So cold the air smells of ice…

Lawd, have mercy!

‘Tis wicked cold out there…frozen solid…so cold there’s ice on the inside of my car windows!

Shudder.

This is the kind of weather my sorta-beagles hate. They both are reluctant as hell to go outside and take care of their bitness, so this bitch has to keep a careful watch on them lest they find a warm corner and turn it into their personal dawg toilet. But one dawg’s frigid torture is another dawg’s dream come true…Sweetie the three-legged chow mix is thrilled that her thick fur can now be put to use and she’s taken to lounging on the back porch, nose held high as the bitter wind blows.

Sigh.

Dawgs are nothing if not diverse.

Anyhoo…shall we?

I tried to digest the news that the banks that received bailout cash aren’t tracking how they spend that shit…or are refusing to reveal how they are spending it …or are pulling some fucked up combination of not tracking and refusing…Lawd!..and my brain all but spit that data back out.

The mind can only take so much.

My first thought was about the responsibility of reporting back to a bitch…since I’m now an investor…on where the fuck my money is going, but that quickly gave way to a fierce wave of what-the-fuck pissed off wonder.

If banks aren’t keeping track of what they are doing with bailout cash, how the fuck are we going to evaluate whether the bailout infusion of cash accomplished anything?

Oh wait.

I get it.

There was a plan hidden within the lack-of-specifics non-plan bailout plan after all.

And trusting The Man with cash is like trusting a cold-hating, pee hording sorta-beagle to do the right thing.

Oh, they may surprise a bitch and go to the door, but odds are they’re trying to wait my ass out so they can pee on the carpet and stay warm while doing it when my ass is not paying attention.

Blink.

***logs off to shove dawgs outside for morning bitness***

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