The Velvet Penguin

Those who crave movies revolving around epic ring combat need look no further than these two films.  But which one truly has what it takes?  Let’s find out.  I will rate each movie based on Title, Sidekicks, Protagonists, Villains, Flashback Sequence, and overall message.  Who will come out on top?

 

#1 Title

As the title suggest, Pokemon:  The First Movie is the first Pokemon movie.  Now, one can’t help but notice the overall title and wonder one thing.  Is this just another prequel movie which will include everything, but resolve nothing?  Will we be forced to watch incarnation after incarnation of a franchise slowly coming to the realization that we are going to get nowhere?  The answer is “yes” and the creators of this franchise were brazen enough to promote that!

Bloodsport, in contrast, has no suggestion that we are going to have to wait for a grand finale.  This is a sport in which blood is involved and blood usually means death and in the world of combat movies death equals results.  There is no “#1” or subtitle “the beginning” which means everything we will need to know will be compacted into the hour and half we are about to take part in.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

#2 Sidekicks

Pokemon’s star trainer Ash Ketchum has a supply of sidekicks unlike any other leading man.  Of course, no sidekick of Ash’s is quite as famous as that little yellow blob, Pikachu.  A cross between a rat and a dog, this little fella more than makes up for his wussy cuteness with about 20 thousand volts of electricity surging through his body at all times.  And, as it is with all animal sidekicks, Pikachu’s doe-y eyes and never-give-up moxie make him a character who is hard to outshine.

Bloodsport’s Frank Dux looks to wisecracking behemoth, Ray Jackson, for his support.  Unlike Pikachu, Jackson is far from humble, is horribly unpleasant to look at, and is not there when Dux needs him most.  All of these things are major no-no’s in a good side-kick. 

 

Verdict:  POKEMON:  THE FIRST MOVIE

 

#3 Protagonists

 

As was suggested from the previous comparison, Ketchum without his numerous sidekicks is kind of lame.  He is just another whiny dork who needs the lash of his bulbasaur or the jet stream of his squirtle to move any further in his plight.  In the end, Mewtwo’s complete triumph over Ketchum proves irrefutably that Ketchum is just a little wuss who, when not backed up by a fire breathing dragon, cries for his pokemom.

Dux on the other hand is a no-nonsense ass-kicker who relies only on his wit and quick thinking to personally deliver fists of justice to all his rivals, sans poke-balls.  He’s way cooler with the ladies, has a non-pre-pubescent voice, and doesn’t rely on other when he’s in a jam.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

#4 Villains

Both Pokemon’s Mewtwo and Bloodsport’s Chong Li are bad dudes.  One is a genetically engineered Pokemon capable of destroying man or beast with a single thought.  The other is a power mad Korean who can destroy blocks of ice hanging from trees with a single kick and has pectoral muscles bigger than most people’s whole body.  While Mewtwo must be admired for his love of rational thought and reasoning, Chong Li must be admired for his complete disregard for the rules or human life.  As villains they are polar opposites in the way they handle things, yet are both serious baddies.  That being said, it can not be ignored that Chong Li is bested by force rather than his own feelings.  A bad guy who has a conscience is just a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

#5 Flashback Sequence

Dux’s blind ambition and awful characterization as a boy makes it difficult to buy the Bloodsport flashback’s reasoning behind Dux’s desire to fight in the Kumite.  Though the scene in which Dux tells his Shidoshi, Tanaka, he was taught to “keep and open mind” is worthy of a Best Actor Oscar, the flashback’s overall impact falls a little short.

Mewtwo, in contrast, is blessed with an entire featurette which deals with his origins.  Painted successfully as a victim of the system and trapped in a world he never wanted to be a part of, Mewtwo rises to the current state of affairs with a rich sense of character development and purpose.

 

Verdict:  POKEMON:  THE FIRST MOVIE

 

#6 Overall Message

The final category comes down to answering the question: Who said it better?  Both movies seem to have a message that says “if you believe in yourself you can achieve anything.”  That being said, the fact is, at the end of the day, Frank Dux is Kumite champion and has successfully banged a hot reporter chick while Ash Ketchum is left crying with Pikachu while Mewtwo escapes to the island of endless sequels.  So, though both have the same message, I think we can all agree that only one of these movies actually proves that this message can be accomplished.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

 

WINNER:  BLOODSPORT

Once again, Van Damme’s action packed martial arts extravaganza proves it’s worth against a worthy opponent.

