Bitch Show

Apparently the Westminster Dog Show is a big deal. I couldn't be bothered, but DJ Recon was up at 1am and had nothing better to do, so here's his take:

So I'm watching the Westminster Dog show with my sister right now because I can't sleep. But now I realize I don't want to. Why would I? This show is so much more than a dog show. It's a total fucking bug out. Firstly, you get to watch dogs which have been poof-preened into weird little fur clouds; fuzzy, shiny, boxy things that swish and sway across the floor like animated throw pillows from Henry Kissinger's Honeymoon suite. Or you get the big, awesome horse-sized ones that are less Marmaduke, more Wookie drag queen.

If that wasn't enough, you also get to enjoy the spectacle of watching tight-faced men and women geeked to the gills on Xanax and milk bones running around a giant green carpet while being observed by droop-faced retirees in Civil War funeral attire, all of whom resemble A: political cartoons of 1920's industry tycoons, B: Ellen DeGeneres/Wilford Brimley, or C: the gun-shy, heavyset barkeep in every Western film ever made.

The judges and handlers are an interesting cross-section of American dog nerds and visiting dog nerds from other countries. It's fascinating how similar and different they all are. There's a lot of story in the owner's faces. Take the dogs and pantsuits out of the mix and this could easily be a Reba McEntire book signing or even cocktail hour at New Vermont's 2016 singles mixer for survivors of the Great Robot Wars.

The Poodles always win, or at least make it to the finals. So do those little Terriers. Something is screwy in this world of dog. Totally fixed. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that Poodle and Terrier syndicates are the Yakuza and Triads of the show dog universe, deciding who gets the blue ribbon via mortal combat in a candlelit cave underneath Caesar Milan's house to fix the event, thus profiting off America's vast resource of untapped high-stakes illegal dog show betting.

My sister just asked me about a judge, "How does that woman get her job?" Well, I wouldn't know. I imagine they're like Carnies with better credit and public school options. But my ignorance and prejudgment tell me that two prerequisites for the job are being off-putting and hard to be around. A perfect candidate would be a 40-something man or woman who pretends to be well read, owns tired shoulders and deep frown lines carved into their bitter faces by soul-crushing loneliness combined with years of frustration in trying to deal with people that don't get the whole “dog thing.” I could be wrong. But I have pretty good radar for people that suck at being awesome and succeed at being the fucking worst.

Commercial break. OMG. This adopt a dog ad is making me feel like bees are stinging my heart. Thanks for the kick in the beans, David Duchovny. Your "narration" makes me feel bad for being a human being. Hope you enjoy that mall money you earned during the 7.5 minutes you spent sucking down Fiji waters in the vocal booth, Mulder. I could really use one of those waters to rehydrate myself after all the crying I'll be doing down the road thinking about the images of confused puppy eyes staring at me through a fucking cage. Good work, you joy-killing asshole. Not even Scully can suck the air out of a room that fast. And the music...is just comically sad. It sounds like Thom Yorke's face. Excuse me while I crawl into a bottle of despair and murder my life to death. But please, don't stop your slow piano playing on my behalf. Those sounds are like the tears of a crying Basset Hound puppy left out in the cold all night, hitting the keys one by one. Nice touch, you manipulative bastards. You've made me sadder then when I watched E.T. die.

Other notes:

• The Westminster announcer sounds like God, if the part of God had been played by a white economics professor from New England imitating Morgan Freeman during a wine-induced after-dinner board game with the new theater professor and his wife who drank too much and got awkward around his kids. Add to that some stadium reverb and an asshole filter and you have your man.

• I'm pretty sure the handler of the Australian cattle dog just gave him a treat, and then immediately put the other half directly in his mouth and chewed it without even blinking. I rewound it on the DVR, and yes. Yes he did. So that man eats dog food, or that dog eats man food. Either way I'm impressed by how gross that is.

• FYI: Even if you call it a Belgian Tevuran,, it's still just a Nazi police dog in hipster camouflage. You can't even make a word like Tevuran sound cute. Names like that belong on Whaling ships and fatal airborne illnesses. Give it up, Belgium. Your dog lingo ain't playing. It sounds like a waffle dish in a Romulan Denny's.

• There is a commercial on asking me if I have "dirty carpet anxiety". Last time I checked that doesn't make sense, so go fuck yourself.

• If wolves has sex with bears they'd make the perfect Collie. Like this guy for example (below). He's so cool he should have his own dog. Look at how badass he is! He's like a werewolf version of Gandalf. I bet he can fly when nobody's looking.


Other, other notes:

• Sheepdogs look like Koala Bears dressed as ZZ Top for a Wildlife Conservation calender.

• Swedish Vallhund also a Viking dog, looks like it was engineered by dog scientists to the optimal proportions and size for specializing in attacking the genital area of an adult man.

• Norwegian Buhund: the dog of Vikings. SOLD. Fucking sold. Apparently they were the companion of the Vikings when they were working on farms, or taking work breaks to visit other towns and burn other people and their farms. It's called a Viking siesta.

• The Canaan dog is named after the Bible, not New Canaan, CT. Take THAT, white people.

• Bouviers look content and pretentious. I can see Elton John playing one in a Pixar movie. They're not exactly fat, but more husky and sturdy. But at the same time kind of rebellious and rad, like Alec Baldwin or tugboats. God, I always wanted to ride in one of those. (Tugboats, not Alec Baldwin).

Closing note: I just heard the expression "love this breed!" come out of the commentator's mouth for at least the 45th time in minutes. Listen, pal. I applaud your enthusiasm, but I can't commit to trusting your judgment. Script or no script, I can tell you're more than a little over-involved in dog literature. You fucking adore them. So saying that you "love a breed" is an insult to my intelligence. Those European Mom pants can't possibly hide the raging boner you have for obscure canine trivia. Look. I love dogs. I accept that I'm totally gay for them. But being gay for dogs doesn't make you an expert, and being Liberace Ice-Capades gay for everything related to, or even casually associated with the dog kingdom gives you a bias I simple cannot accept in an objective dog show judge on the professional level. You may sound like a lady when you talk about your passion for the toy group, but I assure you, Sandra Day O'Connor you are not.

By the way, a Terrier named Sadie won Best in Show tonight. Fixed again!!!!!!!!