THE INFORMATION #1196
APRIL 8, 2022
Copyright 2022 FRANCIS DIMENNO
dimenno@gmail.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com
WHEN THIS WORLD CATCHES FIRE
BOOK FIVE: THE ADVENTURES OF PENROD ANDROMALIUS
CHAPTER XIV
THE MIND BLOWERS OF P.S. 101 PART EIGHT
Penrod was so innocent looking, and so sincere, that, beginning at this point, Mrs. Gale began to believe that there might, indeed, be some truth to his fantastic story, muddled and inconsistent as it was.
“And,” resumed Penrod, “Aunt Ida is very sad about the whole thing and they told me to stay around that night and help cheer her up, only all she does is cry.” (This much, to his credit, was mostly true.) “And if you don’t believe me, you can call my folks and ask them, though I wish you wouldn’t, because nobody’s supposed to know about it. Just call them up and ask them how Aunt Ida’s doing, and then maybe THEN you’ll believe me.”
“But Penrod—assuming all this is true—why did you talk to me the way you did?”
“I’m just tired,” said Penrod. “So tired. All this is too much for me,”
This, too, had a ring of absolute verisimilitude, and Mrs. Gale, despite her better,
more skeptical instincts, began to feel sorry for the boy. She was certain that the tale about Russ Runyon’s career as an undercover operative was so implausible as to be greatly exaggerated at best, and an untrue cover story at worst, but she wasn’t by any means completely assured that the story of Aunt Ida’s marital woes was totally false.
She turned to look at him sternly. “Don’t you worry—I will be making a few calls, and
then we’ll get to the bottom of this.” But then, seeing the utterly depressed look on
Penrod’s face, and mistaking it for the indifference that results from utter emotional
exhaustion, she softened. “Penrod, why don’t you go and get your lunch, and then come back up here and lie down in the infirmary and catch up on your sleep. I’ll see to it that you’re excused from your fifth period class.” And with that, Penrod left the office, not knowing what would come of his spectacular story, but speculatively certain that any punishment that might possibly result could not be any worse than the punishment he had been scheduled to receive in the absence of such a tale.
In fact, Penrod had done such a good job of piecing together the half-understood travails of Aunt Ida that he had all but convinced himself that every word of his “explanation” was not only plausible but also very probably true. It is this that is the mark of a great fabulist: that the implausible elements of his or her tale will ring the most true owing to the careful attention to detail initially established as the groundwork of the story. Penrod knew for a fact that Aunt Ida was sad and that nobody could be bothered to tell him why. Ergo, it was because no one would dare. This explanation seemed as good a one as any. It seemed so good that, in fact, it must be true. It is a common enough logical fallacy—post hoc ergo propter hoc—but Penrod was not versed in logic, for had he so been, he would most likely have begun his story on the basis of known facts and worked forward, rather than backwards. But had he done so, he would have had to have worked from a starting point based upon his Uncle Russ’s true biography, which he did not know.
In fact, his Uncle Russ had indeed spent a minor portion of his wild youth “cutting up” with certain black-leather-jacket types, but this period, which occurred during his junior year in high school, was comparatively brief, and unknown to many of his friends, though quite well known to Mrs. Gale, who used her own logical processes to extrapolate forwards.
Of such inconsistencies are misunderstandings continually born, and then perpetuated.
Mrs. Gale was thereupon determined to make seemingly casual but extremely careful and tactful inquiries during the first available opportunity. Penrod’s punishment, should any punishment at all actually be warranted, could wait until the “truth, crushed to earth,” should “rise again.”
Penrod returned to his sixth period class and, having taken advantage of the opportunity to take an authorized nap while the rest of the young scholars wrestled with their dull cares, was surprisingly attentive and diligent during, respectively, Math, English, and Music classes, during none of which were he and Mrs. Gale compelled to share the same classroom.
