Under-Estimating The Labradoodle

If you want dogs to pay attention to your silly signs, you better orient them properly.  Also, you should make sure they can read.  (Image from barksentry dot com)
If you want dogs to pay attention, you better orient your silly signs properly. Also, you should make sure the dogs can read. (Image from barksentry dot com)

I recently stumbled upon an article which described the scientific finding that dogs align their bodies in a north/south orientation while pooping.  This illustrates yet another instance of why being a scientist isn’t all that glamorous.  On a side note, I conducted a brief poll at a rest stop on the southbound side of the New Jersey Turnpike which revealed that the majority of people surveyed had no idea which way was south.  On a possibly related issue, most of them could not speak English, so they may not have understood the question.

Mocking people in lab coats and those who speak foreign languages is all well and good, but the bigger point here is that dogs know more than they’ve been letting on.  This confirms the suspicions many of us have long held about our canine friends.  I looked at my dog lying nearby on the kitchen floor as she tried in vain to look simple-minded and innocent.  At first, I was tempted to grill her about a certain missing shoe and the mysterious stain on the carpet in the upstairs hallway, but I decided to play it cool and watch her closely instead.

After hours of careful observation, I’ve come to some startling conclusions about other secrets of dog behavior.

True to form, the tail chasing is in a clockwise direction.  (Image from candiebeever dot wordpess dot com)
True to form, the tail chasing is in a clockwise direction. (Image from candicebeever dot wordpess dot com)

Turning around three times before lying down – This odd ritual was long believed to be carried over from the days when dogs slept outdoors and needed to trample down grass to make a bed for themselves.  In fact, this is the dogs’ method for winding themselves up for chasing their tails at some later point.  My study showed that my dog turns around slowly 2.7 counter-clockwise rotations each time she lays down.  She will then chase her tail rapidly in a clockwise direction once every few days.  Once the tail is caught and chewed, or the dog runs out of stored spin-energy, it’s time for a nap, which will require 2.7 rotations and the cycle can repeat itself.  The rotational directions may be reversed south of the equator.

I guess you could switch "Johnson" and "Balls" and it would still be funny.  (Image from viewsfromthecouch dot com)
I guess you could switch “Johnson” and “Balls” and it would still be funny. (Image from memeanimals dot com)

Licking their genitals – Contrary to conventional beliefs, this practice has no correlation to hygiene.  Nor is it, as pundits point out “because they can”.  Dogs lick their not-so-private parts for the nutritional value.  Before any of  you health nuts get any ideas, it’s not nutritional for humans.  Stick with your kale salads and protein shakes, you sickos!

If you want to complain about gravity, try telling it to a basset hound (Image from commons dot wikimedia dot jpg
If you think gravity sucks, try living a few days as a basset hound. (Image from commons dot wikimedia dot jpg

Walking on four legs – Dogs are effected more than humans by the earth’s gravitational pull.  In addition, their low position gives them unparalleled access to lost tennis balls and food dropped by toddlers.

The odds are improving for finding that ball.  (Image from cracked dot com)
The odds are improving for finding that ball. (Image from cracked dot com)

Sniffing each other’s butts – This is not the dog’s version of a handshake which many have supposed.  Seriously?  We humans are pretty full of ourselves to  just assign our own odd customs to what dogs do.  In fact the sniffing of butts is the dog’s way of checking one more place for that missing tennis ball.

One day they bring you sales circulars and the next thing you know they're taking your assault rifles and freedom. (Image from petsit dot com)
One day they’re bringing you sales circulars and the next thing you know they’re taking your assault rifles and freedom. (Image from petsit dot com)

Barking at the mailman – Dogs were Tea Party members long before the thought ever occurred to Sarah Palin.   Dogs have a deep distrust of the government inserting itself into our private lives six days a week bringing us “mail”.  There are even dogs working undercover in the military and police organizations around the world.  The original undercover operatives were Dalmations, who pretended to be the loyal sidekicks of firefighters as they gathered important information about batch cooking and the mystery of why man would slide down a pole when there are stairs available.

