Last time I was riled up enough to comment on the pitiful state of American consumerism culture, the target was Domino’s: a national food chain that can sell us booger infused culinary delights and still have us calling each Tuesday for that 5-5-5 deal. But this time I’ve been excited by something much more local and entrepreneurial. A gourmet pet bakery can be found in almost any place where money grows on trees and the only way to tell the difference between houses is by their number, but in Los Angeles County, they seem to have the monopoly on senseless ways to spend money during a recession. They beat out other popular options including 2) seeing Watchmen a 2nd time to make more sense of it and 3) spending $700 for sold out Bruce Springsteen tickets (I have a feeling he’ll be around next year, guys). As noted in the previous post in this series, the theme stems from a Fareed Zakaria article in which the famous Newsweek pundit attempts to define why the Muslim world doesn’t seem to like American Idol quite as much as we do. Now, I’m adding gourmet pet bakeries to the list.
For starters, let me explain what exactly a gourmet pet bakery is. Indeed the first time I came across one, the combination of words seemed more like the brainchild of a particularly mind-altering game of Madlibs than a place to actually spend money. The concept is simple: because you never had kids (for medical reasons… more sympathy or for social reasons… less sympathy) and you spend the majority of your days and nights fussing over what your labradoodle is going to wear tomorrow, it is equally conceivable that spending money on something an animal can never thank you for, nor express it’s enjoyment of, is perfectly logical. When I was growing up, we never gave our cats the luxury of dining on wet food: only the hard stuff, and they repaid us by being mildly interested in our lives no more than 50% of the time. And that’s the way it should be, because after all, the only reason I do anything for anyone is to hear them say thank you so I can replay it over and over in my head during the rest of the time that they act ungrateful.
Baking something usually requires a decent amount of work and planning. Therefore, baking anything for an animal that regularly enjoys eating its own shit at the behest of its owners seems a bit like rewarding a child for finishing an entire McDonalds meal all by his lonesome. Good boy! So if you’re wondering why Johnny Terrorist doesn’t hesitate to put anthrax in an envelope and mail it to a news anchor, stop for a moment and think about the last time you saw someone spending more money than you earn in a week on a cake for a dog that’s smaller than the stomach of a starving child living in the streets of a war torn country. That’s a bit heavy handed, I know. Your bulldog Duke really earned a peanut butter truffle this week. I’m as American as apple pie and I’ve done my fair share of border watching via the web, but do animals that can’t clean up after themselves really deserve gourmet food? Maybe they do, maybe they don’t but I assure you if fundamental Muslims ever get a hold of this one, there is going to be hell to pay for all of us. I take pride in knowing that the closest thing to gourmet food a pet will ever get from me is the leftover EasyMac that I didn’t finish so I could save room for an equally cheap and unhealthy food product, like a Little Debbie’s Cosmic Brownie.