Dude-

 

Yesterday was totally St. Patrick’s Day!  Why didn’t you tell me?!?  We spent the whole day drinking beer and going around town getting into fistfights instead of celebrating St. Patty’s Day the way it was meant to be celebrated.  The sad thing is, I think you knew it was St. Patty’s Day and just kept it from me for your own selfish reasons.

I was going to wait until after the next Oktoberfest (which by the way, we also missed the last one thanks to binge drinking) to tell you this, but dude, I think you have a serious drinking problem.  Having a cocktail from time to time is cool, but lately I get the feeling that you’re drinking your life away man.  And, what’s worse, you’re dragging me down with you.  St. Patrick’s Day is about hunting for a leprechaun’s pot of gold or getting together with friends to enjoy a hearty meal of corned beef and cabbage.  Oktoberfest is about dancing with buxom frauleins and wearing lederhosen.  But you wouldn’t know that because you are always drunk.

Hey man, listen; I’m no saint, I know.  But I blame all of my drinking entirely on you.  Take yesterday for example.  We should have been dancing a jig somewhere.  We should have been singing “Danny Boy.”  But what did we do?  Well, it started when you came over to my house with a twelve-pack of Killian’s and told me it was for “later” but then proceeded to say “I don’t think that’s a good idea” when I tried to drink one right away.  Besides clearly challenging me to drink that beer, you then sat callously by knowing I would drink all twelve beers and get sufficiently wasted.  Then, the next thing I know, we’re at a soccer game.  This would have been fine had you not allowed me to start a riot for a reason that is still unclear to me.  You see what I’m saying?  None of this is my fault dude.  You’re an enabler.

And let’s be honest, the rest of the day was no picnic either.  After you paid my bail (which I appreciate, by the way) you immediately let me go to the pub because I said today was “a day made for getting wasted.”  What the hell, dude?  St. Patrick drove all those snakes out of Ireland so we could go to O’Malley’s and you could watch me drink three bottles of Clontarf in an hour?  Shame on you!  I would think St. Patrick is rolling over in his grave knowing we were honoring his memory by you letting me beat the shit out of some poor British guys just because I hated their orange clothing.  Then, topping it all off, you let me jump right into the river, which was so filthy I woke up covered in green sludge this morning.    

Seriously, dude, WTF?  Aren’t you a Catholic?  Shouldn’t you be practicing temperance and helping people instead of forcing me to go get totally annihilated with you on a sacred holiday?  Well, I’m here to tell you, I’m not down for your shenanigans anymore.  Every time we hang out I wind up getting bailed out of jail by you, being taken to the hospital by you, or being dragged away from some woman who claims: “I’m the father” by you.  Well, I’m done with you, dude.  Finito until you can admit you have a drinking problem and go and get some help.  I can’t hold you up anymore.

Sorry, dude.  Tough love.  Which, while I’m doling it out, that green hat with the leaf you wore yesterday?  Totally inappropriate.

 

March 09, 2009

by Osed Spiff

 

Villagers in the small Transylvanian town of Sighisoara are furious this week, as local vampires have all but tapped their local blood bank.

The Transylvania town, well known for it’s night-feeding nosferatus had, of late, established a peaceful coexistence between villagers and das wamypr.  “They would only take what they needed and associate with those who invited them into the house,” says villager, Klaus von Stauterburg.  “The way we figured it was, if people were stupid enough to keep company with those that have the means to take away their livelihood, that’s their funeral.”

But what Sighisoara hadn’t prepared for was the droves of villagers looking to cash in on the opulent lifestyle of the vampire.  “The all night parties, the cavernous mansions, the fancy clothes, the beautiful women.  Before we knew it, half the town was vampires,” laments von Stauterburg.

The remaining villagers, fearing that the lack of remaining blood sources would destroy what remained of their town entirely, went to the Mayor who quickly decided the best thing to do would be for every remaining villager to donate their own blood to the local blood bank.  “We hoped this would satisfy the vampires basic needs and restore some balance to the community,” said the Mayor.

“But that’s when the real trouble started,” says Trista Vanderhorn.  “We gave the vampires our blood in good faith and they just sucked it dry.  The blood was quickly devoured without so much as a thought as to where it had come from.  We bailed them out and they acted like, well, vampires.”

When asked about their complete disregard for the public Head Vampire, Alin Iancu Gavrilescu, claimed “Listen, I had promised a lot of blood to a lot of people and you try telling a room full of vampires to drink responsibly when the glass is full and the getting’s good.”

