Monday Morning Ghost Dog Poop

Well, that title alone oughta boost my searchstring keyword stats into truly Wegian levels of disgustingness. Yay!
So, what have I been reading about this morning?

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A closer look at rightwing bully culture, from whytwolf in diary rescue at dKos.

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Speaking of Der Wege: Norwegianity on the Golden Era of Profitability.

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See? I told you it was a good movie:  The HBO film The Girl In the Cafe draws attention to the problem of world hunger and, more importantly, how easily we in the wealthy, overfed First World could eliminate it if we ever chose to make it a priority.
Sunday night The Girl In the Cafe collected three well-deserved Emmys:  Richard Curtis for the screenplay,  Kelly MacDonald for best supporting actress in a miniseries, and the film itself was named Best Made-for TV Movie.

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REW documents the Friday night atrocities, to which I can only add my fervently held opinion that all cigar smokers should be strung up by their smug, microscopic-size testicles.

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Last night I dreamed about what has been a typical morning here at Tildebunkport for the past year or so:

In my dream, the alarm went off as usual at 5:15.   I was the first one up, as usual.  I came downstairs to be greeted by my beautiful old (13 1/2  to be exact) dog, who as usual stood in the front hallway grinning and wagging his feathered fluffy samoyed tail and oblivious to the turds plopping out onto the carpet behind him.

Ahh, good times.
It’s been a little over two weeks now that our beloved old canine curmudgeon has been gone, but I’m still hearing his ghost bark, and dreaming of ghost dog poop.

And how’s your Monday morning?

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