Friday, June 26, 2015

Friday Hound Blogging

Frequent reader(s) of this blog know that the dawn of a new day is but a temporary respite from the growing shadows of disappointment that announce the long night of despair...erm...we.mean know that we have frequently used our pixels to point out the overlords' attempts to defend the heartless commodification of innocent living creatures for (no) profit often border on the delusional and occasionally descend into outright fantasy. We're not sure if this is due to some genetic anomaly that causes them to appear to be normal humans and yet have an emotional life more akin to tarantulas, or if they are the result of some sort of shortcoming in their upbringing---perhaps a vitamin deficiency, or lack of proper prenatal medical care. Of course there is always the possibility of alien abduction and during the experiments the part of their brain that gives them sympathy, empathy and compassion was cauterized. We're just spit balling here.

Whatever. This week we thought as a public service to our overlord friends out there--at least the ones who can read--we would reduce the whole complicated, multifaceted, layered issue of exploiting living, breathing, sentient creatures for monetary enrichment (or more realistically the fantasy of monetary enrichment) down to its bedrock core. We will strip away all of the rationalizations, explanations, justifications, and apologia and focus in on the one element that cuts across all aspects and the one idea that binds each overlord to his and her fellows like dog poop binds to your sneaker.

We speak, of course, of money. Bones, bread, dead presidents, green backs, lettuce, sawbucks, scratch, that long green with a short future. Yes ladies and gentleman, no matter what particular brand of delusional lip flapping an overlord employs to obfuscate and delay the inevitable tide of reality there is one thing they are as clear eyed about as Thea after a visit to the optometrist and that is money.  You have it. They want it, even if it is two bucks at a time, and their hope is that they can ride the backs of hapless greyhounds all the way to the bank.

And, with that as our introduction, we present to you exhibit A (click to embiggify):

Now, you don't have to be Kurt Gödel to realize that when the line of a graph drops down to the right faster than Bristol Palin drops her drawers that is not a good thing, especially if you are an overlord, and especially if that line is a graphical representation of your financial future. So, to sum up, let's draw our inspiration from that legendary logician, Aristotle who might put it this way:

Overlords race greyhounds to make money
There is no money to be made in racing greyhounds
Overlords need to find another line of work

OK, those of you with souls are probably thinking "Well, that's pretty clear to us. Thanks for pointing that out Ironicus. Can we contribute to a fund somewhere to help overlords buy a subscription to the newspaper so they can get the want ads?"

We appreciate your astute analysis of our evidence, and you are quite welcome, but there is still one obstacle to overcome. You see, while even the overlords can't escape the reality of the approaching economic demise of their cruel and abusive industry, in each of their fevered imaginations they still cling to the chimera that as the money pot dries up they can find a way to cut out their fellow overlords and secure the lion's share for themselves. Hence as long as there is one rube somewhere with at least two bucks, every overlord within earshot is going to think that two bucks belongs to him, or her. The upshot of all this is that the industry will begin to eat itself and that's good news, but the bad news is that as overlords crawl over each other grasping for that last big score, those helpless greyhounds trapped in their death camps will become less and less of a concern. 

We wish we could find a joke in there to lighten the moment, but we can't. All we can say is we're glad you got out when you did Sandman.

I am a very friendly boy. I have been my foster’s shadow. I am active in the morning but then I basically just follow along and do what the other dogs do. I am not hyper. I am very laid back. I absolutely love attention. I don’t mind being in my crate. I am housebroken. I love to play with my squeaky toys. I can go up and down a couple of stairs but have not had the chance to try more than that. I get along great with other dogs. I absolutely love everyone one I meet. For more information about this dog, and other rescued racing greyhounds looking for homes, go here. If you don't know about the plight of racing greyhounds go here and here.

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