This photo has been cropped to spare you the grisly sight of dead opossum, but you can tell from the dog's face how much he's loving this. (Image from pets dot webmd dot com)
This photo has been cropped to spare you the grisly sight of dead opossum, but you can tell from the dog’s face how much he’s loving this. (Image from pets dot webmd dot com)

Rolling in dead animals – A highly spiritual event, the dog is attempting to bond with the departed life-force of the creature in an effort to understand the meaning of his or her existence.


I love the composition of this photo.  Too bad the subject matter is a dog dragging his butt.  (Image from emlabradors dot com)
I love the composition of this photo. Too bad the subject matter is a dog dragging his butt. (Image from emlabradors dot com)

Dragging their butts on the floor – Spring is coming – it’s time to fertilize the carpet.

For a good belly scratch, some dogs even wear sweaters.  (Image from ilovedogs dot com)
For a good belly scratch, some dogs even wear sweaters. (Image from ilovedogs dot com)

Kicking their legs when being scratched – Dogs get a great deal of pleasure from having their bellies scratched.  They have learned that we humans have short attention spans, particularly when providing happiness to any creature other than ourselves.  Dogs added the leg kicking as a clever way to amuse us, thereby prolonging their belly scratches.  On a related topic, they also figured out that licking their chops to excess will often result in them getting more peanut butter smeared on the roofs of their mouths.

"What's that Lassie?  Timmy fell down a well?" (Image from dogster dot com)
“What’s that Lassie? Timmy fell down a well?” (Image from dogster dot com)

Being surprised by the sound of their own flatulence – This is another classic example of human misinterpretation.  The dogs’ sudden attention to their own rear ends is not surprise, but careful listening.  The sound of a dog’s fart is actually telling the animal secret clues about the planned take-over of the planet – usually the farts are silent for the sake of secrecy.

I encourage you gentle reader, to take a good long look at man’s best friend and see for yourself.  The take-over could happen any day, we’ve got to spread the word before it’s too late.  On second thought, after checking recent headlines, I’m thinking that dogs taking over the planet may not be such a bad thing after all.


Any creature who can find happiness in a bed of pachysandra should get a crack at running the show.  (Image by the author, with permission from Lucy)
Any creature who can find happiness lying in a bed of pachysandra should get a crack at running the show. (Image by the author, with permission from Lucy)




Does Anyone Else See This, Or Am I Hallucinating?

I went to look at a couple of my favorite blogs just a few minutes ago.  The first one had a photo early on, because successful writers know how important it is to give us pretty pictures before they bombard us with the wordy things.  There was some sort of ad which popped up on the image, but I ignored it, since I was already starting to read.

It's almost that time of year, so my old sketch of the Easter Bunny at the bar in the Florida panhandle seems timely enough.  With the bottom third covered by an ad for jerky dispensers, you won't see his deftly drawn feet or more importantly, MY NAME!
It’s almost that time of year, so my old sketch of the Easter Bunny at the bar in the Florida panhandle seems timely enough. With the bottom covered by an ad for jerky dispensers, you won’t see his deftly drawn feet or the checkerboard tiles of the bar.  Illustration by yours truly, and it better not be obscured!

When I started reading the second one, also with an early photo, I noticed the same ad popping up on the image.  This blogger, who writes wickedly funny posts, had gone to great lengths to find the perfect picture to lure us in.  Unbeknownst to her, the bottom third of the image was covered by an ad.

I looked at the ad this time, just to rule out it wasn’t some cool funny thing that people were putting over their blog illustrations.

