Pit Bull Mauls Baby

Faithful readers of my blog also know of my YouTube videos. I always appreciate whenever you guys follow the links to check out my latest entries. It warms my heart. Really.
However, like all great media whores, I lusted after more recognition than I was getting from just my core fan base. I was completely jealous when the video I posted of my friend from Coney Island got way more "hits" than any of my videos. More than all of my videos combined, actually. I went into a funk. I followed that up with a downward spiral, first into a deep well of self-pity, followed quickly by full immersion into a steaming vat of self-loathing. (Crazy, right?)
Luckily, my therapist, "MC", got me to understand that the problem wasn’t with me at all. "Let’s be honest", she opined, "you’re as bitchin’ as you’ve always been!" "True", I thought, but what was it, then? Why "Coney Island Dog Throws Up" and not "Roxanne Goes For A Ride"?
The answer was staring me in the face. Let’s set the scene, shall we…?

INTERIOR: SEMI-FINISHED BASEMENT, CONVERTED TO BEDROOM - DAY
Disheveled twenty-something dude sits at juvenile-furniture-style desk in front of a flickering computer screen. Red Bull cans litter the room. Sun-faded Farah Fawcett poster hangs on the wall above. An obviously newly-purchased Fantastic Four Silver Surfer action figure prominently displayed so as to be seen in webcam’s viewfinder. Warrant’s "Cherry Pie" blasts from his earbuds…
WEB SURFER DUDE
(mutters to himself)
"Let’s see… "How To Build a Pipe Bomb", nah. "Reverend Wright and The White Devil", who’s that? "Roxanne Goes For A Ride", booooring… "Coney Island Dog Throws Up", yo, dude, CHECK IT OUT!"


I’d found the answer. I quickly changed some of the titles of my videos. I abandoned the cutesy "Roxanne…" theme in favor of the more crowd pleasing "Pit Bull…" motif. "Roxanne and Her Chicken" became "Pit Bull Mauls Chicken". "Roxanne and Her Baby"? You guessed it—"Pit Bull Mauls Baby"!
Some of you are groaning right about now. That’s OK. I understand. But oh, my! how the number of hits has skyrocketed! "Roxanne and Her Baby" had 50 hits, tops. "Pit Bull Mauls Baby" – over 3 THOUSAND hits and counting! I know, you think it’s wrong to mislead those poor troglodytes who while away long hours in their parents’ basements surfing for a good mauling, but screw them, baby! I’m gettin’ hits!!
It’s interesting to read some of the comments posted to the newly re-named videos, too. Guys who’d found my videos ONLY because they’d searched using "Pit Bull Mauls…" as a keyphrase are leaving comments about how wrong it is for me to eat a baby’s face…
C’mon everyone. Say it with me. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way…
Ready… One… Two… Three…
"… I LOVE THE INTERNET!!!"

(No Actual Babies Were Harmed For This Post)

ARC of the Covenant (and By-Laws)

Most everyone who’s ever met me knows that I’m really quite a sweet girl. A lot of people who don’t know me but just see me walking down the street tend to cross to the other side just to avoid me. I guess I’m OK with that. I mean, the "visual deterrent" aspect of being a pit bull does come in handy as Dad pretends to restrain me from attacking a group of young hoodlems every now and again.
If I were vicious, though, I think I’d save up my unbridled rage and unleash my 1500 lbs. per-square-inch-strong jaws in the direction of the Architectural Review Committee (ARC) and the Board of Trustees here where we live.
Mom and Dad had their hearing with the Board to appeal the decision of the ARC to enforce their arbitrary rule against window boxes. They’d been going back and forth (by letter) for quite some time, but this was their big face to face showdown. Dad prepared a presentation pointing out the inconsistencies of their rules manual (the boxes were only "prohibited" after we put them up) and used their own mission statement to point out how window boxes "enhanced amenities and preserved property values" and "contributed to making our community a more pleasant" place. Mom was optimistic about the hearing. She knew that the ARC was a misguided group of anal retentive, power-obsessed, student-council-president-wanna-be’s (think Tracy Flick in Election) but she also knew that our argument was iron clad. The presentation included pictures of our beautiful boxes (in bloom, of course) and even showed a window box on a house like ours from another Renaissance community.
Going in, Mom thought that any reasonable group of people who’d been elected to make rational, reasoned, informed decisions for the entire community would see the error of the ARC’s ways and rule in our favor. Dad, on the other hand, didn’t share her optimism. He’d been dealing with this situation for a while and hadn’t told Mom of the bad feeling he had. The storm clouds were gathering thicker every time he’d spoken to the Community Manager, Tyler. Tyler was in agreement with us but is basically just the office manager for the community. He’s also responsible for sending out the violation letters. He’d been sharing some inside dirt on the workings of the Board, about how they’re inherently lazy and how they let the ARC do all the work. In exchange, the Board basically rubber-stamps decisions made by the ARC.
I’m BORING you, right? I know. Sorry. I'll stop now...

All I know is, the hearing put my Mom in the hospital!

To be continued…