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).