dog Mitzi almost peed herself, she is so happy that her guy won the presidency. She put her vote in for "Bark" Obama and feels really
good about herself and the nation's choice. Now she is saving up some bones for when the new first family moves into the White House. The Mitz wants to go reverently whuff the First Puppy's butt. Perhaps when Mitzi is properly vetted and cleared by the Secret Service we will do so. Heck I'm so happy about the election I may just sniff me some presidential puppy butt myself.
Hey! They have ass wipes for dogs now, too! What a wonderful country we live in, and I say that with all sincerity. Otherwise, why are all these foreigners still trying to get in, starting with those anal-retentive back-stabbing pilgrims? Hah? Hah?
“…it looks like a handful of poop is rewriting American prehistory”.
Archaeology, July/August 2008, p. 45.
Now, I don’t usually dwell on the subject of pooping because to me it’s a matter of ‘so what, everybody does it’. Of course, I have giggled about stories of what my people call a “boogit” or more crassly, a fart. Think of it though, in the actual physical performance it sounds just like that phonetically “Boo-gitt”. I dunno. That’s what I think anyways. Maybe your tribe’s boogit’s sound different. I can only testify that my own are near nonexistent but when they do appear, they are sweet, musical toots, like a Mozart melody.
Ho-Lay! Carried away, ennit? Never mind boogits for now, my main subject was poops, or more specifically, 15,000 year old Native coprolites. Coprolites that are the beginning of the real truth about our ancient existence here in Turtle Island, how very ironic! “Our ancestors have been crapping here longer than your ancestors, you gosh darn boat people! So there!” (I mentally hurl a turd in their direction).
So here am I, celebrating an empty nest when I suddenly get all ambitious and clean out my closet from all the clothes on my floor. I wish I could describe to you the sheer magnitude of stuff I hauled out of there. Stuff I forgot I had and how the closet space, according to the laws of physics, could not possibly have held all that in it.
Then I found a curious plastic toilet paper bag. It had one roll of paper left in it, and a can of tuna. Huh? Then I remembered, well, sort of. I must have been in survival mode when I stashed that from my son who makes termites look like light eaters. I laughed and told my Mom what I found, and she asked me if the tuna was for the cats? “Heck”, sez I “It was for me and the T.P. was for afterwards, after I ate the tuna.”
Just recently I was reading (I do a lot of that) where a Native Nation asked that the public (non-Indians) not refer to their creation stories as ‘myths’. I so agree with that! In my previous job I gave tours, told our Rez creation stories, old and new, and made sure that the un-informed had something new to think about after they left. I repeated the story of the Great Flood, how it must have really happened because not only does that story show up in all our world’s cultures, but there is now geological evidence to support it.
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