Violence

Ever feel this way? Our fighting style is unstoppable. Your conventional weapons are powerless against us. You kill my teacher - why why why! I've come to get rice cakes...for father. He says Lu Kua is dead...and your kung fu is no good. When I'm through this whole town will be a swamp. Warriors come out and play. Rules are there ain't no rules. It ain't a rumble without me.

Media Blitz

So - with the release of Marmaduke - a re-do of a comic strip that no living child has read (partially because it wasn't ever funny and partially because it was contained in something called a newspaper - an ancient form of knowledge transfer made out of dead trees popular when people always wore hats and smoked in produce sections and maternity wards) it seems that Owen Wilson cements himself as the dog movie actor du-jour only this time as pointed out in several cranky film-centric blogs Wilson is the dog. Why those blogs should get hit on the nose with a rolled up piece of knowledge transfer made of dead trees is because they all failed to allude to Smokey and the Bandit 3 - Smokey is the Bandit; the only film reference containing an italicized "is" worth mentioning. So as many take a number to step up to the keyboard to type Wilson sells out again! we would first like to say suck it for missing an easy reference - who's the uber dork now? Anyway, it seems that the rehash of animal fodder will never stop until Wilson and Eddie Murphy battle it out in a talking CGI nutria rat fur flying, whoopee cushion joke, fat suit puncturing mega war retooled from a previous generation's not funny animal romp. Our bet is as follows:

Similar to the re-do of The Karate Kid for the urban market Beethoven gets a Hot97 makeover for fall 2010 called B-Diddy starring Eddie as the voice of the rappin', pimpin' Pit-Rottweiler mix with the heart of gold. Wilson plays an Eminem styled Whippet named O-Ring who was repeatedly molested by Black Labs until Diddy takes him in and teaches him how to wear his harness real low around his ass crack.

Now guess who's back in the motherfuckin house

-P & S

Dogs in the News Dogs in the News Dogs in the News

Ahh, Dogs in the news. Yesterday's local picked up the story of Hunter, a 9 year old Bloodhound who's testimony is figuring prominently in the capture of some murder suspects. Bloodhounds, named after the 1980's 3-2-1 Contact! segment The Bloodhound Gang, the most successful pan-racial children's themed ragtag team up since Sesame Street (Don't say shit about The Backyardigans - they're like, computer made or something.) not the 90's medium successful mono-racial comedy hip hop group The Bloodhound Gang who were named after the dog have really good noses. How good? Like a bazillion times better than humans and pretty much better than most dogs. Bloodhounds are scent hounds and are relatives of the American Coonhound which is the most successful pan-racist dog name ever with the exception of the Greasywophound and the Goodatmathchineseador Retriever. Anyway good noses, and we here at P&SGO! hope that the testimony of Hunter stands and justice prevails though the controversy over canine expert witnesses as usual results in a parade of human experts to validate what everyone already knows: If you want some smelling done, you get a dog. What is amazing is that no one protests the successful use of our colleagues to sniff out bombs or waterfowl or the Frito you dropped under the couch last New Years. Even the military knows and we for one will not sit back while these doubting third tier lawyers bad mouth the United States military. Read on from above:

All dogs have keen noses, estimated at 100 times more sensitive than humans.

That is why they are used for sniffing out roadside bombs, termites, bedbugs, missing and dead people, contraband fruits on international flights and even some kinds of cancer. It is also why the military has been trying for years, so far unsuccessfully, to create an artificial nose.

Unfortunately, the current artificial sniffing research stands "in stark contrast to the innate ability of the mammalian olfactory system — specifically the canine system — to handle these challenging tasks with ease," said Jon Mogford, program manager for the Department of Defense RealNose project.

Even when compared to other dogs, bloodhounds stand out.

Wow. Artificial sniffing research - you thought Area 51 and Hangar 18 had secret alien stuff when all the while those dorks in the desert looking for lights in the sky were really getting their taints wafted out from under the sand by a giant mechanical proboscis. Which recalls the earlier:

Anyway, the point is don't put us in the hurt locker if our testimony won't hold up in court. If the nose don't sniff you must watch Turner and Hooch.

