Mugsy issues interactive fatwa

In 2008, the world financial system nearly suffered a meltdown, tugged to the brink of destruction in large part by the bad decisions of inept mortgage bankers. As my ongoing refinance shows, such incompetence is still alive and well. What began in late August as an attempt to take advantage of the lowest interest rates since the 1950s -- and thereby save some money while paying off the compound earlier -- has evolved into an exercise in idiocy. The sins of the bankers are many, but among the most egregious are these:

"I think I'll just toss those
mortgage papers into the
fire and play another game
of Solitaire."

• After we painstakingly filled out every section of the application, the loan officer butchered it. Among other things, he switched our race from "I do not wish to answer" to "non-Hispanic white," despite having never seen us in person. My flock, have you seen Wendell? This is most offensive. He also omitted all the ministry's assets that we had listed except for our checking account funds -- no stocks, no mutual funds, no retirement accounts, no vehicles -- just the cash in our account. And he altered father's employment history in such a way that we would later receive a call from the bank asking why the results of its employment check didn't match what was on the application.
• For long periods of time, the mortgage lenders appeared to completely forget about our application, even though we'd agreed to close on the loan by the end of September. Only when I e-mailed them did they lurch back into action. At one point, I asked about the appraisal, convinced that things were taking far too long. When the loan officer replied, he said that the appraisal had been ordered a week before. Within 15 minutes, the appraiser called to schedule an appointment. I'm convinced that had I not asked, I would still be waiting.
• The mortgage company contacted our insurer and had our policy changed to name it as the titleholder several weeks ago -- even though we were nowhere near closing on the loan.
• The deadline of our 30-day interest rate lock came and went without any response to my e-mails. Then, finally, a loan processor called to say that we'd been approved and that we could close the following Thursday. The only problem: Since they'd taken so long, their preferred close date conflicted with a planned vacation. I explained this and asked if there was a way we could work around our trip. The woman said she'd call back later that day. She never did.
• Fast-forward three days later: The same woman calls. "You're approved for the refi," she says. "How does Thursday sound for the closing?" "ARE YOU KIDDING ME, INFIDEL!?! I WILL SMASH YOUR FACE INTO A JELLY!!!" I thought as I calmly explained to her that I was going to be out of town that day. And that I'd told her the exact same thing three days earlier. 
• Later in the day, I received an e-mail from Infidel No. 1. "Yes, we can extend your rate lock until you get back. We've absorbed part of the cost, but there will be an additional $155 fee. How would you like to pay that?"

I was flabbergasted. I was outraged. I was livid. And yes, my flock, I was in a fatwa-issuing rage. The infidels have left me no choice! God willing, they will know justice! They will be punished! And they will pitch in their own $155 for the privilege of collecting thousands of dollars of interest from me over the next 15 years, or they will pay the consequences!!! 

This is where you come in, my flock. For this is no ordinary affront. This whole ordeal has touched a nerve, like the kind that makes a dog's legs kick uncontrollably when the humans find that spot near his armpit. (Or legpit. Whatever the correct anatomical term is. In my current fiery rage, I cannot be bothered to look it up.) This crime against the ministry demands the attention of the full congregation. That is right, my furry and not-so-furry disciples: You must choose the punishment!

I have posted a poll at the side of the page. Please take the time to do your part and vote. The will of the congregation will be the law.  Justice demands it. Vengeance demands it. Your ayatollah demands it. 

Mugsy issues fatwa

Evil must be condemned, my flock. Regardless of the consequences or any personal discomfort, we must speak out against it. To do otherwise would be tantamount to acceptance. And by meekly accepting evil, we perpetuate it. So although I run the risk of angering the world's retailers and haberdashers, I feel that they have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa! I hereby condemn, in the strongest terms possible, the packaging of men's dress shirts. 


Anyone who has ever shopped for a button-up shirt has surely been astounded by the depths of depravity to which clothing-makers sink. The shirt is tightly folded into an awkward rectangle. Cold plastic is tucked away on both sides of the collar. Numerous bits of cardboard and paper hide in the shirt's crevices. And worst of all, an array of plastic and metal clips join forces with eight dozen razor-sharp pins to pinch every bit of stray fabric together. This turns the simple act of trying on a new shirt into a half-hour production. The pointless display must be painstakingly disassembled, creating a pile of environmentally unfriendly waste and filling the blood-stained department store pincushion to the breaking point. Once freed from its bindings, the shirt is covered in rectangular creases that are likely to survive the garment's first washing and beyond; only heavy-duty ironing can undo the madness of man. And woe be upon the poor sap who has to reassemble and reshelve this ungodly puzzle after I decide I don't like the way the shirt fits.