The children of the school had heard of Penrod’s shocking contretemps, though they
knew not what exactly it was Penrod had been doing to attract Mrs. Gale’s attention in
the first place. Nor did Penrod feel it advisable to tell them. Even Cad, ostensibly his best friend, was put off with the vague rejoinder that “it would all come out—someday,” and Penrod could not be prevailed upon, despite coaxing, cajoling, and appeals to their long years of friendship, to divulge a single word more regarding the matter. Cad imagined, not unreasonably, that Penrod had done some mighty fancy talking to get himself out of his fix, and he wondered when the day would come when Penrod would be willing to impart the secret of his success so that he, in particular, might share in his hidden wisdom. Like any acolyte consulting a guru, he was fearful that a long investment of time might come a cropper, and he (quite sensibly) desired immediate enlightenment. Penrod, for his part, like any guru advising an acolyte, was content to counsel patience in the matter of disclosure of certain occult secrets known only to ascended masters and divulged solely to such of their disciples as were deemed most worthy.
When Penrod returned home, he discovered with a shock that his Aunt Ida was no longer there. When asked the reason, his older sister Pearl told him that Uncle Russ had come and gotten her, and that they were going away to a cottage on the lake and would likely be incommunicado for at least a week. Upon hearing this, Penrod, like a financially straightened man who has successfully talked his way out of a costly traffic ticket, exulted, in his innermost heart of hearts. The outcome was better than he could have possibly hoped. He had gotten away scot-free!
After school had let out, Mrs. Gale lost no time in hurrying to her home and dialing the telephone number of the Andromalius residence so she could determine to exactly what degree, if any, her former pupil Russ Runyon was lost in the glassy-eyed toils of abject narcotics addiction.
However, Mrs. Andromalius picked up the family phone, and forthwith answered her
subtle yet pertinent queries in a way not entirely consistent with utter candor, or so Mrs. Gale was led to believe.
“This is Penrod’s teacher, Mrs. Gale. I’m calling because I hear that dear Ida Hepburn is in town,” was how she began.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Andromalius.
“I was wondering if I might have a word with her. We haven’t spoken in years.”
“She’s not available,” said Mrs. Andromalius.
“Has she gone back home already?”
Mrs. Andromalius, knowing well what a gossip Mrs. Gale could be, elected to divulge as little information as was consistent with impeccable politeness. “She’s gone away for a little while on a trip, and I couldn’t say when she’ll be back, exactly.”
“How is Russ?”
“Oh-h, he’s fine,” said Mrs. Andromalius.
“Still coaching over at the High School?”
“Oh-h, he’s taken a sort of a leave of absence.”
“Well, then,” said Mrs. Gale, “I’ll not bother you. Say hello to Pearl for me. And
Penrod.”
“I certainly will, Mrs. Gale,” said Mrs. Andromalius. “And the next time I hear from
them, I’ll tell Russ and Ida that you rang.”
“Thank you so much. Please do! Bye now!”
Mrs. Gale softly hung up the phone and pondered the peculiar behavior of Mrs.
Andromalius. It seemed extremely bizarre that she should be so curt with one of her son’s teachers. Mrs. Gale recalled Mrs. Andromalius back when she was a rather gloomy girl with long black hair named Beverly Detweiler. “The Swiss,” thought Mrs. Gale, with high WASP hauteur, “They all act as though everything on earth needs to be kept a deep dark secret.” Faced by the wall of recalcitrant silence (as she imagined it) erected by the Andromalius clan, Mrs. Gale was thereafter confirmed in her determination to attempt to pump as much information out of the paterfamilias as she possibly could. But, having instructed incorrigible schoolchildren for the better part of thirty-five years, she had long been schooled in the ways of patience. She would bide her time.
A week later, a phone call to the Andromalius residence provided somewhat more
satisfactory results. Mrs. Gale timed the call for when she suspected the family would be seated around the dining room table finishing their dinner. As it happened, she selected the moment with perfect celerity. This time, Mr. Andromalius answered the nearby kitchen wall phone.
Mrs. Gale well remembered Penrod’s father as a troublesome and somewhat disruptive youth who immediately responded well to her stern discipline, and she was somewhat kindly disposed to him. He, however, did not recall his own misbehavior and remembered her only as a holy terror. So he was circumspect.
On picking up the phone, Mr. Andromalius asked, “Hello?”
“May I speak with Bradford Andromalius?”
“Speaking.” He immediately knew who she was. Only his mother, and Mrs. Gale, had
ever called him by his full name, and his mother had given up the practice nearly twenty years ago.
