Big Brass Ones

Atonement

It has recently been brought to my attention that I may, however inadvertently, from time to time have offended various dogs, persons, arachnids, and corporate entities in some of my diary entries and emails. I just can’t tell you how remorseful I am, and I would like to take advantage of this opportunity to apologize to anyone whose feelings I may have hurt:

In my January 21st entry, I may have implied that cats were best used to string tennis rackets. Nothing could be further from the truth. Cat intestines are, in fact, entirely ill suited to the task (kids, don’t try this at home). I apologize if I misled anyone or gave the impression that I don’t like cat intestines. I do.

On February 4th, I implied (nay, stated) that Senator Kennedy might need to have his medications changed. That was just plain wrong. I don’t think medication has anything to do with it, really. I apologize both to Senator Kennedy and to the entire pharmaceutical industry.

On March 3rd, I said some things that might have lead some people, quite mistakenly, to believe that I do not approve of the way the Swedes and Norwegians run their countries. I was undiplomatic and entirely out of order. “Treacle-y” was a particularly unfortunate choice of adjective. My apologies to the entire Scandinavian region.

On May 9th, I implied that sheep can’t type. A stereotypical instance of stereotyping. For all I know, many sheep are fine typists. Or would be if only society would give them a chance.

On May 13th, I implied rather strongly that terriers, in general, may care less for their bipeds than other dogs. I hereby apologize to all terriers of any breed whatsoever and specifically to Sterling and Opal who, I am sure, are really rather fond of their mom.

On May 25th, I gave out the opinion that the Irish don’t make good pizza. … Actually, that one’s not an opinion; it’s a fact. Never mind.

On June 6th, I sent Captain an amusing little email in the form of a threat from the mafia. Initially, Captain was not amused. And I don’t blame him a bit—he’s entitled to all the paws he can get, and more power to him, I say. Sorry, kid.

On June 12th, I closed my diary entry with “Death to Walmart!” I didn’t mean the GUY; I meant the STORE. I really do feel bad about this one. Unfortunate timing. (And I know NOTHING about aircraft maintenance, by the way.)

On June 28th, I described Rottweilers and Dobermans as “meanish” sorts of dogs. To all you Rotties and Dobies out there, I offer my full, frank, and heartfelt apologies. Really. I mean it. Easy, Boy. Easy. Stay!

And, after rereading yesterday's first entry, I think I owe apologies to rats, piranhas, AND rattlesnakes. Hey, you guys know who you are.

And, finally, ticks. To all the bereaved surviving siblings of the various ticks that the biped has killed on my behalf over the last year, what can I possibly say? For all the calumnies to which I have here subjected you and your kind, how can I possibly make amends? Say, would you little fellas like to buy a bridge?