Posts Tagged Outdoor Galore Store
Ladies and Gentlemen, Here comes Bluto.
Bluto’s “owner”, it has now been decided, is named Cthula Hanna Belle-Lechter. Cthula to her friends.
Your fine suggestions made it very difficult to make the final decision. I took inspiration from several suggestions, along with my own storytelling devices. You’ll see what I mean as we go.
I think I’ve decided on a tangled skein of storytelling that you guys won’t unravel too quickly. You wish me luck, I’ll wish you luck.
How long has it been since I dropped a talkative new character into the strip?
I hope it’s been long enough. We needed a storyteller.
Aaaand for anyone who became an official Patron of Hubris (you become one by clicking the gray and orange ‘Team Hubris’ button to the left over there, and doing patron-y things) during the month of January, the physical rewards have all been mailed. To the one Patron in France- it might take a bit for it to arrive. For the two Patrons who get screen savers- if you’d like to email me and let me know if you need it for phone or desktop or iPad or whatever, (or even if you don’t) I will send those out this weekend. For those newer Patrons who signed up in February- your goodies will go out in March after Patreon sends me your info.
I think some of us here realize that I don’t work in an Outdoor Store.
“So where else does he get these true-sounding stories of not-quite-smart people?” I imagine I hear from off-stage.
In this particular case, I was (You may not be surprised to discover) standing next to a dog. My dog.
Roscoe (the name of my dog) is about a hundred and fifteen pounds of dog. During the summers, he occasionally wears a cute little backpack wherein he carries stuff that’ll help if he, like he did just before I bought the pack, discovers that he really needs a dish of water really, really fast to recover from too much sun. And when I say “cute little backpack”, I mean, of course, “Saddlebags.”
Now, the scene should be set. Me. Dog. Saddlebags. Oh, Dogpark. Yes, we’re in the park. With people. I forgot to mention that there were people. And there were.
So this guy is standing there, looking at Roscoe’s cool saddlebags, and… you know what? You can guess the rest.
He asks about the handle and then asks how the hell I’m gonna carry Roscoe around by that handle. And the world went deadly quiet. while we waited on the answer to occur to ol’ Skippy standing there.
I assume this guy is thinking maybe he needs a saddlebag dog backpack because he’s going to carry around his dog, which is much more of the fluppy-wuppy dust mop variety than any real dog, the sort of which has not become so far removed from a gray wolf by countless generations of what can only be called ritualized animal abuse that it’s not any sort of self-respecting dog any more. …There may need to be more of that sentence. It’s late, my tummy hurts, and subclauses… subclauses are hard.
Anyway, I did what you would have done in the situation. I stood straight up, looked the guy RIGHT in the eye and said…
“The handle is for when I carry the backpack instead of the dog carrying it.”
And he said, (I kid you not!)
On the other hand, I talked to this one guy who had a life jacket for his li’l Chihuahua. It had a handle on it too. They used to use the handle to lift the little dog out of the river and back into their canoe, or more entertainingly, lift him out of the canoe in order to chuck him into the river when he was ready to swim. They weren’t being mean to him (Don’t be mean to animals. D.B.A.D.) ’cause the dog thought it was great. And the idea of a little goggle-eyed curling stone is funny to me.
Wish me “Happy Birthday”! I’m Fifty Nine.
Not really. But I’m certainly not one of those people who try to say, “I’m Twenty Nine.” and think it’s funny. It’s not. Mostly ’cause I look like Hell on a Hot Day for ‘Twenty Nine’.
So I add a few years.
I look GOOD for Fifty Nine, lemme tell ya.