“This is Mrs. Gale.”
“Why, hello,” he said, with a faint tone of puzzlement in his voice.
“I’m calling to see how your sister Ida’s doing.”
“Why, I guess she’s fine,” said Mr. Andromalius. “She still isn’t back from her vacation yet.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Gale. “I was wondering about that. I’d heard that Russ had taken a leave of absence from his coaching position. Nothing serious, I hope?”
“No, they just decided to take a bit of a vacation.”
Mrs. Andromalius noticed that her husband was talking on the phone and gestured to
him, in the way of wives the world round. Having caught his attention, she mouthed the words, “Who is it?” He imperfectly covered the bottom speaker of the phone hook and hoarsely whispered, “Mrs. Gale.” (This action was not lost on the keen-eared old
pedagogue.) Mrs. Andromalius put her finger to her open lips and half-whispered and
half mouthed the words, “Don’t tell her anything.”
Mr. Andromalius got the message soft and clear. “Well, Mrs. Gale, I’ll certainly let them know you’ve been asking about them.” Stuck for further information to impart, he unwisely added, “When they get back.”
This provided Mrs. Gale with the opening she had hoped for. “And when will that be?”
“I can’t say for certain,” he replied, although he knew full well they were due back on the following day. Mrs. Gale, who was a canny and long-practiced student of human nature, implacably caught the note of deceptiveness and said, “Would you please tell them I’ve been trying to reach them?”
Mr. Andromalius said, “I certainly will.”
“Shall, Bradford,” she said, correcting him. “You mean to say ‘I certainly shall.’”
“Oh, right,” he replied, with a sort of strangled chuckle.
Mrs. Gale concluded her call by saying, in a kindly fashion, “Please do tell them I’ve
been trying to get in touch with them. Bye-bye now.”
After Mr. Andromalius hung up the phone, his wife immediately asked, “What did SHE
want?”
“Oh, just asking after Ida and Russ,” said her husband, affably
“It didn’t have anything to do with Penrod, did it?” said his wife, somewhat tactlessly,
since Penrod was seated right there at the dinner table, making a gravy volcano with his mashed potatoes, which he had, as was his long time habit, saved “for last.”
“Not as far as I can tell.”
“Did she even say she was sorry for interrupting our dinner?”
“I didn’t mention it,” said Mr. Andromalius, still serene.
“Well, she’s been calling us off the hook this whole week,” said Mrs. Andromalius. Mrs. Gale had, of course, done no such thing; in fact, she had only called the Andromalius home on one previous occasion, but Mrs. Andromalius was exasperated by what she saw as the gossipy old teacher’s persistence. It is a somewhat obscure fact that adults, like children, have a tendency to signal such exasperation by volubly exaggerating the inconveniences that they are forced to endure; however, Penrod wasn’t aware of this salient fact, and began to feel uneasy. In fact, he suddenly lost his appetite, but, rather then to signal his discomfort and give the game away, or so he thought, he began to rapidly shovel his remaining mashed potatoes into his mouth so he could escape the table and go to his room to mull over putative contingency options.
“My goodness,” said Mrs. Andromalius, turning to Penrod. “Penny, don’t eat so fast! You act like someone’s going to take your food away from you!”
Penrod didn’t reply, but he slowed his frantic eating pace to approximate that of a more normal child.
“Penrod,” said his father, “What do you make of this?”
“What,” said Penrod, though a mouthful of potatoes.
“These calls that Mrs. Gale has been making.”
“I dunno,” he mumbled through the starch.
“You haven’t told her anything, have you? About Aunt Ida?”
Penrod was on the spot, but fortunately, his older sister Pearl inadvertently came to his rescue. “It might have been me,” she said, dabbing her napkin daintily at her lips. “I ran
into Mrs. Gale about a week ago at the dry cleaner’s and she asked about Aunt Ida. I
didn’t want to say anything, so I basically told her that she had paid us a visit on her way to take a vacation by the lake.”
“You didn’t tell her anything else?” said Mrs. Andromalius.
“Oh, no, I’m—well, I did say that, um, Uncle Russ came by to pick her up.”
“But you didn’t mention about the, you-know…??”
“Oh, no!” said Pearl. “That’s none of her business!”
