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Monday, February 17, 2003

There Ain't Nothin' Like a Dane

(Title stolen freely from Asimov, on account of he's dead.)

You know, Misha the Rottweiler is a feisty boy. Sometimes too feisty for my tastes. Often, when he gets into one of his rants, I just have to roll my eyes and bail. His language just sometimes gets too over the top for me (and not necessarily for its profanity). But that's just me; a lot of people enjoy it, and I usually do too.

Now I know he lives up somewhere near Dallas. I have always figured him for a gen-yoo-wine gun-totin' boot-wearin' ass-kickin' beer-drinkin' pickup-drivin' football-worshippin' y'all-sayin' hoot-n-hollerin' redneck "By God" Texan, the kind you can find anywhere in this state, and in many others. Roasts whole oxen in the family room (prolly slaughters 'em there, too). Eats jalapeno and serrano ice cream dusted with cayenne flakes to cool down his chili. Wears huge hats which he removes when visiting the Shrine of Texas Liberty (known as the Alamo to you furriners from Oklahoma and such places). That sort of thing.

So today he tells us the story of his young life, and it turns out that he was born a Dane! In Denmark! Now this sort of thing might happen to anyone, but he stayed a Dane until he was a grown man, and was even in the Danish army.

When he first started talking about that, I thought I'd missed something, thought it was something someone else had sent him. I had to read the post twice, and the comments, to be sure.

I didn't think a person could get that American on purpose.

Anyway, I'll be looking at his fiery rants and his complaints about the EUnuchs in a different light now.

Why am I always the last to know these things? My head is swimming.

I'm still not sure he's not having us on.