Ciao

-P & S

Baby Steps

Now, this seems like a nice sentiment. We spotted this on a car at the mall recently and took a picture with journalistic intent. We then realized that a human with this magnet on their car was likely to patrol dog related web sites and forums and costume parades and the like which means that per chance they would see this and assume it was their car despite our expert (hack-job) Photoshop obscuring, take personal offense and fire bomb our offices with 3 or 4 like minded comrades in Dalmatian spotted berets - the revolution will not be satirized! You know, the type of human who sets up a neighborhood watch specifically to prevent muggings of stray cats - oh its alarmingly epidemic. So anyhow you get the web pilfered version. As far as we can tell this slogan is duty free and several companies use this tag line on various products from key chains to car magnets to one-hitter dugouts, many to support the efforts of rescue and no-kill sheltering and adoption. Needless to say we support animal rescue - specifically, the patronizing of shelter programs that recycle dogs and avoid unnecessary overcrowding of landfills - this Schnauzer made from 25% post consumer material - that sort of thing. But seriously folks, what does this mean? If it means a dog eating human birthday cake with a balloon dangerously tied around its neck by a ribbon, we're not in. If it means a neediness so pervasive on the human's part that the dog, the human or both end up stuffed and enslaved to live in perpetuity on the mantle, we're out. If it means that someone is so stuntingly unaware of both the AC/DC song title and logo, well then I think you can guess our opinion.

RIP Ronnie James Dio

-P & S

Cino de Mayo: Now in New Seis

Hecho en Mexico. Well, in Arizona they just passed a law or something that essentially says you can be stopped and asked for your papers if you are more tan than Sissy Spacek or that monk in that movie with the guy from Bachelor Party. We understand that the intricate legal details of the law were too esoteric to get it popularly passed but once pared to its essence: If you're brown you're goin' down, it went right through the legislature. Yes, it's true we're both immigrants. But not from parts unknown - from Mexico. Though we realize the two are almost always synonymous. While we pride ourselves on being transplanted yankee-doodles we thought we would take the occasion of the holiday yesterday to reflect upon our home nations, our adopted, beloved America, and the future we - guests in a nation of guests - must forge. For openers, let us clarify that while I (Petey) was born in Mexico, I (Sadie) came to your shores by way of a cultural exchange program from Puerto Rico though my ancestry is of course Mexican. This explains my love for Big Pun, Rosie Perez, and NPR (As loved by Rosie Perez). Where as I (Petey) recall romantic nights scavenging comida prehispanico via the dimly lit take-out stalls of Tijuana each painted with a scrawled "Taco Bell" logo to fool the gringos who came down with their high school buddies to score some Spanish Fly. Many an evening was spent in revelry there my friends. Which is not to say that a goddamn 2x2 cage in Puppies for Less isn't nice too. Anyway, we want to set the record straight that despite our flag waving for the good ol' U.S. of A. and our near perfect scores on the citizenship exam (Who knew that reciting lines from Nice Dreams would not qualify as American??) we are uniformly against this law. Without permeable borders who would white humans work in food service with during grad school so they could later claim bilingual on their Starbucks application? Who would keep Larry Merchant in a job? and who the fuck would live in Arizona? Proponents of this law claim that nothing in it will lead to racial profiling which of course is like saying that smearing yourself in bacon grease will not lead to us biting your junk. Please stop pulling our leashes, we are curious what jobs you feel they are stealing and what public systems you feel they are draining other than your swimming pools. Besides, if you were so concerned might you not learn from other ass-backward legislation like prohibition or the war on drugs or No Labradoodle Left Behind and see that this will not only alienate those non-alien residents who happen to skin more toward George Hamilton than George Washington (An illegal) but drive those alien aliens further underground and further away from measurable contribution until finally they just pop out of an astronaut's stomach like that other alien in Alien? What a field day for the heat. But its a dry heat.

Hasta manana bitches

-P & S

Hatin'

Happiness. In order to follow the prime directive and be true to ourselves it is high time we settle into what is job #1: dickishly criticizing things. Does this guy look happy? Not to us. Yes we know, a dalmatian, beloved firedog, dressed so cleverly here in a fireman's coat and hat and wait, can it be...near a fire hydrant. Get it - fire, see, dalmatians are associated with fucking fire stuff! He looks totally psyched, oh yes he knows he looks cute. What's that suit made of Kevlar? It looks comfortable. I bet this human has 100 more of these poor bastards at home and then one more for when the sequel came out. We are also relatively sure that the human associated with this has nearly a full wardrobe from the Disney Store and more denim shirts than the Marlboro Man. A closer look at this picture from a regular NYC "dog event" is telling. Let's see, PA speakers and what appears to be a keyboard where local bar band washouts/cop-rock superstars Jimmy Nalgone and the Station Hounds bust out Born to Run, Who Let the Dogs Out (ironically of course, they are rockers), a Snoop Dogg medley (ironically of course, they are white), and "We Built This City on Rock and Lowered Expectations". What else can be seen? Well for one thing, no human in the picture appears to be sub-200 lbs. Which is understandable given a steady diet of carnival/street fair food and empty nest dysthymia which have both come to bear on this poor fellow. A house full of QVC china dolls themed for the European countries of olde is no place for a dog and neither is inside a polyesther costume. Haven't these people heard about adopting foreign babies from war-torn Pennsylvania?