In order to keep the WordPress Gods happy, I won’t discuss the actual name of the company, but I can’t help but describe the service it provides, because it’s quite possibly a harbinger of the end of days.  The ad is for an app which allows pet owners to watch their pets from anywhere, presumably with smart phones, tablets or pc’s and even dispense treats from afar.  Personally, I think this is ridiculous (However, if they come up with an app that picks up dog dookie from the back yard, they’ll have my attention).

Like many people, I sit around wishing I could come up with “the next big thing”.  I long to escape from beneath the giant thumbs of my work oppressors and bask in the glow of my creative genius.  Somehow though, the incredible breakthrough ideas never come.  Then again, if the notion of inventing a remote spy-cam for Labradoodles complete with liver-based treat dispenser ever popped into my head, I would have dismissed it immediately and vowed to give up spicy food before bed.

Maybe I’m just not the entrepreneurial sort.

I am, however, the creative sort.  I write these blogs and occasionally illustrate them.  I can’t begin to tell you how furious I’m going to be if the drawing I put in the beginning of this is partially obscured by an ad catering to people who are too busy to own pets.  I can only imagine how outraged Andy Warhol would have been if some website put an ad for Campbell’s Soup over the top of one of his masterpieces.

Please be good readers and let me know if there’s an ad over (part of) my original artwork.  Don’t lie and say there is even if there isn’t just to get me all riled up – it’ll take more than a crunchy meat flavored treat to turn that around.

You take the espadrilles out of this one and it's nothing but the shallow end of a pool.  You also lose my name, which I proudly stuck in the corner.  Gimme credit WP.
You take the espadrilles and dandelion out of this one and it’s nothing but the shallow end of a pool. You also lose my name, which I proudly stuck in the corner. Gimme credit WP!



You Hate Me! You Really, Really Hate Me!

I commented to my long suffering wife the other day about my recently having achieved another landmark in followers.

“Honey, my blog now has over fourteen hundred followers!”

“That’s nice dear,” she replied, but then asked “Does that mean something?”

I rolled my eyes discretely at her lack of comprehension of the nuts and bolts of blog mechanics.

“It means that every time I write a new post, one thousand four hundred and seven people, collectively known as my followers, are notified of this momentous event. They can then scramble to the nearest smart phone, laptop or if they’re homeless, the public library, and hang on my every word.  Despite the publishing industry’s opinion that I have very little to offer in the way of writing skills, there are fourteen hundred people who feel otherwise”

“That’s nice, dear.” she said, already refocusing her attention back to the sudoko puzzle or Kindle or whatever that thing was that allowed her to ignore me.

"..so then Clinton says Obama was luckier than a dog with two dicks!  Yow-za!!"  (Image from businessinsider dot com)
“..so then Clinton says Obama was luckier than a dog with two dicks! Yow-za!!  Now with a quick show of hands, which eleven of you think this was a good post?” (Image from businessinsider dot com)

I sat there, mildly upset that she had not suggested uncorking some champagne to celebrate.  I turned my attention back to my trusty computer and looked at one of my latest posts.  This particular one was a whimsical discussion as to the merits or drawbacks of a dog having multiple penises, as originally suggested by former President William Jefferson Clinton.  Then I jumped over to the stats page.

Fourteen hundred followers?!!  Get yer bikinis on, girls, we're gonna dump champagne over your heads!  (Image from annsheybani dot com)
Fourteen hundred followers?!! Get your bikinis on, girls, we’re gonna dump champagne over your heads! (Image from annsheybani dot com)

The post had registered 11 likes and 141 people had actually read it.  These numbers are pretty typical for my posts.

I have a list of 70 or 80 people who I notify en masse via email whenever I post, most of them are not technically “followers” as far as WordPress is concerned.  The email recipients are coworkers, family members and the receptionist at my urologist’s office among others.  Many read the posts so they can avoid being badgered by me to do so, and at least one coworker has admitted to only reading my blog when seated on the toilet.  Of my 141 hits, I’d estimate that 27 of them were from my stash of these non-follower, peer-pressure readers.

