It’s been a long, slow descent from greatness mediocrity into plain ol’ ramblin’ for Star columnist and purple prose aficionado C.W. Gusewelle, but things seem to have finally bottomed out. While he once quite sensibly geared his columns toward the humans who would be reading them, C-dub now appears to have made a fundamental shift in his approach: he now writes purely for animals. Witness just a few of his recent columns, if you will: there’s “Cat a dear friend but for doors“; there’s “As bunny grows, so does his courage“; and there’s “Neighbors rally to save ducks from disaster.” (And let’s not forget that this all comes on the heels of his Brittany Spaniel brouhaha.) So what kind of essential information is C-dub providing in these columns?
Our orange cat, Mickey, is the dearest kind of friend. But the friendship, like any other, is not without certain trials.
I do not mind waking in the night to find him asleep with his head on the pillow between us. I do rather object to his desire to join us at the table — not just at it, on it — while we eat.
We suppose it could be worse, though: C-dub could be writing about waiting while his wife shops or something. Now that would be a really bor — wait, what? Oh… oh, no.
Just inside the store’s entrance was a row of chairs, backs against the window and facing into the maelstrom. All the chairs were occupied by men — men wearing expressions of despair and betrayal. And I joined them.
Time passed. Much time. The wife of one of the men appeared with her armload of plunder, and they exited. The others of us were bitter with envy.
Is “death by boring column” a recognized means of expiration?