. Think about it for a moment: You have one of the biggest Islamic rock bands in the world performing just a few dozen feet away from you, and you’re watching it through a 1-square-inch video screen on your phone. What an utter waste of time, not to mention an annoyance for any pug who may happen to be standing behind you with your phone glowing in his face. Those infidels who dare to violate this fatwa face loss of cellphone privileges.
Friday, March 17, 2006
My life: A fateful meeting
Previous installments of this autobiographical series are available in the right-hand rail, under the heading "Mugsy's Biography."
Chapter XIII
He rose slowly from his doggy bed, his body creaking like an old staircase as he stretched. His fur was silver, almost translucent. The black in his face had long since faded to the color of a snowfield at dusk. And his facial hair -- a silvery beard that draped over his collar -- was unlike that of any pug I had ever seen. "You must be Mugsy," he said. "Welcome. My name is Hakeem. It is almost time for my prayers; would you care to join me?" He nodded toward an extra prayer mat in the corner. "No thanks," I said. "Religion ain’t my thing. I’m more into gangsta rap and panty raids."
I wasn’t interested in discussing it any further, but Hakeem had a way of making me open up to him. At his urging, I proceeded to tell him about my brief forays into religion. How I’d attended a Catholic church for a while, only to realize that the only thing I was getting out of it was the snack during Communion. I told him about my lone trip to an Episcopal church, where I had been told that animals had no souls. "No souls?" Hakeem said. "That is ludicrous." I went on to detail my short Hindu experiment. "The thought of being reincarnated as a cat was too much to bear," I said. Baptist? Methodist? Not for me. "And I thought the Pentecostal church was OK until they started speaking in tongues," I told him. "That really freaked me out -- worse than the vacuum cleaner."
"Mugsy," he said, slowly and deliberately. "I sense in you something special. I foresee great things for you, young pug. Great things. But you must realize that God has a plan for you. Your immense natural charisma is not enough; you must learn that there is a higher purpose for you than chewing on women’s underwear."
"Sure thing, old-timer," I said, dismissively. "I’ll tell you what; it’s been a long day, so I think I’m gonna take a nap."
And with that, Hakeem nodded and knelt down on his prayer mat.
To be continued
Chapter XIII
He rose slowly from his doggy bed, his body creaking like an old staircase as he stretched. His fur was silver, almost translucent. The black in his face had long since faded to the color of a snowfield at dusk. And his facial hair -- a silvery beard that draped over his collar -- was unlike that of any pug I had ever seen. "You must be Mugsy," he said. "Welcome. My name is Hakeem. It is almost time for my prayers; would you care to join me?" He nodded toward an extra prayer mat in the corner. "No thanks," I said. "Religion ain’t my thing. I’m more into gangsta rap and panty raids."
I wasn’t interested in discussing it any further, but Hakeem had a way of making me open up to him. At his urging, I proceeded to tell him about my brief forays into religion. How I’d attended a Catholic church for a while, only to realize that the only thing I was getting out of it was the snack during Communion. I told him about my lone trip to an Episcopal church, where I had been told that animals had no souls. "No souls?" Hakeem said. "That is ludicrous." I went on to detail my short Hindu experiment. "The thought of being reincarnated as a cat was too much to bear," I said. Baptist? Methodist? Not for me. "And I thought the Pentecostal church was OK until they started speaking in tongues," I told him. "That really freaked me out -- worse than the vacuum cleaner."
"Mugsy," he said, slowly and deliberately. "I sense in you something special. I foresee great things for you, young pug. Great things. But you must realize that God has a plan for you. Your immense natural charisma is not enough; you must learn that there is a higher purpose for you than chewing on women’s underwear."
"Sure thing, old-timer," I said, dismissively. "I’ll tell you what; it’s been a long day, so I think I’m gonna take a nap."
And with that, Hakeem nodded and knelt down on his prayer mat.
To be continued
A+ work
I commend the small but studious fraction of you who took the time to do your homework assignments. It was a job well done. Unfortunately, I don't have enough material to fill even the first page of my Nobel Prize campaign brochure. Perhaps it was not meant to be.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Mandatory participation
Good day, class. As you know, I usually use this blog space to deliver lectures on a wide range of topics -- religion, current events, canine suffrage, etc. I am a renaissance pug, after all. But today's lesson will be a little different. Today, I have a homework assignment for you. Yes, you! Stop slouching in your desk trying to hide, averting your eyes so you won't get called on. This assignment is required for everyone.
In this creative writing exercise, you are to post a comment detailing a completely fictional memory of me rescuing you. It can be a physical rescue (from piranhas, for example). Or it can be a spiritual rescue. Or any other kind of rescue you can think of; let your creativity know no bounds. My bravery is limited only by your imagination.
After grading this assignment, I may use the top submissions in a promotional brochure to be sent to the Nobel Prize selection committee.
In this creative writing exercise, you are to post a comment detailing a completely fictional memory of me rescuing you. It can be a physical rescue (from piranhas, for example). Or it can be a spiritual rescue. Or any other kind of rescue you can think of; let your creativity know no bounds. My bravery is limited only by your imagination.
After grading this assignment, I may use the top submissions in a promotional brochure to be sent to the Nobel Prize selection committee.
Spacing out
In an outreach effort for the ministry, I have created a page on MySpace. Recent media reports indicate that MySpace is a good place to reach young people, and I have also found numerous canines there. This Blogspot site will remain the primary repository of my teachings, and I have no plans to produce any original content for MySpace. But if you'd like to add me to your friends list or leave me a comment, the address is www.myspace.com/ayatollahmugsy. There is also a link in the right-hand rail.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Oh, the indignity
My mother pulled that Revolution trick on me again today. I hate that. Why must I fall for it every single month? And then, to add insult to injury, she spent what seemed like an eternity cleaning out my wrinkle. Is that any way to treat a world-renowned religious icon? I'll bet nobody goes digging in Billy Graham's wrinkles.
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