You gave me your email address after I helped you move that heavy piece of furniture, now read my blog post, dammit!  (Image from onlineconnections dot ca)
You gave me your email address after I helped you move that heavy piece of furniture, now read my blog post, dammit! (Image from onlineconnections dot ca)

I try to tag my posts in a manner which accurately guides readers to my work. After all, it’s easy to attract readers from search engines by including content tags like “Bieber”, “Kanye”, “public urination” or “Kardashian” despite the fact that the post was mostly about my fondest Thanksgiving memory.  My tags for the dog weenie post were “Clinton”, “dog”, “lucky”, “two”, “humor”, and “dick.”

If there was a Kardashian in that bucket, I could find some reason to put it in my post and my hits would skyrocket.  (image from businessinsider dot com)
…so then Kanye says to the Beebs, “Yeah and it’s deep too!” (image from businessinsider dot com)

My estimates for hits generated per tag are as follows:

Clinton: 6 hits.  Rationale: Bill, Hillary and Chelsea are still news worthy, depending upon the week’s events.  Funk master George Clinton may have been good for a hit as well.

Perhaps I underestimated the drawing power of da funk.  (Image from ncpedia dot org)
Perhaps I’ve underestimated the drawing power of da funk. (Image from ncpedia dot org)

Dog: 4 hits.  Rationale: Everybody likes dogs, also I noticed Korea was well represented in my global numbers.

Lucky: 5 hits.  Luck and/or being lucky is always a popular concept, though being as lucky as “a dog with two dicks” is still an analogy known only to Bill Clinton and the hill-people.

Two: 7 hits.  Two is a pretty good number.  Everyone knows that one is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.

Humor: 6 hits.  In these dark times, everyone could use a laugh.  They’ll plug words like “humor”, “chuckle” and “guffaw” into search engines and hope for a few yuks to take their minds off of the rumors about lay-offs down at the salt mine.

Dick: 13 hits.  I’m assuming I would have had even better numbers if Clinton had said Obama was luckier than “a pussycat with 17 titties.”

Two dicks!  Get it?  See, he's a Dick, and he's holding up two fingers on each hand.  From the looks of that crowd, he's gonna top 11 likes.  (Image from theatlantic dot com)
Two dicks! Get it? See, he’s a Dick, and he’s holding up two fingers on each hand. From the looks of that crowd, he’s gonna top 11 likes. (Image from theatlantic dot com)

Those estimates account for 41 of my hits coming from search engines.

So between search engines and my personal mailing list I’ve accounted for 68 of my 141 hits.  Assuming no random hits, I can deduce that the remaining 73 hits on my post came from actual followers.

1407 followers minus the 73 who actually read the post leaves 1334 followers who didn’t read my post.  Roughly 95% of my followers didn’t follow me loyally enough to read my post.  Cue the sad violin music and zoom in on the tears welling up in my eyes.  As for the “likes”, 11 out of 1407 followers isn’t even relevant.  Mathematicians could argue that statistically no one actually liked the post.

I glanced over at my wife, who was so engrossed in the romance novel on her Kindle that she had fallen asleep.  I smiled to myself, secure in the knowledge that for the time being at least, she didn’t know what a total failure I turned out to be in the blog world, despite amassing 1407 followers.  That bottle of bubbly can just keep on taking up valuable refrigerator space until we have something meaningful to celebrate, like Justin Bieber publicly urinating on a prostitute who turned out to be a Kardashian.

You Lucky Dog !

[NSFW Warning: This post contains a fair degree of dick humor, and as such it may not be safe for work.  This will be especially true if you work at a kennel or a veterinarian’s office]

Bill Clinton, former president of the United States, was discussing Barack Obama’s having Mitt Romney as an opponent in the most recent election.  President Clinton thought that Obama was quite fortunate to have Romney running against him.  Lucky even.  How lucky?  According to the former leader of the free world, Obama was “luckier than a dog with two dicks”.