So let it be known throughout the land that I strictly forbid this practice to continue. Under the terms of this fatwa, shirts must now be allowed to hang freely on a rack. I will tolerate the plastic in the collar, which seems to be the only part of this display method with any purpose, but the pins and needles and cardboard and paper must go -- and they must go now! They serve only to torture male clothes-buyers, raise the material cost of the shirts, leave unsightly holes and wrinkles in the fabric, litter our landfills, and destroy our precious trees before I and other well-meaning canines have had a chance to mark them.  What a waste. What an evil, evil waste. 

Mugsy issues fatwa

I can stay silent no longer, my flock. Too many times now, I have turned on my television or radio and been astounded, nay, horrified by the awful advertising campaigns that now plague the airwaves. They have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa! But first, let me explain the problem now facing our society.

Exhibit A: Dr Pepper has been claiming for several months now that its beverage features 23 distinct flavors. This is absurd, my flock! Absurd!! Dr Pepper has one distinct flavor: It tastes like Dr Pepper! Even the youngest puppy could tell you that. Dr Pepper may have 23 ingredients, but not 23 flavors. Unless the baker was particularly inept, one does not bite into a cookie and say, "Oh, I taste the egg, and the flour, and the butter ..." No, once those ingredients are combined, the finished product tastes like a cookie!!! Dr Pepper does a disservice to all God-fearing humans and canines with this ridiculous slogan.

Exhibit B: Burger King recently unveiled an ad campaign in which it apparently sends camera crews to remote areas around the globe to conduct a taste test with villagers who have never sampled a hamburger. First of all, it seems highly improbable that Western consumers would care which burger these Third World denizens prefer. For all we know, these people may regularly eat dung beetles and wash them down with a blood-and-milk mixture. Different cultures have different tastes. Second, Burger King does not even reveal the results of these allegedly unbiased taste tests in its ads. Instead, the company asks TV viewers to visit its "Whopper Virgins" Web site to see what happens. Ignoring the obvious point that Burger King wouldn't promote a site in which the Big Mac was the overwhelming favorite, are we to believe that people are actually racing to their computers to visit whoppervirgins.com? I provided a link in the interest of completeness, but even I am not about to sit through some burger propaganda film. I have too much propaganda of my own to work on.

Exhibit C: In its radio ads, McDonald's has taken to labeling its chicken customers "Nug Nuts." This sounds quite a bit like "Lug Nuts," or "Numb Nuts" -- neither of which I would much like to be called. Do the Chicken McNugget consumers not suffer enough simply by dining at McDonald's? Must we really call them such a pejorative-sounding name? Has Ronald McDonald no decency?!?

I could go on and on, but I believe this gives you an idea of the severity of the problem. So I hereby issue a fatwa! Starting right now, I declare a moratorium on all terrible advertising campaigns. Those who dare to violate this binding religious decree will face immediate excommunication from Pug Life Ministries and be forced to wear a "Nug Nut" name tag for the rest of their lives.

Mugsy issues fatwa

Too many times have I narrowly escaped disaster, swerving or stopping just in time. Too many times have I shaken my furry paw-fist in indignation. The infidels who have stoked my road-rage have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa! When going through an intersection with dual turn lanes, the car in the inside lane must remain in its inside lane. This is not only the law, it is required by canine Islam! Do not anger Allah with your wide-turning encroachment; drive righteously. The next infidel whose wide turning puts him on a collision course with the ayatollahmobile will be stripped of his driving privileges and his pants and left at the roadside.

Mugsy issues fatwa

Too many times have I been distracted. A flash of light shatters the darkness, drawing my gaze away from the big screen and onto the tiny screen of a cell phone. And for what -- an insignificant text message? "No more!" I say. The infidels at the movie theater have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa!

Henceforth under canine Islam, it is strictly forbidden to use a cell phone for any purpose in a theater while the movie is showing. If your text-message conversation is truly more interesting than the film you paid $9 to see, then step outside and spare the rest of us your annoying presence. Violators will forfeit their thumbs.

Mugsy issues fatwa for travelers

During my recent travels, I encountered a wide range of airport security measures. There was the anti-liquid bent of the Americans, who apparently believe that saline solution and Diet Coke can bring down a plane. There was the overzealous bag-searching and overly friendly body-patting of the Germans, who needed five minutes to deduce that my father's eyeglass case was not a threat. And there was the refreshing yet somewhat alarming laxity of the Italians, who didn't so much as stamp my passport despite my nearly two weeks in their fair country.

All of us who have flown have experienced the long lines and frustrating waits (especially when scrambling to make a connecting flight) that these security measures produce. But I am here to tell you, my flock, that it does not have to be this way. Humans bring much of this misery upon themselves through their lack of preparation. I stood by, dumbfounded, as traveler after traveler took the slowest path possible through the security line. What could have been a 10-minute wait routinely became a 30-minute wait. But I say "no more!" It is time to demand better. It is time to breeze through the security line in time to buy some #*@&#* Reese's Pieces before take-off! The infidels who slow us all down have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa!! Henceforth, the following rules must be observed by all travelers -- for the betterment of all animalkind.