It's not this dog's fault that children grow up. We know they didn't explain that sticking point in church back when this person was of child bearing age but surely that insight could have been gleaned somewhere. No? Here's a considerably more hip duo also from NYC. This time the offend-a-palooza is that ground zero memorial to credit card bohemia: The Tompkins Square Halloween Dog Parade. Extra ween please. Notice the carefully groomed paws, suggestive, gender-nonspecific pirate outfit, and pastel collar that announces Power-bottom Avenue has just intersected Main Street. The dog looks pretty lame too. One thing is for certain - they're both mad at daddy. True, this guy doesn't seem quite as miserable as our friend up top and perhaps a little guy like this appreciates some warmth in late October as we do but seriously, must we be subjected to this? Leave dressed up dogs to the pros. Besides, if you are going for trans-species costumery why not pick the classics?

- P&S

P&SGO! Product Review: More Backside Grind

We know we know. Another post about piles? - that's two out of the last four! Dr. Freud would have a thing or two to say about that buster! True, but if you're like us and your state school education only afforded you the opinion that the most interesting and troubling elements of Freud's work were contained within his beard then we should be able to move on.

That said, we are committed to bringing you unbiased and woefully uncompensated product reviews from time to time and this one was staring us right in our back up cameras and might as well be dealt with presently. The DOGIPOT Pet Station, seen here in our local evening route is a common sight in parks, developments and certain well-heeled urban environs and is self explanatory for even the most tragic of litter trained, housebreaking wee-wee pad, milk-feds out there.

Taking this staple item for granted we plugged the obviously proprietary name into a certain silly monikered search engine that has recently become a major international political player that rhymes with KUGEL if you mispronounce it slightly [Sorry, we have made our decision for Christ and there is only room for one search tool in this no-kill shelter and it doesn’t rhyme with bing.]. To our surprise DOGIPOT has its own website, and is not, as we supposed, one of a crapzillion products made by some strip mining, oil spilling, dogless, faceless monolith. It’s a slightly kitchy, earth friendly, dog centric minorlith repleat with everybody’s all-American spokesdog golden retriever (Spoiler alert! I hear he dies at the end.). Anyway, it turns out that DOGIPOT, the d/b/a of DP Pet Products makes some of our favorite municipal grade dog toilets, namely those made of metal. The topic of conversation here however is the one made of plastic – poly as it appears on their site. We have no way of knowing which is the more expensive but if we had to guess we would say metal. The plastic one as pictured above does a serviceable job in the bag dispensing department and holds two amply supplied rolls. On several occasions it has been noted that the bag rolls if left unopened as is often the case at our local become difficult/childproof/impossible/torrent of f-bombs to open one handed while a human holds a leash in the other. We can chalk this up not to design flaw but rather to the conscientiousness of the civil servant who replenishes the kiosk. Next we move to durability of the plastic parts which among products in order of importance, we put the neighborhood can that holds dog crap just slightly behind the roof over your children’s head and nuclear reactors in terms of items that we hope are sturdy. This is where the wheels start to come off. The poly version

of this product just does not seem to hold up to repeated use in a moderately dog heavy block. Specifically as seen here, the lid is easily dislodged from the bucket and when it is attached is a bit hard to open one handed while holding the offending parcel in the same hand. Plus, we always have the sense that some errant - uh, material from the previous user has somehow escaped the admirably biodegradable bag and is poised surreptitiously under the lid waiting for the bare hand of unsuspecting humanity. Frankly, it makes us want to take a shower like Meryl Streep in Silkwood after each use - speaking of nuclear reactors. Again, we can’t say for sure if the lid on our test pot was in fact broken through normal use – it may not have been broken at all but it certainly became dislodged and has not been seen in some time. Assuming that this is not the fault of design but again caused by human mishap or neglect let’s just consider the wide-mouth opening on that can – do you think that magnifies and broadcasts aroma or does its part to contain them – correct. With that lid off this thing has about a 5 meter kill radius in summer, slightly less in winter. We point to the sleek metal version again with its cylindrical design as our desert island pick for keeping the horse in the barn. Signage is unobtrusive but clear, the whole contraption itself not offensive looking in all but the toniest of locales and is as green as such a device can be by way of those biodegradable bags unless the whole thing was made out of bamboo and recycled fur seals. Durability of the structural skeleton (metal) is good with no sinking, bending or other threatening movement of the main post or bolts noticed in nearly two years. So what are we left with? Perhaps more a comment about choosing the right tool for the job than the merit of this product itself. Plastic might be fine for lightly traveled dog-ways but is no match for an average block of multiple dwelling neighborhood dogs on a steady diet of wet food and human yardless-guilt. For this and all public gathering spots we recommend the metal version for all around durability and containment. It is worth noting that we have trialed this version at several local parks with great success. Takeaways: if your neighborhood dues or condo association fees or parks and rec taxes can withstand it, vote metal, if not, go plastic but be sure the neighborhood watch keeps gentle treatment of this item on par with purse nabbings. Lastly, we submit this critique as fans of the dog paraphernalia industry and we ourselves are after all, end users, not designers. But if we were we might suggest a device such as:

