Disclaimer: Since this site requires a CP to be 13 years old in people years and I was born in 1996, I’m using my purported “master’s” account to write this piece, as there is no calculation for dog years. It’s unbelievable that in the 21st century, he could call himself that, especially since everyone in this household knows who really runs the place, but he keeps me fed, no easy task, and other than that neutering thing and floating air biscuits and blaming me, I have no complaints.
My name is Kramer, and I am a multi-colored 70 year old (in dog years) Siberian Husky/Malamute mix. For most of my life, I didn’t really mind sharing the name with the “hipster doofus” Cosmo Kramer of the hit 90’s show Seinfeld. However, on Nov. 17, all that changed with the now infamous tirade “unleashed” on an unsuspecting audience by his alter ego Michael Richards. Like most of you, I was appalled by the rantings of this bonehead to the point that I see his image on every fire hydrant, hedge, and utility pole. I’m catching so much grief for his sins from my friends. My life has been forever changed. Anyhow, when I was very young, my nimrod “master” named me Kramer because of my penchant for bursting into rooms and, as that other Kramer’s friend George said of the K man he likes to: “do nothing, fall ass-backwards into money, mooch food off his neighbors and have sex without dating”. Except for the part about money, we have some things in common. What we don’t have in common is the attitudes expressed by Mr. Richards/Kramer.
My original name was the Russian name Vladimir, but it was changed to Kramer, to avoid controversy. So much for that. Now, because of the disgrace Michael Richards has brought to our name, I can’t even engage in my favoritie activities: getting into the trash, going postal on the mailman, etc. (I like to fantasize that’s it Newman), for the shame. Not to mention, that in this ‘hood, it could be dangerous to answer to the name ‘Kramer’ these days.People might try to poison ME It’s a blue collar neighborhood, and I don’t wear a collar anymore, kind of like when the other Kramer stopped wearing underwear, “I’m out there, Jerry, and I’m lovin’ it”! But he can’t get in trouble for that, and I could go to the pound for my offense.
If it wasn’t bad enough to get blamed for flatulence, eating homework, lying, piling on and eating each other, having no control of our libidos (okay, guilty to that one), we are the Bill Clinton of the Animal Kingdom when it comes to blame. People do unspeakable things in our water fountains, I could go on and on, now I must deal with this.
I think the only thing to do is the All-American thing, hire an attorney and sue for punitive damages, not to mention the pain and suffering of sharing a name with a guy with a mouth like that. If I could be sure I wouldn’t draw that Judge whose leg I got busy on when he was out campaigning 10 years ago, it would be an open and shut case. However, just to be safe, I probably should see what the statute of limitations is on that. I guess I could borrow a page from Henry Hyde (or was it Mark Foley?) and use the old “youthful indescretion” defense, since I was a pup at the time. I can truthfully say that this Kramer is colorblind, and it’s the other Kramer who should wear the muzzle.