Cancer Detecting Canines and Unsuspecting Cannibals

It is no secret that through out the course of my life, I have, due to reasons which can only be ascribed to mere prejudice, launched small battles against certain pressing issues of our time. And by “certain pressing issues of our time” I am referring to personal peccadilloes that have no grounding in rationality whatsoever. A few examples are my adamant refusal to measure laundry detergent, a staunch opposition to thespians, and most importantly, my conviction that dogs are vastly superior to cats. Once someone asked me why I have such indelible prejudices with certain things in life, and shrugging majestically, I answered, “If I knew why they wouldn’t be prejudices."

Tonight on 60 Minutes a segment aired which leant great credence to canine’s greater ability. It seems that in Great Britain a great deal of medical research is being conducted in which dogs are trained to detect certain forms of cancer. They are actually able to detect bladder cancer by the scent of a patient’s urine. Furthermore, there were stories about dogs habitually sniffing parts of their owner’s body where cancer was later detected to be present. There are even accounts dating back as far as the 6th century which detail the smells associated with certain illnesses, such as diabetes having a fruity smell.

And cats are still dividing their time between hacking up balls of their own partially digested hair and being snooty.

Personally, my sense of smell is horrible, but this I compensate for this fact by my preternatural sense of hearing. Not only did I once detect the sound of a cotton ball being dropped onto a piece of felt but I also find myself constantly irritated by the sound of people blinking. (I’m running this material by Matt Luna as I write ((he is playing ill-advised harmonic solos and country songs on his guitar)) and he told me I’m striking out big time with this blog (((he still refuses to read it)))… Now he is talking about some tree falling in the woods and hearing it…)

Speaking of the Lunar Module, earlier tonight he had about 12 friends over from UT to float the river and grill. We were all sitting out back eating and listening to music when in the midst of eating bratwurst sausages, some genius gets the idea to start talking about Upton Sinclair’s novel The Jungle. Basically, this novel is about the dismal sanitary conditions of the Chicago meat packing plants in the early 20th century—the highlight is an anecdote about a man falling into a meat grinder and being processed into hamburger meat, turning more than a few unsuspecting Americans into unwilling cannibals. Oh, and earlier, by “some genius”, I’m referring to myself.

But the bratwursts were way too hot and these guys are trying their best to eat them, but it’s burning their mouths, sweat is running down their face, and each bite ends with torrents of sausage juice rupturing all over their face and clothes. The guys are literally doubled over, screaming curse words between bites, all the while insisting I have to try one because they’re so good.

Later on I enjoyed a cold bratwurst, and I have to say, I don’t know what’s in that meat but they’re pretty damn good.