If you don’t know what that is we can’t help you. If you do, you need a girlfriend.

- P&S

Health Care Reform

Indignity. Now, we here at P&SGO! know that in these trying economic times every little bit helps. So we know what you are thinking. "How dare this little rapscallion ask the pharmacy to waste printer ink on the "Petey Dog" on that sub-clinical dose of Phenobarbital label! It's scandalous, that little pineapple!! What about my pension for working at the pine cone factory?!!! My daughter who is very intelligent says she has to pay a lot of money for medicine now because of teachers and the President and the Pope!!!! And why must it say Petey "Dog"? Is it because of that rap?!!!!!" That's exactly what you're thinking right? I have been levied that critique before. And so again, in this economy, we want to appear as sensitive as possible and give our enlightened readership every assurance that these wasteful extravagances in our daily med rituals are purely unintended and furthermore that we now contribute no less than 1% of our admittedly hulking royalty checks to not only our own health care costs (!) but to noteworthy healthy stuff oriented charities like BAND-AID and USA FOR IONIC BREEZES FOR AFRICA (It's dusty there I guess). Lastly, we want everyone to know that the "Dog" in "Petey Dog" is not intended to be there in the sense that "DAWG", "DAG", or even "MANG" might be used and in no way is there as a colloquial attachment to my name the way one might call their friend Jimbo "J-DOG". It is there solely to prevent this controlled substance from being given to say a non-epileptic human baby which in this economy I think we can all agree would be the most wasteful thing of all.

Ciao

-P

And now we present our first Dramatic Playlette - suitable for children sort of.

Hi

Sup?

Yo.

Yo.

Djeat?

Jeet?

Eat. Eat. Did you eat?

No, cranky.

I'm not cranky.

Whatever.

I'm not.

...

...

So what, now you're not going to talk to me?

!!!

The Biologicals

Petey is Sir Shits-a-Lot. He expels far more than he consumes. Far more each time than his own weight it seems; giving up in each void presumably a rotating selection of internal organs, which he then regenerates over night.

Sadie is a shitter as well – the big kind. The bear scat, cigar sampler, model rocket kind. The smell? Like that which I imagine to come from a newly opened sarcophagus, from the pit of buried bodies behind that infamously lase faire crematorium in the news, or simply, the Devil’s taint.

And now a little known fact: In the jungle outposts of condo-world dog walking and waste management is not just a matter of daily routine and state law. It is a matter of Association Policy. So, truth be told, if you are in a suburban track home or city domain you can let a certain amount of pooh-pooh say, transgress if you forgot a baggy, lost it in the night, are smoking and on your cell phone and are trying to drink your fifth bottle of Poland Spring for the day. It happens. And chances are SWAT is not going to descend from the trees to nab you. The feds aren’t going to pinch you and even the nosiest of passersby will more than likely only tisk-tisk you. I can only assume this is true as I constantly see enormous molten piles of soft-serve leavings and rarely see errant dog owners impaled on spits when I venture to these places. In condo-ritaville though there are spies. Agent provocateurs. Mata Haris. People whose sole purpose on earth is to gather intel on the mean weight of uncollected pet waste and mete out harsh judgement and penalties on those responsible as if the offending corpus-doo-doo was dispensed among their dinnerware or sleeping infants. Fair enough. I am an advocate of responsible pet ownership, which includes righteous choad collection and leash law adherence. What does this mean then? It means that when it is night, and freezing, and I am tired, and cold, and tipsy and/or near naked I will be trying to find that dog crap by smell (dramatic musical hit). This is gross to be sure. But no matter how good a line I think I have on the prize I always seem to lose it. I will stand where I am certain the deposit was made and nothing. It will have disappeared like the formula for New Coke. So there you can behold me tethered to a panting, smiley face Chihuahua, bent over in my boxers and a scarf in February sniffing out my companion’s post-digestibles. Ask around the circle. Folks we have some new members today. Hi, my name is Human and I root out my dog’s crap by sense of smell. Hi, Human.