My dog’s just like me
By Dana Milkbag, Published: March 23
In Washington, even the dogs are pundits. Yes, dogs. Literally.
And their cognitive skills often exceed those of the human pundits I associate with. And for what it’s worth, those I associate with would likely say the same about me.
My dog, a 2-year-old Chihuahua named Triple X, had her cable news debut this week, on MSNBC’s “Complete Nonsense” with my friend and host Florence O’Donnell. We were there to discuss Triple X’s membership in this thing I invented called Dogs For Obama.
Basically, Florence would ask Triple X questions and I’d make up answers I thought Jon Stewart would like.
As Triple X lay quietly in my lap, mugging for the camera, I projected myself through her, thoughtfully explaining our unflappable support for the President. At the end of the segment, both Triple X and I, in a show of unity, ate a treat off the anchor’s table.
“Triple X, thank you very much for joining me tonight and for bringing Mr. Milkbag along,” O’Donnell said. Noticing that the camera had moved back on her, O’Donnell instructed: “No, don’t shoot me. Shoot the dog. No wait, don’t shoot the dog, I mean put the camera on the dog!” Well, needless to say, Triple X’s life was spared because the MSNBS studios are a gun-free zone. Thankfully.
They say dogs resemble their owners and I suppose it’s true. Hold a treat in front of me, something like cool insider access to anyone in the Obama Administration, and like Triple X, I will go through my own repertoire of tricks — straw man construction, talking point regurgitation, and of course, roll over and lie.
Likewise, Triple X and I both show unstoppable determination in our pursuit of a desired object. For her, it’s survival, like running from squirrels; for me it’s recognition from MSNBC. For her it’s hiding under the bed; for me, it’s a shout-out on the Daily Show. For her, it’s getting one of those disgusting green chew sticks; for me, it’s writing a column that reflects liberal ideological purity.
When I violate that purity, which I do when I misinterpret the signals of my handlers, like Triple X making a mess on the floor, I hang my head and act remorseful. This is a reflection on both our parts to do things that please our masters, even though we both make honest mistakes.
The media lapdogs, like Triple X, are obedient and wise, but sometimes lack bladder control. When a stranger comes in the house, Triple X wags her tail vigorously; picks up a toy and, forgetting her owners, brings it to her new friend. For the media lapdogs, a stranger, that is, a Republican, is terrifying and we begin to howl madly, scratch ourselves bloody, and drag our rear ends across the floor.
To paraphrase Lord Palmerston, the media lapdogs have no permanent friends, only permanent interests.
© The Washington Post-It Company
(If you must, read the original here.)