This brazen display of apathy has ignited the local torches and pulled dusty pitchforks out of retirement.  Everywhere across Sighisoara villagers are whittling away logs and making awful, awful puns about “stake dinners.”

“We should have known better,” says von Stauterberg rubbing garlic all over his body.  “Once a vampire gets a taste for blood, they’ve got to have more and more.  They’re never satisfied.”  

In what seemed like an inevitable turn of events due to the recent housing crisis, Uncle Pennybags, America’s favorite entrepeneur has announced that he has been forced to drastically reduce the cost of living at his various housing developments. 

Familiar to some as “the Monopoly Guy,” Pennybags is well known for owning a vast array of properties that includes spots at the posh Boardwalk resort as well as lower-income housing on Baltic Ave.  For years America has been delighted by Pennybags’ antics and miserly moneymaking schemes.  “I remember this one time,” says previous Boardwalk owner, Carl Perth, “he purposely went to jail so he wouldn’t have to pay rent on my property.  Then, before I knew it, I was paying two grand for a stay at his hotel in Marvin Gardens.  Old bastard cleaned me right out!”

But the days of bank errors in his favor and second place cash awards from Beauty contests have all but dried up for Pennybags.  “It used to be so simple,” says Pennybags.  “Back when I started this business it was easy.  Buy a property and charge anyone who happened upon it.  But now the feds are up my ass demanding I fill out gobs of paperwork that talk about adjustable-fixed rate mortgages and home equity loans.  What the hell is that?  I had enough trouble when I had to occasionally calculate the assessments for street repairs on every house and hotel I owned.”

But Pennybags’ troubles haven’t ended there.  In addition to a drastic reduction of tenants, Pennybags has also been hit with a wave of taxes.  “There used to be two taxes I had to worry about.  Income Tax and Property Tax,” claims Pennybags.  “But back then there were ways to get around those.  I could go, sometimes what seemed like forever, avoiding those taxes.  Now every other place I land has some sort of tax I’m required to pay.  Did you know it’s now 250 dollar parking?”

 In this crippled market fewer and fewer people are taking a chance and the community chest is almost empty. Among other personal tragedies, Pennybags has recently been forced to sell his trademark open top silver convertible.  “In retrospect, I might have brought this on myself,” says Pennybags.  “I couldn’t just be happy with the iron, the cannon, and the horseback rider.  I had to have more so I added the steamboat and began buying up properties in space and under the sea.  At the height of my empire I was brazen enough to identify myself with just a big bag of gold.  But look at me now.  I ride around in a thimble and my Scottie dog is long dead.”

   “I remember when I could get an easy 2500 bucks for a stay at Park Place,” laments Pennybags.  “Now I’m lucky if they’ll pay me 200 clams.  I’ve been forced to sell of two of my railroads as well as the Electric Company just to make ends meat.  I’ll tell you, this economy is really taking the fun out of a monopoly.”

Dear Drew Barrymore-

 

This is your longtime fan, first-time writer, Brandy the Cat.  I am writing because in checking the internet yesterday I realized there was no story about you.  At first, I panicked.  Then I got a hold of myself and said “Patience, Brandy, it will come.  It always comes.”  But imagine my surprise when yesterday became today and I had heard nothing.  Nothing on Yahoo.  Nothing on Google.  Nothing on YouTube or OMG.  I was so desperate I even watched The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson hoping you would pop up like a diamond in a big pile of crap.  But no, nothing!

So, I have to know.  Did we do something to offend you?  I mean, usually you go right for the media when you have a new boyfriend, when you want to comment about some recent celebrity feud, or when you bought a new swimsuit and want to give us some dieting tips.  To think that right now you are wearing some great new fashion or making some outrageous quip that you aren’t telling us about concerns me greatly.

Maybe you don’t know about me, but I’m pretty famous in my own way.  I’m the cat that will enslave all of humanity.  Well, enslave first.  Possibly murder next.  I haven’t decided yet.  Now I have to say that not hearing from you has left me most distracted and unable to work on my killing and enslaving machines.

So please, if someone did or said something to upset you, tell me and I will take care of them.  If someone told you that your cuteness routine is getting old and maybe you should just keep your trap shut for a change, let me know and bam, they’re gone!  If you heard some horrible rumor that starring in a movie with Jimmy Fallon and being a Charlie’s Angel does not give you the right to claim suddenly you are a director now, I assure you, it is completely untrue!

