The SaltyPaws February 2023 | .
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CLICK ON THE PICTURE YOU THINK IS THE REAL PICTURE OF ME AND LIANA AND WIN A $1 BILLION PRIZE PAYABLE IN BACK RUB VOUCHERS AND SELECT PRIVATE LECTURES ABOUT THE DYNAMISM OF THE SELEUCID EMPIRE 312 - 63 BC.
WE LOVE HATE MAIL!
GOING POSTAL
 I don't know what it is about senior citizens in Post Offices. They tend to get jittery and clutch mail to their chests and gauge others who enter with intense suspicion. It's like they expect the Post Office and their spies will capriciously send their $15.73 sewer bill to Carbuncle Delaware or just flush it down the toilet.
 And who can blame them? They grew up with AT&T. It was the only phone company in the entire country. Everyone lived in fear that AT&T would arbitrarily discontinue their service. Or make sure their phone connections were always full of loud screeching static and got crossed lines with the local lunatic asylum. Sometimes they would hit you with "lightning" that came right through the phone cord and turned your brain into a shriveled, black, smoking walnut. And you could count on a lot worse if you actually complained.
It matters not that one may reconcile just about any debt imaginable online. Even to drug dealers. But senior citizens need physical stamps. Perhaps they distrust online stamps because they view them as fiat currencies with  no gold reserves to back them up. Perhaps they're just set in their ways. Perhaps the 118th Congress will investigate the chronic effects of licking stamps and its debilitating effects on seniors. Don't laugh. Most in congress are looking for a break from impeachments and regulating the color of Doritos Cool Ranch Chip bags.
It is with this preamble in mind I would like you to consider the following tale of horror and perseverance.
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It was about two weeks before Christmas. Two Salty Dogs got about 40 web orders overnight. I got in early, packaged them up and stuck the requisite shipping labels from Stamps.com upon them. It was 11:50 AM. I was in good shape. The U.S. Mail truck left in about 40 minutes. I wouldn't be swamping the Post Office (P.O.) at the last minute.
I drove upta the P.O. and finagled a parking spot at the end of the delivery lot where I most surely would be towed if I was longer than 2 minutes. Did I mention that my shop was going to be empty for the 2 minutes I was at the P.O.?
I walked the first load of prepaid packages into the lobby. My arms and hands hurt. It was cold out and a longer walk than I thought.
I saw two haggard clerks at the counter in the inner lobby. They were being interrogated by a gang of remorseless Seniors. The Seniors wanted answers. They wanted ACTION. And they absolutely DID NOT want to buy stamps with musicians on them. Or stamps with plants that propagate with rhizomes. And they weren't paying any more for fancy, pre-licked stamps. And did the postmaster realize that this Eggplant Cake now cost TWICE AS MUCH to mail to Festeringboil West Virginia than it did in 1985? And did anyone in this sleepy little Post Office even realize that Julia Childs was a card-carrying member of the John Bircher Society and a drunkard? NO ONE UNDER 60 CARED. And if there was one thing every Senior here could agree on - All this spelled the downfall of these Once-Great United States...
 The Seniors cast nervous glances about as I made my way through the crowd. The average age in the outer lobby must have been at least 103 years old.
I continued towards the Receiving Door. A woman grabbed my arm, "THERE'S A LINE!!!" she said like a Saturn VII rocket lifting off in my ear.
"I know!" I said, balancing my packages in my now-very-hurting arms.
"YOU NEED TO GET TO THE END OF THE LINE!" said a gentleman well behind me. Emboldened, the woman's raptor-like claws dug into my bicep further.
"I AM NOT IN LINE!" I exploded at him. I was SO close to the Receiving Door. It was clear to me that I was about to incite a mini-riot at the Boothbay Harbor Post Office. I admit this is on my bucket list, but I really needed to get these packages out.
 I reached for the Receiving Door handle and a Grumpy Old Man stood in front of me, blocking it. I could have sworn he said "PUNK," but that may have been me saying something most naughty indeed. My precarious bundle of packages tottered and I let them control-fall to the floor. I smiled big at him and pushed them with my foot towards the door. Then I pretended to shoot the Grumpy Old Man with my fingers. I left the packages on the floor by the Receiving Door, pivoted, and went to get the rest of them in the truck before my two minutes was up.
When I got back to the lobby, I was freezing. My previous load of  packages was piled up on a table AT THE BACK OF THE LINE. The seniors appeared to be quite smug on my reappearance. The Grumpy Old Man who thwarted me previously looked a little nervous, thinking perhaps I had gone back to my truck for my real finger guns.
I got to the Receiving Door with my packages and yelled, "Dropping Off Leslie!!!" A half-second later, the upper half of the door opened and Leslie good-naturedly said, "Throw 'em in that bin there!" I did. And when I was finished, I went to the back of the Post Office to get "The Other Pile."
"I see what you were doing there..." said  the Raptor Woman who gripped my arm. The Grumpy Old Man helped me get the remainder of my packages from the back of the P.O. to the bin.