See, two dicks are better'n one for dogs.  Who don't know that?  (Image from bornrich dot com)
See, two dicks are better’n one for dogs. Who don’t know that? Neither one of em has to be any bigger’n this.   (Image from bornrich dot com)

The thought of someone who once held a position of supreme power speaking that way shouldn’t surprise anyone.  Clinton’s time spent at Oxford shouldn’t disqualify him from being prone to saying wacky things either (irrespective of whether he inhaled or not).  If I had to guess, and I do, because no one is talking, I’d say that Bill picked up the analogy back in his days in Arkansas.  In fact, slipping into an Ozark hillbilly accent while talking about a dog with two dicks just adds the perfect zing!

This dog can't talk, for more than one reason, but if he could, he might well ask how a man with four balls could walk.  (Image from noruffdays dot com)
This dog can’t talk, for more than one reason, but if he could, he might well ask how a man with four balls could walk. (Image from noruffdays dot com)

The idea that influential people might use off-color comments in private should not knock anyone’s socks off.  The reality is that when it’s all said and done, these people are still just people.  They put on their handmade, virgin-wool dress slacks the same way I would if I could afford them.

What is truly amazing is that someone somewhere once decided that a dog with two dicks would be a luckier than a dog with the standard issue single weenie.  Men everywhere would admit that having more than one of them would not present much of an advantage.  Most men will tell you it’s tough enough to get the ladies to pay any attention to the ones they already have.  A quick search of the internet will reveal thousands of products to make them harder and/or bigger, but none to make them multiply.  It would seem that having two would only make getting attention that much tougher, not to mention possibly creating some jealousy issues between the little rascals.

Many theorists believe that males think with their “boy-parts”.  While this generalization is usually made in reference to men and not dogs, one need only recall the neighborhood dynamics the last time Daisy the Labradoodle was in heat to realize the cross-species applicability.  A dog with two dicks would likely be downright schizophrenic.  I imagine an angel dick on one shoulder and a devil dick on the other, each vying for Rover’s attention.

This brings up another troubling aspect to the notion of a two-dicked Dachshund;  Where exactly on a given dog would the second one be located?  Putting it right next to the first would make sense anatomically, since all the plumbing hook-ups are already handy.  Beyond the simplicity of pipe connections though, that location makes no sense.  The competition issues will be staggering, and Bowser can forget about trying to write his name in the snow.

As the old real estate saying goes, "Location, Location, Location" (original image from Wikipedia dot org, doctored badly by the author)
As the old real estate saying goes, “Location, Location, Location!”  While I admit that doctoring a photo of a Bassett Hound or a Welsh Corgi might have had better comedic effect, using a Bluetick Coonhound may have been more accurate considering the term’s likely roots.  (original image from Wikipedia dot org, doctored badly by the author)

All things considered, one can see why this colorful bit of whimsy had not made it out of Arkansas until now.  Regardless, Clinton proves that even after their time in office, politicians are still more than capable of amusing and enlightening us.

R.I.P. Skippy! We miss you!!

Let me start this with a disclaimer.  While many people close to me know I’m not the world’s biggest pet lover, I understand that even the most cynical among us get attached to our pets.  When they pass away (see I didn’t say “die” – I’m sensitive that way), we miss them and mourn them like they were members of the family – because they were (kind of like that odd, flatulent aunt who sleeps on the floor in the sun and sniffs at herself).

Okay, that’s out of the way.

Just outside of the frame on the left, the Yeti was coming. Too fast, too hungry, too sad.

I re-activated my Facebook account to try to build my blog readership.  Self-serving, I know, but it’s Facebook – not the Little Sisters of the Poor.  In truth, the account was never deactivated, it will be active forever.  You can’t kill a Facebook account, believe me, I’ve tried.