“That’s not anybody’s business,” said Mr. Andromalius, getting up from the table.
“Outside of the family,” he added, a trifle more decisively.
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Andromalius.
“That woman,” said Mr. Andromalius. “She—“
“Ut,” said Mrs. Andromalius. “Braad,” she added, with a slight upward inflection. .
“Little pitchers.”
Though Penrod didn’t know the remainder of the old saw, “…have big ears,” he did
know the significance of the phrase. It meant that the discussion was to be concluded
outside of his hearing.
“Can I go up to my room now,” said Penrod.
“What’s the rush,” said his father. “There’s ice cream for dessert.”
“Can I have it later?” said Penrod. Then added, “What flavor?”
“Chocolate. And yes,” said Mr. Andromalius. “If there’s any left.”
“Braad,” said Mrs. Andromalius, “Don’t tease him. There’s a whole half-gallon, honey,” said his mother, turning to Penrod. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty left.”
*1 SALUTATION
A-HA
TAKE ON ME (LIVE FROM MTV UNPLUGGED)
MANHATTAN SKYLINE
https://youtu.be/05kwkOo8yXw
I WISH I CARED
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_xW__y2ijk&list=PLoERbxXMyKwaEpc_IT5YCM2YADp9ItSa2&index=9
2*REFERENCESQUEE
tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Squee
3*HUMORAPPLEBEE’S TWERKING COWBOYAdvertising junk food for junk people.https://youtu.be/ansn-aasYds
4*NOVELTY
THE ZINNIAS
LEECHES
https://youtu.be/npd93QDP4fE
5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
ALTERED STATES TRAILER
6* DAILY UTILITY
JESUS TATTOOS
www.tattoodo.com/articles/10-funny-silly-ridiculous-jesus-tattoos-4965ALSO SEE:THE ULTIMATE JESUS TATTOOFLANNERY O’CONNORPARKER’S BACK
https://jpcatholic.edu/NCUpdf/courses/HUMA122-ParkersBack.pdf*7 CARTOON
ROBERT CRUMB
MEATBALL
https://marswillsendnomore.wordpress.com/2013/06/12/robert-crumbs-meatball/
SINGING MEATBALLS
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_LX4yZjSoA
8*PRESCRIPTION
TOUMANI & SIDIKI DIABATE
TOUMANI & SIDIKI
https://youtu.be/qPsvNN2iIrQ
ALSO SEE:
Youssou N’Dour et Super Etoile de Dakar
https://youtu.be/sSc3P-0c7GI
9* RUMOR PATROL
SMITH VS. ROCK
Maybe the whole thing was all a game of paper rock scissors that got just a little out of hand.
SEE:CHRIS ROCK ON FREEDOM OF SPEECH
While we’re on the topic, Jada Pinkett Smith looks like a Bond Villain. Or One-Punch Man.My question is,
instead of slapping Chris Rock, why didn’t Will Smith use the opportunity to start blubbering and shrieking to the crowd to stop laughing because that ain’t funny?
And where are the Fresh Prince punches for Sarah Silverman?
Bill Clinton once threatened to go socko on William Safire, who criticized his wife.
www.tampabay.com/archive/1996/01/20/safire-s-blitz-on-first-lady-draws-defenders-critics/
Buddy Hackett once went nuts on a DJ:https://books.google.com/books?id=EXoxjnFwpuoC&pg=PA303&lpg=PA303&dq=%22THE+LAST+LAUGH%22+%22tOLD+YOU+NOT+TO+DO+IT%22&source=bl&ots=CyfGiRWGZa&sig=ACfU3U0JpmGqgFtLXhFLKR6P-znPys9aGA&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj4w57lqOn2AhVBYjUKHQhtC9kQ6AF6BAgCEAM#v=onepage&q=%22THE%20LAST%20LAUGH%22%20%22tOLD%20YOU%20NOT%20TO%20DO%20IT%22&f=false
The whole Oscar controversy reminds me of the Jackson-Sevier incident:
books.google.com/books?id=YXwEAAAAYAAJ&pg=PA223&lpg=PA223&dq=:how+dare+you+mention+HER+sacred+name%22+andrew+jackson&source=bl&ots=NJeaMs20cM&sig=ACfU3U00c8Hges4zqMg_MSsBIzZ6h_klEg&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjfkumSgOn2AhUfgXIEHcQfC58Q6AF6BAguEAM#v=onepage&q=%3Ahow%20dare%20you%20mention%20HER%20sacred%20name%22%20andrew%20jackson&f=falseALSO SEE:AYANNA PRESSLEY
Chris Rock is a force for good in the community. Will Smith is just smug.