I didn't say a word.
Not one word.
If you're upset that I'm making fun of geezers, please email my boss with a full, detailed report here: fatmax@twosaltydogs.net
Make sure to include all the spelling and grammatical mistakes in this newsletter for full effect. Also any information you have on rhizomes, Julia Child, and your Eggplant Cake recipe.
Don ~ Not a Dog
GADZOOKS!
So here we are again in our usual adversarial online relationship:
ME - the epitome of callous, fleeting corporate greed.
YOU - A delicate flower not quite ready for open-wallet pollination.
If I am your first, let me assure you that I shall be gentle and respectful of your wants and desires. I shall relieve your wallet of its excess in the most delicate of terms. I promise you this, my love.
Yes. I shall always love you. Now buy something, will you please?
Boilerplate:
If you haven't joined us here before, this is the part of the newsletter where we highlight our web-only deals for the month. That's right! These specials are available ALL MONTH LONG, and EXCLUSIVELY to you guys - our rabid newsletter-getters! Of course I throw it up on Facebook mid-month. And if you forwarded this to people you know and they bought stuff with the codes, we would have no way of knowing. So have at it!
FREE SHIPPIN' FEBRUARY
 Does everyone like my crappy AI-generated photo of dogs and The Yellow Submarine by the Rolling Stones?
I have been warned by the accountant I married that this "Free Shippin'" promotion has always resulted in disaster for Two Salty Dogs Pet Outfitters. But only economically.
And YES. I concede it seems stupid to keep using SHIPPIN' instead of SHIPPING.
FREE SHIPPIN' DOES WORK IN COMBINATION WITH THE OTHER PRODUCTS ON SALE THIS MONTH.
FREE SHIPPIN' FEBRUARY!!!
USE COUPON CODE: YADAMNPUNK
<<DON'T CLICK HERE!!! >>
ALL DOG FEEDING STUFF
Remember that guy Philip from Houston who wrote us a crappy Google review and accused me of writing "WE DO NOT SHIP DOG FOOD" in big red letters on every food product on our website AFTER his order? That was fun. I shall forever call him "Dracula From Houston" after the incredibly famous song by the Butthole Surfers.
We don't ship food, but HEY! this sale DOES cover stuff like slow-eat-bowls, snuffle mats, snuffle toys, and a bunch of collapsible water bowls, Also our WORLD-FAMOUS pet food covers. Just click the photo / link and be convinced.
Tony Danza sold separately. Cage and restraints not included.
ALL DOG FEEDING STUFF
27.6007544175% OFF!!!
Use Coupon Code: DANZA
<< Click HERE >>
MAINE RAP STUFF
 Besides lobster, blueberries, moose and the highest percentage of men in the nation who look like Santa Claus, Maine is known for its Rap Music. I'm pretty sure that's because the rest of the country moved on from Rap Music to Sap Rock like Mumford & Sons ages ago. I understand if you like Mumford & Sons and want to unsubscribe.
Maine rappers don't lay down the funky beats about fo' shizzling or raising a roof. Successful rappers rap about what they know. And Maine rappers rap about clams, skiddahs, Massholes, The County, Bangtown, and BISCUITS WITH THE GRAVY AND THE BUTTAH...
 WARNING - NSFW. Whatever that means. And if you want to hear Maine Rap, jest click on the "hammah" photo. Or the Santa poseur above. It's up to you.
And because I don't have anything better, I'm going to put everything in this Rap Video on sale-- lobster, blueberries, moose, Santa, etc.
Lobster Treats
Lobster Collars & Leashes
Lobster Toys
Lobster Line Rope toys
Lobster Key Fobs
Lobster Hats
Lobster Belts
Lobster Flip Flops
Maine Blueberry Treats
Moose Poop Dog Treats
Moose Antler Chews
Moose Toys
Moose Collars & Leashes
Complain correctly and I will make it worth your while.
MAINE RAP STUFF
NOW 31.746281% OFF!!!!!!!!
Use Coupon Code: BANGTOWN
<< CLICK ON THE PRODUCTS ABOVE, JASPAH >>
A BUNCH OF RANDOM STUFF I NEED TO GET RID OF
 Where the hell are all you people "From Away" this winter? Last year you were running around Boothbay Harbor like you owned the place. And technically, that was kinda true. You bought up a lot of property to escape the Pandemic Death Holes you were trapped in. And you walked around Boothbay Harbor in the winter with impunity, fretting that the Wine and Goose Soirées were fourth-rate in the provinces.
 So now that the epidemic is over... or was it an pandemic...? Irregardless HAHAHAHA!!!! You don't think I'm that stupid, do you? REGARDLESS... all you flat-lander city folk are gone now. And everyone in town is going broke.
What hurts as a local merchant is that I tolerated you somewhat for the last couple years as a good friend who spent a lot of money in my store. And now that you're back in your hometown of Hidden-Torso Massachusetts, we never talk. I feel like we are drifting apart and are no longer friends.
