The World Series Baby and Her Dog

You’ll recall that the Giants, in celebration of winning the belt and the title, cooked up a little contest called the “World Series Baby,” which celebrated and encouraged unprotected sex in and around San Francisco. On that front, we have a winner. Please meet Brooklynn Bird …

If there’s one thing I take seriously, it’s impregnating the Ladies of America, which is a thing that I have done before. Still, it’s hard for me to get past the look of angsty betrayal on the hound’s face. “And so it begins,” he’s surely thinking, encumbered by the knowledge that he’s but an infant’s dander allergy away from a trip to Uncle Tony’s.

If I’m reading sight-lines correctly, it appears that the dog is directing his mounting hostility toward the mother. The 1950s taught us that an unwelcome pregnancy is always the woman’s fault, and it’s oddly heartening to know this lesson has crossed species.

(Impregnation of thanks: With Leather)