And…the cognoscenti weigh in:
www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-reviews/will-smith-chris-rock-slap-jada-pinkett-oscars-1235121662/
www.npr.org/2022/03/29/1089364082/chris-rock-will-smith-and-the-long-history-of-black-hair-in-america
www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2022/mar/29/white-outrage-about-will-smiths-slap-is-rooted-in-anti-blackness-its-inequality-in-plain-sight
10*LAGNIAPPE
ABDULLAH IBRAHIM
ANCIENT AFRICAhttps://youtu.be/3yl0Y7Axa-k
BOMBELLAhttps://youtu.be/Mo1R2eRSRNE
THE CALLhttps://youtu.be/VY2AgLzs1lY
TINTINYANAhttps://youtu.be/kAEXC-inxhE
DUKE 88https://youtu.be/vvEgNiOY18k
STAR CROSSED LOVERShttps://youtu.be/1hJhq0GqPfE
Archie Shepp – Dollar Brand / Theme from “Proof of the Man”https://youtu.be/rt6HQT95OhM
LITTLE BOYhttps://youtu.be/qR2OxqozICM
REFLECTIONShttps://youtu.be/qbdv7idfV3U
WHICH WAYhttps://youtu.be/YPh6ssHkUE0
11*DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
LOUIS MENAND
THE FREE WORLD
The book is jam-packed with detail about the cultural climate of the first half of the Cold War. It tends to at least partially refute the theory that the CIA was behind everything, which was posited in the Wilford’s Harvard University Press book The Mighty Wurlitzer.
www.amazon.com/Mighty-Wurlitzer-How-Played-America/dp/067403256X
You know–that is, the idea that the abstract expressionist movement must have been some kind of CIA plot to make the American avant-garde look attractive to the rest of the world (when in fact, AE more or less originated in Europe).
If you are interested in that period of the CIA, I would recommend Talbot’s The Devil’s Chessboard: Allen Dulles, the CIA, and the Rise of America’s Secret Government.
www.amazon.com/dp/0062276174/?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_w=F1J1R&pf_rd_p=9aa30bae-d685-4626-879d-c38f81e830a3&pf_rd_r=E5R5MDQMGC9QN6C569CT&pd_rd_r=079bd46e-85b3-457b-81e6-1e4c06e7715c&pd_rd_wg=1u7g1&ref_=bd_tags_dp_rec
The idiosyncrasies, I found, were among the best parts of Menand’s extremely well-written book. If you are even remotely interested in the culture of the Cold War, it is a tome worthy of your time and attention. As per my thesis, the early Cold War period is an American History specialty of mine, and I found it compelling. There was a reference in the book to LOOKING FOR THE GOOD WAR, which follows the same topic, but does not range as widely, mostly concerning itself with the period immediately after the Second World War. That, too, is well worth reading.
I gave it 4 1/2 stars. (Nothing but a stone-cold classic ever gets five.)
The book has its flaws; critics have faulted it for both its prolixity and its omissions. But many of his conclusions are stimulating, and the book provides a salutary intellectual workout.
I still haven’t tackled (though I’ve been meaning to) the somewhat less-heralded book and more weighty and inclusive tome The Modern Mind, by Peter Watson.