 SO, in the interest of mending fences, I'm putting a bunch of random stuff on sale so you can essentially buy my friendship all over again. Carry on, old chums. And give Hidden-Torso my best.
Prairie Bacon, Farmers Bacon, Country Bacon, Duck Jerky Bites, Venison Jerky Bites, Lamb Jerky Bites, Wild Boar Jerky Bites, Meat & Greet Cat Treats: Chicken, Duck, Lamb
RANDOM STUFF I NEED TO GET RID OF
NOW 37.96599996% OFF
Use Coupon Code: FLATLANDAH
CLICK ON THE INDIVIDUAL LINKS ABOVE YA DUBBAH
Free Shipping on ALL Orders Over $75
Sale Ends 2-28-23 Frickin' Jeezum.
Click Here to Forward this newsletter to someone who gives new meaning to the phrase "muzzle-loader."
Sniffin’ Around
The Boothbay Region
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FREE BUMPER STICKERS
You can tell whenever I'm running out of ideas, time, and/or spirit. I'll just slap this bumper sticker thing up here and pretend none of you have ever seen it before. In a way, I'm treating you like you're stupid. And of course, I'm being stupid. So we're all stupid together. Isn't inclusiveness fun?
Most of you out there probably can't afford a car with bumpers. Never fear. You can always use these bumper stickers to attach a bumper to your car. Or for prison currency, or random acts of vandalism, or getting high off the glue, or defacing your mortal enemy's Toyota Yaris's windshield, or as wedding presents for two insufferable meat-heads you hate, or to keep your barely-hanging-on fingers attached to your hand after a horrific crocheting accident, or as a one-use lint brush, or for rolling sushi, or as a substitute for kale, or to put in the background of your fringe-political-belief YouTube livecast, or just as one more sticker on an amplifier making the rounds of your Greater French Guyana World Tour, or for closing up gopher holes, or differentiating your armored vehicles from the Russians, or humorously sticking them to your dogs butt and watching them try to take it off, or putting it on the butt of one of your loved-ones gigantic overalls and watching them try to take it off.......
Or whatever your overheated little brain just came up with, Just email me here: fatmax@twosaltydogs.net with A) How many bumper stickers you want B) If you'd also like a free carabiner and C) How could you? Seriously... HOW COULD YOU?
Free Shipping. Tips Appreciated. |
 THE NEWS FROM MARS -
MARZ's BRAIN IS SHRINKING
Marz was a great fetcher. Initially, Liana and I were worried because his little ADHD brain would watch the ball like a deer watching headlights close in.
But he got better and better. He learned to keep his eye on the ball as it left the launcher and follow the bounces. If he did miss a ball, he would put his nose down and sniff than damn ball out. Sometimes it would take him quite a while. But he wouldn't let one go. He got really good at it. And he was incredibly proud of himself.
But that's all changed now that there's snow around. Marz has most certainly lost his tiny little mind. He didn't lose a tennis ball all summer. Since the snowstorm on January 20, he's lost 3. Thank dog for Auggie who isn't quite so quick anymore, but will slowly and methodically sniff out the tennis ball.
I mean, look at Marz's method for finding a tennis ball that's gotten away from him:
Click on the photo to reveal 41 more seconds of him running inches past the tennis ball repeatedly.
We might be through the looking glass here, people. Stay tuned to see if I'll have to operate. |
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The Harbor Dogs' Stories
(Formerly Max & Aug's Dog Blog)
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WHY BIPEDS CRY- by Marz
 I have served my beloved wife with orders that my gravestone should read:
DON KINGSBURY
1967 - XXXX
TRAGICALLY LOST
HIS LIFELONG BATTLE WITH DEATH
ENJOYED PRIMUS - COMPLAINING - AND THE CREAMY CENTER
I think that way, after the Information Age Collapses, archaeologists will find my gravestone in some slag heap and be compelled to seek out these newsletters and my crappy book to asses my churlish and iconoclastic nature.
That's why I'm having every edition of this newsletter and my crappy book engraved in a series of copper scrolls, Once complete, I'll bury them in a cave somewhere in the arid wastelands of Buckfield ME where they will last longer than a Cockroach's Twinkie.
Perhaps the civilization that emerges from the Information Age Collapse will have it's own version of that Ancient Aliens show with that weird guy and the hair. I'm hoping that human future will not have TV. Most likely we'll have Elon Musk's Mandatory Direct-Brain Information Injection. They will be known as the cuddly acronym EMMDBFII.
 Can you imagine the confusion and discord my gravestone and the copper scrolls will sow in the New Civilization? And what about how absolutely nuts it would drive the New Civilization's Ancient Alien's Guy? So worth it.
What does any of this have to do with Marz's new blog?
Nothing.
Except the very human traits of Collapse, Loss, Hope and Rebirth.
So get yourself a cup of hot chocolate or huff an entire can of computer duster and click on "WHY BIPEDS CRY" by Marzipan F'Tang F'Tang Olay Biscuit Barrel Kingsbury.
See You Next Month!
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