Sunday: Titus can’t catch.
Every morning, I eat a bowl of Corn Pops. I do “adulting” very well, as you can see. In fact, when we were in Iceland, I couldn’t find Corn Pops, so I was forced to buy Cocoa Puffs, another very adult cereal, and would tease Ken and K by calling them “tiny bites of chocolate happiness for breakfast”. Corn Pops are actually very healthy though, containing fibre and stuff, and not as much sugar as Rice Krispies, if you can believe that. Titus also loves Corn Pops. Every morning, when he sees me get down a bowl, he comes running. It’s become part of our morning routine that I grab a few and toss them to him as a treat. The only problem is that Titus can’t catch for sh*t. I’ve never seen a dog so uncoordinated. It’s bad enough that when he gives you a high five, he’s more likely to slap you in the face then fall over—but his Corn Pop-catching skills are abysmal. This is what it’s like every morning:
Titus: Oh boy! Corn Pops! This is the best day ever!
Me: You say that every morning. Do you think you could try a little harder today?
Titus: With what?
Me: Catching them. You’re hopeless.
Titus: What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with my catching abilities. You’re just a crappy thrower.
Me: Are you kidding? I toss them straight at you. It’s your timing. They bounce off your face most of the time AFTER you’ve snapped your teeth at them. I’ll show you. Sit down. (tosses Corn Pops)
Titus: That one was too high…too low…are you TRYING to aim for the refrigerator?…wait, I wasn’t ready for that one…Ow, my eye!…What the—did it go under the cupboard?…You’re trying to make me miss on purpose…
Me: You’re not concentrating. Focus, for God’s sake.
Titus: Can I just play “dead” now? I’m exhausted.
Me: You don’t know how to play dead. You only play “wounded”.
Titus: But Corn Pops are sweet gems of deliciousness. If I close my eyes, I might miss one.
Me: You’re missing them with your eyes OPEN! Fine—Bang!
Titus (falls to floor): Ok, I’m good. Hit me with a Corn Pop…Oh sh*t—where did it go?
Me (sigh): I rolled it right between your paws. How could you miss it?
Titus (head under cupboard): I got it. It’s all good!
Me: I think I’ve proven my point.
mydangblog 
Why do they tell you the current weather? Well guys it is a scorcher out there today. Um, yeah I know. I went outside….
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I know, right? And they spend 5 minutes doing it, then compare it to “This Day in History”, when none of us were even, or mostly, alive!
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I’ll just leave this George Carlin snippet here.
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Love it!
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I lived in those boxy American midwestern states where “A tornado is touching down” was synonymous with “It’s Tuesday,” and let me tell you, storm chasing is big business. Like, it’s a legit career option. I’d totally knock it as bullshit, but I had to “chase” a few storms during my career as a newspaper journalist, and I’m ashamed to admit that I thought it pretty damn exhilarating.
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Oh, I know–I was just more peeved that she was blaming EnCan for spoiling her fun, like they deliberately didn’t tell people a tornado was coming. I remember from the movie “Twister” how scary, but exciting, it would be to track storms like that.
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Oh, I didn’t say storm chasers weren’t simultaneously whiny bitches… 😉
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In southern Indiana where I went to school there was a weather reporter known for knocking back a few before she went on the air. And you know the weather map they stand in front of? They see it on a monitor in front of them but it’s reversed so they have to remember if they see something on the right the audience sees it on the left. As you’ve no doubt guessed she regularly got her east and west reversed, missing things completely.
Kind of like Titus, although I don’t think being drunk is his excuse.
And I’m sorry Canadian meteorologists got lectured by a “professional storm chaser” from my home state. A storm chaser, especially a professional one, should know how unpredictable the weather is. It’s as unpredictable as conversations about the weather are predictable.
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I particularly enjoy it when there’s a malfunction with the greenscreen and the weather reporter just has to make sh*t up. And don’t forget–Titus IS an alcoholic psychic!
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