I found the world of Facebook to be chugging right along without me.  When I suddenly reappeared on the site after more than a year away, there was no fanfare of trumpets or any such big deal.  Many of the same people who were posting what they had for breakfast or other such trivial blathering, were right there where I’d left them.  They were gloating about having just eaten the best bowl of steaming oatmeal known to man (Allow me to take a brief moment to “Like” Jimmy’s Diner in Newark, Delaware, home of the famous Bottomless Bowl of the World’s Best Oatmeal).

While I know I can’t change the way people use FB, I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make fun of some of the nonsense I see on there.

Today I went on and found the usual suspects, playing games and yakking about their grand kids, their breakfasts, their spiritual journeys and their grand kids’ breakfasts and/or spiritual journeys.  One post I saw caught my eye.  A friend of a friend (who wasn’t actually my friend), had posted something.  The adage about “any friend of so-and-so is a friend of mine” doesn’t apply to online friends in my humble opinion.  This person’s being a friend of a friend makes it permissible for me to find fault with how they live their FB lives, without actually insulting them, since they don’t know me.

Got it?

Not so??

Well, deal with it, because I’m doing it anyway.

Where was I?

This person posted that they missed their dog, who had passed away a year ago today.  They wrote something along the lines of “R.I.P. Skippy! We miss you!”.  I won’t bore you with a lengthy philosophical discussion about the canine afterlife.  Suffice to say that, as a hopeless romantic, I can only hope that doggie heaven is filled with rolling meadows, unlimited tennis balls and no shortage of decomposing possums to roll around in.  Come to think of it, I may have just stumbled upon what possum hell is like.  Further discussion of possum hell will have to wait for another post.

One thing I know with an egotistically high degree of certainty is this; even in doggie heaven, dogs can’t read.  Even if they could read, they would have a hard time getting the computer to go to Facebook – paws just don’t work that way.  I know this is getting increasingly far-fetched – yuk yuk!  Even if they could read, get onto Facebook and follow their former masters without technically friending them, why the hell would they?  I thought doggie heaven was filled with old slippers to gnaw on and various unlimited butts to sniff.  If Skippy has the option to be chasing squirrels and Buicks with Old Yeller and Rin Tin Tin, why in the world would you want him tied to a computer following you on Facebook?!  Your poor, deceased Schnauzer-mix is finally off the leash and running wild in doggie heaven and you’re tethering him to the laptop like the rest of us?!  You cruel bastard!

It doesn’t help your case that Skippy knows you went out and got that new puppy 3 months after he went onto the big kennel in the sky.  Did you think he’d see your R.I.P. note from doggie heaven and not see those cute puppy snap-shots you posted a few months back?  A Labra-doodle?!  Seriously?!  Skippy is barely cold and you went out and got that bitch?!

I hope you’re happy with yourself.  It’s people like you who are causing a huge upswing in dog-related poltergeists in this world and the afterworld.  Poor Skippy, he’s spinning in his grave out behind the garage right now. Rest in peace, my ass!

Ruminations On House Hunters

I can’t help myself.  Despite my intellectual leanings, I have these horribly pedestrian addictions which I simply cannot go without.  One such indulgence is watching House Hunters International on HGTV.  It’s a guilty pleasure; like drinking milk right out of the carton or drawing mustaches on the missing children on the side of the carton (it’s called age-progression, you haters).

The show’s based on a simple formula.  A couple is moving to some exotic location.  Sometimes due to to job transfers, sometimes because people just want to change their lives.  To the best of my knowledge, they’ve never featured anyone from the witness relocation program.  The English speaking realtor shows the couple three potential homes and then they choose one.  The end of the show features a look into their new home some months later to see how well (or how poorly) they’ve decorated and acclimated themselves to their new country.

In this culture, wearing a gold blazer is a badge of great shame

After watching entirely too many episodes, and having bought and renovated a few homes myself, I’ve developed some pet peeves which crop up repeatedly on the show.  If watching H.H.I. is a guilty pleasure, then finding fault with it is surely my way of reconciling having squandered yet another half an hour of my life.