1. If you see that security is requiring people to take off their shoes, do so before you reach the front of the line. Walking 10 feet in your socks won't hurt you.
2. When going through a metal detector, do not wait until you reach the machine to start fumbling around and putting your belongings in the little bowl security provides. Take all your metal-containing objects -- coins, keys, phone, watch, belt -- and place them in a carry-on bag or zip-up coat pocket before you reach the front of the line. Then you need only send that one item through the metal detector while you walk through alarm-free.
3. Yes, take off your metal-buckled belt. Even if it didn't set off the detector in Toledo.

Mugsy condemns commercial

As longtime readers of my teachings well know, I am a distinguished afficionado of undergarments. But I can no longer condone a certain television advertisement for Hanes. Why, oh mighty Allah, would Michael Jordan give Cuba Gooding Jr. underwear? And why would the actor then scream across the room, "I'm wearing your underwear!"? This is the greatest basketball player of his generation, an athlete whom my father once drove 12 hours one-way to watch in a playoff game. Are we expected to believe that he doles out undergarments to B-list actors? No! No, I say! The absurdity of it boggles the mind. So I am left with no choice. I hereby issue a fatwa! This ridiculous commercial must never be allowed to air again.

Anyone violating this binding religious decree will suffer loss of undergarments, among other harsh penalties.

Hop along now, infidels ...

It was 2 a.m. as we pulled into the garage. The ayatollah clan had just crammed a long weekend in Oklahoma into a little over 24 hours. Mother had gone to a baby shower. My seven-pound brother had begun his courtship of a 60-pound Lab mix named Ginger. And I had stayed busy trying to overthrow Hamas in Gaza while also working to reverse the rising cost of rawhide. As we unloaded the pugmobile, the unmistakable sound of drunken revelry emanated from the dwelling next door. It was unusual -- I can't recall any other such gathering at the neighbors' house -- but it seemed to be nothing to worry about, bad music aside. Then mother nudged me. "Mugsy," she whispered, "what are they doing to my car?"

I turned to find a crowd of intoxicated humans gathered around the driver's-side door of mother's vehicle in the driveway. "Hey!" I barked, "what are you doing?"

One hunched-over human straightened, as best he could in his present state. "I'm drawing a rabbit," he said matter-of-factly.

I have nothing against rabbits or any other small woodland animals, and I am well known as a patron of the arts. But still, I found this explanation to be unacceptable. Call me crazy, but I would prefer that humans keep their grubby paws off my property -- especially at 2 in the morning.

"Get away from my car!" I growled.

The humans scattered like cockroaches under a floodlight. Mother went to check on the car. And in the mist on its window, she found the beginnings of a rabbit drawing.

This incident has left me no choice but to issue a fatwa! I never thought I would have to say this, but it must be clarified so that all will know. Henceforth, it is strictly forbidden under canine Islam to draw a bunny in the window of any car other than your own.

Of power cords and fatwas

Thanks to some cajoling, some jiggling and some praying, my computer is now working. It is receiving just enough electricity through its shoddily made power cord to function. The fraying cord itself is not that old, having replaced another similarly balky piece of equipment in February.

My flock, there is nothing more tragic than a power cord dying young. Nothing, that is, except its replacement being available only via mail order and only at the exorbitant cost of $80. Had Dell stock not contributed to the Capitalist Pug portfolio over the years, I would surely be issuing an angry fatwa at this moment.

Speaking of fatwas, you may have noticed that my little brother, Wendell, recently took it upon himself to issue a demand for rawhide on this blog. Perhaps I should have seen this coming. Whatever I do, it seems, young Wendell is right behind. When I patrol the fence line to sniff out any infidels or ne'er-do-well bunnies, Wendell patrols right along with me. When I go to get a drink of water, Wendell quenches his thirst as well. He would essentially be my one-sixth-size shadow -- if shadows occasionally bit tails. Thank Allah they do not.

So it comes as no surprise that Wendell studied my movements on the computer, stole my password and issued a fatwa of his own. As a pug who has not graduated from puppy class at PetSmart, let alone a high-level madrassa, Wendell is not yet qualified to issue such religious edicts. However, given the important nature of his fatwa, I am willing to let this one stand.

Mugsy issues fatwa

For too long, consumers have been senselessly befuddled at checkout lines and bemused at ATMs. We are given an unthinkable task -- told to deny the laws of nature, of physics, of Allah Himself! I am left with no choice but to issue a fatwa!

Henceforth, it is strictly forbidden under canine Islam for machines to demand that we "insert and remove card quickly in one motion." As even infidels and felines know, this is physically impossible.