www.amazon.com/Modern-Mind-Intellectual-History-Century/dp/0060084383/ref=asc_df_0060084383/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=312064598816&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=3576861829247090382&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9002142&hvtargid=pla-488781172744&psc=1
*11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWEDTHE ADVENTUROUS DECADE. GOULART. ***1/2
ALBERTO BRECCHIA’S DRACULA. ****
AMAZING SPIDER-MAN BEYOND. V. 1. ****
BATMAN/SUPERMAN: THE ARCHIVE OF WORLDS. ***1/2
BILLIONAIRES: THE LIVES OF THE RICH & POWERFUL. CUNNINGHAM. ****
CATWOMAN: SOULSTEALER. MAAS. ***1/2
COLD WAR CORRESPONDENT. HALE. ****1/2
DEAD MAN LOGAN. ****
DISCIPLINE. SHAW. ****1/2
GREEN ARROW/BLACK CANARY. TILL DEATH DO THEY PART. ***1/2
HELLBLAZER: RISE AND FALL. ****
THE IMMORTAL HULK: GREAT POWER. ****
IN THE SHADOW OF THE FALLEN TOWERS. BROWN. ****
IRON MAN: BOOKS OF KORVAK II. ****
JLA: THE TOWER OF BABEL. ****
A LIFE TURNED UPSIDE-DOWN. KIKUCHI. ****
LOOKING FOR THE GOOD WAR. SAMET. ****
MILES MORALES: ALL EYES ON ME. ***1/2
MISTER MIRACLE: THE GREAT ESCAPE. ***1/2
THE NINETIES. KLOSTERMAN. ****
NO ONE ELSE. JOHNSON. ****1/2
OTHER LIVES. BAGGE. ****
PERIL. WOODWARD & COSTA. ****
RESISTANCE. MCDEMID & BRIGGS. ***1/2
SAVE IT FOR LATER. POWELL. ****
STUPID THINGS I WON’T DO WHEN I GET OLDER. PETROW. ***
WHAT IT TOOK TO WIN. KAZIN. ****
12* CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE
CATS
Kurwenal the wonder dog died late in 1937. “I am not afraid of dying,” he barked out on his deathbed. “Dogs have souls and they are like the souls of men.”
strangeco.blogspot.com/2017/02/the-most-amazing-dog.html?_sm_au_=iVVN01nRwZ1wT0MR803WKK6HVL2M2
As far as I know, the clever dachshund gave no indication as to the souls of cats.
I don’t really hate cats. Per se. I just can’t gin up much enthusiasm for the aloof creatures. At one time I actually owned a cat. It was when I was about twelve, I believe. An old woman on the south side of Pittsburgh gave the beast (I never did determine its sex) to my mother. I spent an inordinate time excavating wax out of its ears, which, apparently, had never been cleaned. My mother, observing my gentle treatment of the cat (which I don’t think I even named) observed that I would make a good veterinarian, which is what put that notion into my head. When I told my father, on one of his weekly visits (he was always late–I would sit on the sidewalk and count the cars passing by on both sides of the street until his arrival) of this aspiration, he said, “You don’t want to be a vet, and get bitten by dogs. Be a doctor, instead.” But I had no interest in treating human beings. I was an animal boy. Practically feral myself.
The upshot was that the projects prohibited dogs and cats, and we had to give the cat back to the old lady. At least it was in better condition than when she gave it to us. Besides, we couldn’t afford to buy cat food, which you couldn’t purchase via food stamps. I tried to feed the brute some canned spinach, but it wouldn’t go near it.
There were, around the time of the first world war, editorials in the newspapers calling for the extermination of all cats. This is no joke. There were actually people who self-identified as cat-haters.
There still are.
Those who hate the cat hate him with a malignity which, I think, only snakes in the animal kingdom provoke to an equal degree.–Joseph StrombergWhen I was about the age of 12, I read two books which influenced me.ORDEAL OF THE ANIMALS
Kind of animal abuse porn. Allegedly still the only book on the topic. (?!)
(Not so.) https://www.worldcat.org/search?q=su%3AAnimal+welfare.&qt=hot_subject
PETISHISM
I love the cover of the U.S. edition. The second book was far more influential on my thinking than the first, which was basically a string of atrocity stories. I have previously mentioned Jack London’s novel in which he goes into great, and sometimes nauseating detail about the abuse of circus animals. The sad details start at chapter XXIV.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1730/1730-h/1730-h.htm
Because of Petishism, I have always been somewhat averse to people who mouth platitudes such as “fur baby” and “forever home”. Such soppy sentimentality–antithetical to true fellow-feeling–has a tendency to leach into other areas. Such as Shaw’s/Star Market advising people to join their ranks and start their “forever career.”
dimenno 