Please, Drew, I swear to God if I get my next issue of People magazine and you aren’t on the cover giving me tips on how to be happy I am just going to lose it.  Your daily commentary is the only think that fuels my murderous rage save for my stupid food supplier, his dummy girlfriend, and their mentally challenged roommate.  I’m afraid that if I don’t hear from you soon I might do something drastic like start paying attention to what Jennifer Aniston is saying on a daily basis and, God, I just can’t stand her.  I mean seriously, I get it.  You’re well adjusted and you’re friends with Brad.  I know!

We care about what you think and do, Drew.  I care.  Whatever that person said to make you think we don’t; don’t listen to them!  If you can do this for me I promise that when my reign is upon you and I enslave humanity, there will be a special place just for you.  No longer will you be forced to make classic films like Freddie Got Fingered and Never Been Kissed.  No, you will live in a cage by my throne and give me updates on what you do and think whenever I desire.  For all of the things you have done for me, it’s the least I can do for you.

 

Sincerely,

Brandy the Cat    

With all the hype for Hollywood’s most recent golden child, Slumdog Millionaire, I began to wonder if this film could be as great as everyone claimed it was.  After it cleaned up at the Oscars this year I decided I should march like a lemming to the movie theater and check it out for myself. 

Now, in a fashion true to, well myself, after having seen this piece of cinema history I feel it is only fair that I compare it to another great, if less well-known film, 1988’s Bloodsport starring Jean Claude Van Damme (JCVD). 

Below I compare each film based on the Oscars Slumdog was awarded.  Who will win?  Let’s find out!

 

#1  Sound Mixing

Using an endless supply of different sounds and songs, Slumdog sound mixers Ian Tapp, Richard Pryke, and Resul Pookutty (among others) wove together a soundscape that immersed our ears in the tragedy and triumph of the plight of the slumdog.  Who knew combining the sounds of an eyeball being scorched with a boy vomiting could be so heart wrenching?

Unfortunately, in this category, Bloodsport’s George Weiss had little to work with.  As much credit as I give him for the ability to successfully layer numerous punches and kicks, Bolo Yueng’s “You are next” line placed in a vacuum of sound made me realize just how much coaching this guy needed to say 3 words in English.

 

Verdict:  SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

 

#2 and #3  Score and Song

Since both of these films have songs that are very closely related to their scores, I have combined these two awards.

While Slumdog’s mixing is superb, there is no way they can cover up the Europopesque garbage that is A.R. Rahman’s “Jai Ho.”  After seeing an uplifting story such as Slumdog, the last thing I want to be reminded of is a sweaty Indian man wearing too many gold chains and reeking of Old Spice grinding up against some slut with only a thin layer of polyester and spandex separating them.

Bloodsport’s music combo Paul Hertzog (lyrics and music) and long time JCVD collaborator, Stan Bush (singer), do well to capture the essence of Frank Dux’s mind.  Unfortunately, while less painful on my ears, I am instead pained by the realization that, like every song in the movie, Frank Dux’s mind is kind of singularly focused.

 

Verdict:  TIE

 

#4  Cinematography

Anthony Dod Martin does well in capturing the sights and colors of India’s slumdog wasteland.  His blending of light and image highlights the paradoxes between India’s visual beauty and it’s harsh living realities.

Bloodsport’s David Worth manages to do a similarly good job with the rugged streets of Hong Kong though with much less variety or technical inspiration.

 

Verdict:  SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

 

#5  Editing

Both films’ editors can be accused of chop-socky cuts to highlight the ever evolving, fast-paced nature of their film’s respective worlds.  However, it is clear that Slumdog’s Chris Dickens chooses this technique in order to make things seem a little “cooler” than they might be.  This candy coats the dark realities of the film and makes it seem like a really fun amusement park, which I think is in direct conflict with the goals of the film. 

Bloodsport’s Carl Kress (with help from JCVD himself) on the other hand uses this style for a much richer and apropos purpose- to expertly chronicle ass kicking.  Also, Kress should be commended for his excellent cutting of the “Alone in Hong Kong/Chong Li is Watching” scene.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

#6 Writing

Now you can definitely accuse both of these films writers of suffering from an inability to create any sort of suspense or surprise whatsoever.  Both films clearly have a protagonist who will win the game and get the girl.  Slumdog says at the end “It is written” but perhaps a more appropriate phrase would have been “It has been written before.”  That being said, the premise, sans outcome, of each of these films is where the winner of this match-up lies.  Slumdog revolves around a game of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” run by a megalomaniacal, Regis Philbin-esque, announcer played by Anil Kapoor.  But let’s be honest, that show was annoying when it was an actual show and it’s nature as a foil for its protagonist basically creates a slightly grittier version of Forest Gump.  Bloodsport on the other hand has a sublime villain in Bolo Yueng’s Chong Li and the Kumite is an exciting and much more serious arena in terms of a compelling backdrop.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

