The Blame Game Burns Me Up


I have just raised my head from reading a story that drew my attention (I like to read with my head down because I don’t want to appear snooty to the casual observer):

It seems a couple’s metal dog bowl caught their house on fire. At this point I would say that now I’ve seen it all, but I uttered that once and now can’t take it back. Therefore, I must have seen this sort of thing before, but have forgotten it.  I forget a lot. That’s one of the perks of getting older. But that is worthy of a blogpost in itself, so remind me to write something about forgetfulness because I just know it will slip my mind. However, the parabolic pooch’s pan story has gotten its hot little claws in me now and won’t let go until I vent.  Long live venting. And prunes.

So this woman tells reporters that she saw something like a big plume of steam rising (or would that be pluming?) just outside by a glass door, and when she went to investigate saw that the side of their house was smoking. Firefighters were called and put out the fire before it got out of control, and upon investigation concluded that the dog’s metal water bowl had caused a concentrated beam of sunlight to shine on the side of their house.  Now, before you go out and try burning your nosy neighbor’s garage, let me dispel the many fallacies to this tall tale.

First of all, the woman went outside and found her house was smoking. If the house is over 21 years old it has every right in the world to smoke, and she should be grateful it kept its bad habit outdoors. I suspect the house is a minor, though, because as soon as it was caught it pointed to the dog bowl and said “The water dish made me do it!” It must have raised enough suspicion to deflect blame from itself, but come on, man, couldn’t it come up with a better excuse? Not all houses are gifted with intelligence, though.  Our family lived in a really smart home once in Muscle Shoals, Alabama around the time I discovered smoking. The house taught me to take a magnifying glass out with me whenever I puffed, and it saved my hide on more than one occasion. My mom would come trundling around the corner and find me hunched over a lit cigarette lying on the ground with that magnifying glass in my hand trying to catch the sunlight just right, and without blinking an eye I would say something like “Aren’t these things swell? I’m going to destroy every nasty cigarette I see by burning it up!” Hook, line and sinker, dear reader. At least I thought so until my mom told me a decade later she knew all along the house put me up to it.

Just to make sure this story out of San Francisco is fake, I went out and bought a couple hundred metal water bowls, filled them up and set them all around the neighborhood. The fire department has me under house arrest now, but I have a feeling it will be short lived. The Defense Department wants to meet with me in three days about becoming some sort of sub contractor. I’ve got blueprints of a metal water bowl fifty miles in diameter, and we’re planning on putting it on the North Korean border. Watch. Every home in a three hundred mile radius will blame their bad habit on it. I know this because I’ve seen it all. Really.

About jaytharding
Christian Mystic-in-training, burgeoning Apologist, Writer, Poet, Philosopher, all-purpose curmudgeon Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 11 Corinthians 5:17

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