OK, so the Oscar nominations were announced this morning. Some actors carve a nice little specialized niche for themselves. Missy, my loyal hound, has a particular acting ability called begging. This is Missy in "..give me a treat..." position: dutifully sitting quietly and alert, ever hopeful. Then, slipping into a kind of broken right foot, pathetic look, with less patience and hope. Desperation sets in. Lord. Brando never emoted like this flea-bag. She is an embarrassment to the long line of canine species.
Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless. Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001. It was one of those things that can generate crime: two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job. Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things. Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold. But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find. His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead. He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds. He will be paralyzed for life. None of this is pleasant. Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant
Missy Marie is adorable. You want an annoying flea-bag? You can have Bishop!!!
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