#7  Directing

  The best way to start to measure these film’s directors is by looking at their past work.  For Slumdog’s Danny Boyle you’ve got favorites like Trainspotting, A Life Less Ordinary, and 28 Days Later.  Bloodsport’s Newt Arnold is a little less impressive with Bloodthirst and Hands of A Stranger.  Seemingly, you would think Boyle would win this category hands down.  However, if you look at the additional films Arnold has collaborated on, he becomes a much worthier contender with films like The Jerk, 16 Candles, DC Cab, Bladerunner, TMNT II:  The Secret of the Ooze, and The Goonies.  With a resume like this it is easy to see why, in fact, Arnold trumps Boyle.  Both directors chose to make a movie that combines comedy, action, and drama into one heartfelt piece.  Boyle’s resume quite obviously shows his work is good with somber, grey comedy and drama, but is completely void of strong ties to action or light comedy.  This grey cloud is present in Slumdog and does unnecessarily weigh down it’s lighter moments.  Bloodsport, in contrast, easily navigates between comedy, drama, and action, sometimes blending all three together in perfect harmony (see Frank Dux’s Chase through Hong Kong for a perfect example).

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

#8  Picture

The only thing left to talk about is the movie on a whole, since I have already focused on most of the other things necessary to make a successful movie (since Slumdog managed to win Oscars for all of them), is the films’ actors.  Examining this final piece of the puzzle will allow me to declare a winner in this too-close-to-call match up.

Looking at the lead actors it is clear we will not find our winner there. Slumdog’s Dev Patel and Bloodsport’s JCVD, while both contributing an award winning amount of heart and passion to their roles, both suffer from the same blank, vacant expression throughout both films that makes you wonder if they were hit in the head with a mallet before filming (to be fair to JCVD, he probably was hit in the head a lot during Bloodsport).

So, the winner clearly lies in the supporting cast.  And, not surprisingly, this is where Bloodsport shines brightest.  While Slumdog has amassed a number of precocious youths, Bloodsport boasts countless world warriors, each with his own distinct fighting style and personality.  From the fearsome Muay Thai kickboxer, Paco, to the lovable Monkeyman, you watch in anticipation wondering where each fighter’s destiny lies.  Aside from great fighters, Bloodsport enlisted the highly talented, Oscar winning, Forest Whitaker as the green, hot-under-the-collar, Detective Rawlins.  Finally, when looking at the female counterparts of each movie it is clear that while newly crowned Hollywood hottie, Frieda Pinto, soundly trounces Bloodsport’s Leah Ayers in the looks department, Pinto’s Latika has as much gusto as a wet noodle.  Ayre’s Janice Kent in contrast is vivacious, spunky and, with a-wink-and-a- nod, is willing to do anything to get her story.

 

Verdict:  BLOODSPORT

 

 

WINNER:  BLOODSPORT

In the end, it’s easy to see why Bloodsport is a far superior film.  What it lacks in post-production pizzazz it more than makes up for with a gripping story, memorable characters, and an unforgettable climactic battle.  Bravo JCVD and the cast and crew of Bloodsport!  

New Herald Tribune          March 7, 2009                    Article by Eric Aramis

 

Scientists report today that Americans no longer need fear the ongoing recession, unemployment, global warfare, rising healthcare, or the housing crisis.  “This new discovery makes all those problems look like a day at the beach,” warned Dr. Vic Hartford.

In what they are claiming is a freak discovery, scientists learned over the weekend that apparently Americans could die at any time for any reason.  “This is some scary shit,” said Hartford.  “I mean you could just be walking down the street and, bam, it’s all over.”

News reports from all over America about this terrifying find have got Americans in an uproar.  Local Walmarts and Targets are scrambling to keep shelves stocks with supplies in case of a sudden attack of death.  A few despondent Americans, fearing the chance of dying at any point was too much to bear, have resorted to suicide,

“The country is afraid, and rightly so,” says Senator John McCain (R-Arizona), who blames the new administration for failing to address this problem sooner.  “The White House needs to spend less time focusing on it’s ‘personal agendas (McCain emphasized his point by making those quotation mark signs with his fingers)’ and focus more on keeping people from dying all together.  Americans deserve the piece of mind that their government is insuring that they will live forever.”

