Vice Presidential Debate

Nearly every political writer/blogger/pundit and so forth, will be in the process of, or already has, written something intelligent/thoughtful/critical and so forth, about the debate that took place last night.

Your Red Wolf however, is in a state of mourning, and is having a difficult time at the moment.

Recently, The Red Wolf agreed to share the den during the winter months in order to defray the high cost of living, and to have another soul with whom to exchange anecdotes during long months of snow/sleet/winds, and bad radio shows.

Things seemed to be going along well enough. Oh, there were the usual disagreements to be expected during a period of adjustment. You know how it is...little things...like whether the toilet seat was to be left up or down, whose turn it was to lick the platters clean, run the sweeper, pick up the mail...but all in all it seemed to be working out.

Then tragedy struck.

The Wolf's roommate's work had been outsourced, he lost his job, and became depressed. No amount of Wolfish humor, joshing, pep talks, or concern could lift the mood. The die was cast, and trouble was in the wings.

Some time late Sunday night, or early Monday morning, Rodney Q. Mouse lll, leaped to his death from the rim of the toilet. The Coroner's report declared the death by drowning to have been self-inflicted. A brief note was found at the scene.

In his note, Rodney stated that even though the present administration continues to tout the improved economy, the freedom and well being of the Iraqis, and the idea that we are living somewhere over the rainbow, his life was miserable.

His job was gone, some of his Iraqi friends had either been blown to bits, or eaten by starving cats, and there was yet another scheduled appearance by Dick Cheney on teevee later in the week.

He said he could live with the lack of grain in the larder, the deaths of his friends were premature, but wadda ya gonna do...the life expectancy of a mouse isn't all that great anyway. It was the thought of seeing Cheney's cartoon shark face staring out at him in livid color, from the giant teevee screen at the local pub yet one more time, that caused him to decide to end it all.

He was a kindly fellow, a good Yellow Dog Democrat, and a polite little being who never farted at dinner.

He will be missed.

The Vice Presidential debate? More un-sexy lies, not worth a video tape.

After a solitary dinner, which was pretty damn good in spite of everything, your Wolf curled up near the embers with tail draped over snout, and rested peacefully.

A short while later, a Wolfish commentary on the debate was broadcast from the den. In stereo. It is reproduced here for your convenience.

Z z z z z z z z z z z z z z

Oh, you wanted a flash of a sparkling incisor did you? Can't say sumthin' about yak-yak that amounted to nothin'.

See all the other guys' writings. This time around I will bow out of the spotlight and let a better creature breathe life into the recounting of this historic event, which was declared a draw by just about everyone who threw their high-priced opinion into the wind.

'Nuff said.