Just about the time I think I've somehow "seen it all" and have a handle on the insanity and inanity of the world around me, along comes something to prove how insanely and inanely arrogant I can be.
This morning it arrived in email from a friend -- an apparent advertisement for doctor who offers plastic surgery for your pooch. Let me get this straight, my mind yowled: There are several bloody wars raging; people are starving to death; political and financial corruption remains unchecked; drug dealers are extending their reach to your street and mine; your daughter is hanging out with a guy who runs a meth lab; your own face and body show every sign of disintegrating like a ripe tomato under a monster truck wheel ... and you are willing to pay for a tummy tuck or breast augmentation for Fido?
OK, OK ... I was overreacting.
But I couldn't help myself: The whole matter was just insane enough to be true and in that truth bring new and improved meaning to the social-media acronym
But then it turned out to be a send-up.
Just a joke.
Only I can't help feeling that out there, somewhere (probably in California), there is someone urgently searching the yellow pages or the Internet ... and that there are gaggles of doctors wondering how to get in on this gravy train.
Reminding me of the old Saturday Night Live riff on Puppy Uppers and Doggie Downers.