Blogging to the melodic sound of the Basset licking his butthole on the bean bag. The soundtrack of my life (I wanted the Ode to Joy, but apparently its was taken). My wife and I diverge (like a road through a yellow wood) on parenting techniques for the hound dog. I’m happy to let him lick his derriere. Clearly his rusty sheriffs badge is in need of maintenance, who am I to stick a spanner into the works? My wife however finds the concept of him rim-jobbing himself unsettling. First will come stern words. Then even sterner words with sinister undertones. (personally I would surrender at this point) And then some form of thrown object. And then… depending on the wayward trajectory of said object… possibly getting up and engaging the basset hound in some form physical confrontation. Sometimes this works. But mostly he’ll just glare at us, and then move off to some other location to continue his tongue to ass action.
I point out that this likely qualifies as an act of futility, before pouring half a bag of Skittles into my mouth. We (my wife and I) briefly discussed the ethics of eating the progenies party pack. Turns out we are both okay with it. Basically we are honorless Ronin who burn villages, prey on the defenceless and spurn seppuku. We’re saving her from a lifetime of sugar addiction and hardship…. this is how we justify our actions.
Besides I could do with the energy, I woke up before dawn to take the dogs for a walk…
It was quiet and misty out. There was no one around. Except for someone donned in camouflage setting up their fishing gear and little row-boat. I worry about those people. And not only because of their woodland attire. Well… why you would need to ‘Vietnam level’ concealment to cast a line for catfish concerns me. Clearly a caste of beings whose mindset I don’t necessarily understand. I write it off as too much Rambo – First Blood when they were young and impressionable. I’m inclined however to believe that once you’re plumbing the depths of a suburban water source (for an inedible fish) dressed in Tiger stripe I think you’ve reached some sort of mental event horizon where I can no longer see you. Pun may or may not be intended.
In any event it got me thinking, as he pushed off from shore.
You know that lifeboat morality trolley problem? And everyone has agreed that cannibalism is the only way to survive. And now everyone is debating how best one should go about deciding who gets eaten? The egalitarian/libertarians are arguing about drawing straws.
While all this is going on… you should probably nonchalantly pick up an oar. And then viciously… but surprisingly… smack the fattest person on head as hard as you possibly can. Even if you don’t kill them… you can argue their… eh… disability now marks them as the weakest link in your lifeboat. Sure people might be angry with you for bypassing the process. But really, since they are still alive… they will (likely) be relieved. Also you have an oar… and have demonstrated that you’re not afraid to use it.
Also, doesn’t it make sense to eat the fattest person first?
Obviously this is more of a long term survival thing. Smashing people in the head with oars when Captain Sully has just splashed you down in the Hudson is a less desirable course of action…. and may be frowned upon.
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