Here then, are some of the recurring annoyances from this addictive show:

  • Twin sinks in the master bathroom – An amazing number of people have a strange fixation with having two sinks in the master bathroom.  It’s as if they have a burning desire to share the bathroom with their spouse.  Residential bathrooms are meant to be private refuges – whether you’re brushing your teeth or dropping a deuce – not a space for marital bonding.
  • Paint color – People often have serious problems with the paint color of interior rooms.  How inept do you have to be as a do-it-yourselfer to be stumped by painting a stinking wall?  Would anyone who is about to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a house really get tripped-up over something they can change for the price of a gallon of paint?  Hell, if it’s that tough to do, hire someone to paint it for you – the labor’s probably cheap there.  You can probably get the whole place repainted for a couple of chickens and a few of those funny octagonal coins with picture of the old woman on them.
  • Will the dog like it? – Again, they’re spending hundreds of thousands of dollars and these people are worried about whether the dog will be happy there?  The dog?!  I know a fair amount about dogs, if they can sit somewhere and lick their own butts, they’re going to be pretty happy.  If you’re really worried about Fido’s emotional well being, let him up on the furniture.
  • 90% of the shows end with the couple picking house number 2 – This isn’t really the fault of the house hunters themselves, but the producers follow the same pattern far too often – 1st house = flawed, 2nd house = flawed but much better, 3rd house = less flawed still, but too expensive or a 90 minute commute from downtown Reykjavik
  • This closet is fine – for me!  Ha Ha Ha!  The women in these twosomes love to crack this joke.  They find a giant closet and proclaim it will be great for her clothes, the man is relegated to sharing the linen closet with the dog.  Har dee har har!! You’re a laugh riot Alice!   [Author’s note: In the event of a gay male couple, the clothes-horse gets to crack this joke while his partner peers into the linen closet with a look of resignation on his face. In the event of a gay female couple, there is no joking]
  • Price change-aroo – After showing the 3 choices, the couple ends up buying the house which is way beyond their budget by offering substantially less than the asking price.  How was the viewer supposed to know the seller was so spineless on or that the buyers were so shrewd?  Who would have guessed that people who were such wusses about the paint color in the second bedroom could be such sharks in negotiations?
  • Guest room fixation – People are constantly whining about limited guest space for all the visiting relatives who will be dropping everything and flying to Slovenia to stay with them.  Simple answer; there are Motel 6’s all over the place, and if not, Aunt Sophie and Uncle Carl can damn-well stay home in Dayton.
  • Kitchens in the tropics rarely have ovens – Where will they cook the turkey for Thanksgiving?  My question; where do you get an 18 lb Butterball in Fiji?  More importantly still, why celebrate Thanksgiving when you’re living in paradise?   Go snorkeling instead!  Do you need me to explain how to enjoy the South Pacific?  How about I move there and you come stay in Jersey?
  • Not enough room to entertain – Entertain?!  It’s just you two and Mitzee the dachshund moving five thousand miles from home – who the hell are you going to entertain?!  Do you guys think that you’ll be any more popular than you were back in the U.S. of A.?  You don’t even speak the language yet!  It never fails that the entertainers always have guests over for the final scene of the show, and by “guests” I mean the realtor and his strange looking girlfriend.
  • Dwellings in many countries outside the US often have empty, unfurnished kitchens.  Buyers are constantly surprised by the lack of cabinets, appliances or even sinks in kitchens.  I know that this is often the way homes are sold abroad, just from watching TV.  Why aren’t these people aware of this?  They’re the ones who are actually moving to Turkey and they don’t have a clue!  If there’s even a slight chance you could be transferred to the Istanbul office, you should be watching this show and taking notes!  Do a little research, you dolts!  As long as we’re on the topic, why not consider going a little light on the kitchen cabinets so Mitzee has a little more room to run around?