Meanwhile, the White House has assured the American people that it is doing everything in its power to find a way to stop people from dying.  President Obama has already drafted a 385 billion-kajillion dollar plan which is expected to make its way into Congress next week.  However, conservatives speculate it will fail quickly based on previous proposals from the new administration.

“This is exactly what happens when a liberal is in the white house,” says 14-year-old Republican superstar, Johnathan Krohn.  “I’m sure it’s filled with unnecessary earmarks dedicated to private interests and puts the Government in charge of Americans’ lives.  When are they going to learn that the American people don’t want the Government taking over their lives?  The American government was founded with the sole purpose of taking over the lives of people in other countries,” said Krohn waving his hands about wildly. 

No matter what happens in the future, it is clear that right now America panicking from the stranglehold of this seemingly unstoppable threat.  “What have we ever done to anybody to deserve this?” asks local merchant, Kevin Porkman.  “With this economy the way it is, I’m already only eating out twice a week now instead of four times.  And now I have to worry about dying, too? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

Perhaps.  But with no end in sight and the death toll from unpredicted deaths growing every day it’s clear that things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. Porkman’s sentiments?  “I’ll bet the Chinese are behind this.”  

Dear American Public-

There has been a lot of talk in the media lately about “exotic” animals attacking people and I feel that these isolated incidents are giving myself as well as fellow pet owners a bad rap. People say that wild animals should be kept in the wild and that dedicated pet owners shouldn’t be allowed to keep such a pet.  I think this is ridiculous. 

I myself own a sweet, cuddly, Bolivian Mountain Lion named Elmer and you would not believe the looks and comments I have been receiving lately when I take Elmer out lately.  I mean people act as if they’ve never seen a 196-pound cat on a leash before.

People have been complaining that because Elmer is a wild animal that means he is unpredictable.  Well, I’m here to tell you dummies that I did my research.  You have to before you bring a Mountain Lion into a third-floor studio apartment.  Here’s a reality check for you negative-nancies.  Mountain Lions never attack unprovoked.  No animal does.  The only reason a wild animal could POSSIBLY attack is if they are in mating season, they are hungry, they decide that they need a new place to live, they are afraid of you, they think you are afraid of them, they think you want to take away their mate or children, they are protecting their territory, they are thirsty, or they are sport hunting.  But that’s it!  It’s not rocket science people! 

The fact is, people, that mountain lions, like all wild animals, if properly domesticated, are as harmless as a loaded gun with the safety on.  How do I know this?  Well, first of all, it’s because I have a bond with my Elmer that allows us to communicate telepathically.  I know what he needs and in turn, he knows what I expect of him.  This bond is common amongst pet owners.  For example, haven’t you ever noticed that some Peruvian tree marmots instinctively growl or lunge at mailmen, while others don’t?  Why do they do this, you might ask.  It must be some instinctual thing that humans can’t possibly understand, you say?  Well, you’re an idiot.  The answer is as plain as the horn on the South African rhino that lives across the street’s face.  A particular marmot who attacks a mailman does so because he knows that his owner is deathly afraid of cable television bills or flyers offering some sort of veiled pornographic services.  His screeching and clawing is his way of telling the mailman: “Stop!  We don’t need anymore advertisements for full body Swedish massages!”  The owner doesn’t need to TELL the marmot this.  Like a child who SENSES something is wrong when his mother comes downstairs with a black eye, these creatures take the next logical step and do their best to protect their loved ones.  And some people want this sweet marmot to be put back into its natural habitat?  If you ask me, this monkey should get a medal, that mailman deserved rabies, and that lazy, do-nothing, kid who just lets his mom get beaten should be thrown in the jungle!

The bottom line is, Elmer, like all exotic pets owned by people understand us better than any human ever could.  I know.  I have dated off and on for the past 42 years and every man I have met doesn’t give me one-tenth the respect I get from Elmer.  Elmer is my (cat) knight in shining armor who will protect me from all the possible dangers that he believes I may be about to face from anybody, at any time, anywhere.  He knows me better than I know myself, which is why I never question his decision to mercilessly attack my invisible enemies.    

Let me ask you this.  If your husband decided to kill your best friend and then told you he did so because he KNEW you were in danger, would you call him crazy?  That’s what I thought.

 

Sincerely,

Shirley Broward