Big Ugly Man Doll

I’ll confess it:  I’m a cat person.  I’ve had a cat or two around for most of my life.  I don’t like dogs.  I’m not afraid of them, I don’t hate or loathe them, I just don’t like them.  Not my cuppa tea.  Partly this is because of the differences in the uncertainty factor in dealing with the different animals:  You’re alone with a strange dog or cat.  Will the animal bite you if you come near it?  With a dog, you just never know.  They can be very friendly, then snap, or not, or they can be positively unfriendly, then turn out to be big soft teddy bears, or not.  You just never know.

The cat, on the other hand, will bite you.  You always know where you stand with a cat. 

So, “who let the dogs out?”  I don’t care.  The guy I want hunted down and shot is the guy who let the dogs record a Christmas album.  Sing it with me now: 

Arf arf arf, arf arf arf, arf arf arf arf arf.
Arf arf arf, arf arf arf, arf arf arf arf arf!

I’m cringing just reading that.  See, cats don’t do that.  You won’t see 8 cats pulling a sled in the Yukon, and you’re not likely to hear them covering Meowmallow World in the Winter, either.   This countdown of holiday songs that suck would be incomplete without those damn dogs, barking up the wrong Christmas tree and pissing on your presents.  Sure, it’s cute.  It was a neat idea, the first time – but I’d rather raw dog a rottweiler than sit through that on the radio again.

But go on.  You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?

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