Just because Babar prances around with a crown doesn’t mean he’s a real king. His cartoon was the most nauseating thing I ever saw. Every episode consisted of Babar telling his children made up stories about his past accomplishments. The moral to these stories was always the same: “Nobody compares to me because I am Babar, courageous King of the Elephants.” No you’re not, Babar, you’re just an asshole in a hot air balloon.

I think if I were a blind man, instead of those little poles blind people usually putter about with I would just use a metal detector. I’d still be able to navigate OK, and plus I might find treasure—just the thing to brighten my day.

The other day I was loitering in a café when a woman entered with a St. Bernard that was literally the size of Clifford the Big Red Dog. Nobody could stop it from coming in, either, because it was some type of service dog, and plus it could have easily eaten a person. When they walked through the doorway, the dog actually had to duck its head down, so you can imagine how fast I ran the hell out of there. It might not have been hungry, but I still didn’t want a situation where I’d have to say, “Excuse me, ma’am, your dog’s tongue just knocked over my table.” What kind of service did this beast perform, exactly? Transportation?

Also, I have a review of Yogurt With Fruit and Granola up at McSweeney’s Internet Tendency (it’s the third one down).

Continental breakfasts always sound delicious, and whenever I stay in a hotel I make it a point to wake up early to indulge in this exotic complimentary meal. An entire continent’s breakfast array is waiting for me downstairs, with untold platters of steaming meats, bouquets of fruits, a diverse selection of freshly-baked bread, eggs, and fine cheeses. Or I could settle for some shitty muffins and Cheerios, that would also be wonderful.