The morning after tying one on, they tell you to sip a bit of “whatever it was you drank last night” along with your OJ and greasy vittles. It’s an age old suggestion for curing hangovers. And the act is coined “Hair of the Dog” because, comparatively (and metaphorically) speaking, if the amount you drank the previous night were symbolized by a great big dog, you’re only consuming a “hair” off that big old Great Dane.

But, like I said, the “dog” dub is a mere metaphor. Outside of Korea – few people would really consider consuming a canine – not by way of mouth for sustenance, much less to try and get high via other bodily orifices. It’s an obvious everyday figure of speech. Right?

Right? *crickets chirping*

Gee. I sure love it when the online news stories tell my blog entries for me. Here’s just an excerpt. My green annotative underlining takes the guess work out for you. Skim it:

Really? 19 year old couldn’t tell what an urn was? I could identify one by at least age 17. And even if said 19 year old thief of the group could not, if you’re committed and desperate enough to seek out drugs in the first place, wouldn’t you find it odd that a fellow heroin or cocaine owner kept their drugs loosely and carelessly scattered in some decorative jar?

I’m no pro, but don’t most druggies treat their powdered nasal goodies like Schmegel does his magical ring? I’d imagine it’d all be tucked safely away into something secure, so as not to lose any of it, no? What’d they think? That Miss Holli T. just breaks out the coffee ground scooper on lonely nights, digs it into the mantlepiece urn, and cuts out a few lines between Americal Idol and Glee?

I really doubt the capacity for neuro-synaptic activity in the brains of today’s youth.

It’s sad that Miss T. no longer has the few tangible memories of her late family. But, those of you who know me well, know I’ve a dark sense of humor. And, as I couldn’t shake the imagery of postmortem animal insufflation from my head, you all collectively get my MSPaint 5 minute masterpiece of ghost-dog frantically avoiding a teen punk’s nasal membrane as his final destination/eternal resting place:

Anyway, lock your doors so that list of your “things-you-wouldn’t-normally-worry-about-getting-stolen” stay nice and secure.

And I’d wish you all a great weekend, but it’s only Thursday, so we’ll go with … Have a Great Dayne~!!
😉

xoxox
<3~A