To Save A Sick Hermit Crab : What Would Brando Do for Chi Chi?

My hermit crab, Chi Chi, is looking rather ill. His body is extended way out of his shell. He did not retract into his shell when I picked him up and tried to wipe the moss off his shell. Now he is not reponding to the apple parings, his favorite food, that he normally devours. I suppose this is what one might expect. I have been expecting him to live in his own filth for quite a while. I thought it would toughen him up a little bit. I held up the ants running across the sink as examples for him. "Look how damn tough they are," I'd say to him. "I wash them away and they keep crawling out of the drain. Very impressive." I don't think Chi Chi was all that enthused about my value system. Sluggo just stayed in his shell, day in, day out, just being his Sluggo self. But he's the healthy one now. He measures every movement, comes out only when there is a high value food source that does not require contestation with the higher ranking Chi Chi. I suppose there is a lesson for all of us trapped within our various hierarchies. Hunker down, and let the other guy bog down in his own filth until he can't stand the environment he's living in and departs this stress-pit of a world.

There are people whose office and home I would willingly decorate in dung if it meant an early departure from the scene.

The dog keeps eating chicken bones it finds on the way to school. I would like to know who is eating all this chicken and throwing its remains out onto the street. Is this some kind of anarchist plot? Are these people just doggist, extremely prejudiced against those who have retained their fur? They must know that a dog will do nearly anything to chase a cat or suck on a bone. It's pitiful, really, to watch them struggle for such a low value food source and such a low value source of entertainment.

But I'm sure the gods make the same comment about me when I strain for recreational sex.

The Bradford pears have let almost all their blossoms fall. It is the end of an era. A strong wind took the majority of them down yesterday. Driving down the street, it was like being in a ticker tape parade. I was a genuine hero in the neighborhood. My adoring fans had all come out to praise my impeccable lawn maintenance, to express their awe at the way I staked up the camellia. Alas! To have lived and never seen a pink camellia blossom ring itself around the edge with its brown overcoat.

But now I must get back to eating my chocolate.