Dog Bites

SUV-PF: A Big Bunch of Chickenshit Crybabies
The Sport Utility Vehicle Proliferation Fellowship, after a brief bout of faxes, e-mails, and posturing, has suddenly dropped off the Dog Bites radar. Though the group invited us to contact it via e-mail, when we actually did so, we didn't hear back for nearly a week.

Then we requested an interview.
“We were surprised to find an invitation for an interview,” wrote “Lee,” a representative of the group. “We are reluctant to set up a face to face on the grounds that we do in a way fear being exposed due to the fact that many of our ideas would be considered extreme.”

Listen, “Lee,” Nestor Makhno agreed to an interview. In fact, we bought him dinner and a whole lot of beer, and it was a fun evening — though we note he hasn't called us in some time. Now, we realize that the SUV-PF may not have quite as coherent a political rationale as the Mission Yuppie Eradication Project — certainly your manifesto isn't nearly as catchy — but jeez: At least have the guts to let us buy you a drink and ask you a few questions. How else are we going to lay the foundations for our 1999 Dog Bites Mission Peace Summit?

Wet Mop on Aisle 2
A reader whose name appears to be Carl Mossfeld complains that this column is in a gray box. Well, we thought it seemed a little dark in here, but we like it that way. It makes us feel safe. “Crisp type on white?” asks Mossfeld rhetorically. “Or something you can't read by the light of a Muni streetcar?”

Actually, we wouldn't know; we've never been able to read in a moving vehicle without getting dizzy and nauseated.

Meanwhile, lovelorn Mission SUV-driver “O” followed up his lengthy letter of last week by writing to say that he is cute. He included a picture … of his SUV.

And Mary Catherine Betz writes, “I have been following the story between the haves and the have nots in the Mission. I feel compelled, however, to comment on the continuing categorization of SUV driving yuppies as members of the ruling class.

“As a student of Marx, it is my belief that this is incorrect. The ruling class is comprised of people who have a considerable amount of money, but more importantly, wield power: Bill Gates, Peter Magowan, Ted Turner, for instance. And while our local yuppies are not members of the true revolutionary class — the proletariat — they are certainly not members of the ruling class. They can be as easily squashed by the capitalist machine as Mr. Makhno, you or me.”

Betz, also, claims to be cute. “O”: Are you interested?
Anyway, we'd just love to add more, but recently — in fact, extremely recently — we've discovered that scrolling through our e-mail makes us dizzy and nauseated.

John Would Reads Playboy, So You Don't Have To
By now, regular readers of this column know that Dog Bites' usual reading material doesn't include girlie magazines, unless you include Martha Stewart Living in that category. But John Would — Columnist Within a Column Extraordinaire — has effectively remedied that gap in our coverage of worldwide media this week:

“As you may have noticed, our old buddy Ken Garcia's vacation is now approaching the one month mark, and, quite frankly, I'm starting to think the nine straight weeks of Garcia summaries we published crushed him,” writes John. Please note: Dog Bites thinks Would may be slightly overestimating his impact here. “Actually, he does appear to have been doing something — both Tuesday's and Saturday's paper listed him as 'on assignment' (Thursday, however, it was back to 'on vacation') — although delivering coffee and doughnuts to Chron staffers does seem a long fall from his once-omnipotent column at the front of the Bay Area section.

“Well, I started to fret something fierce over this situation, seeing as it's pretty hard to summarize Ken when he's not writing, and began a citywide search for a new columnist to, um, study. I had a number of finalists — the horseshoe-jawed Rob Morse, proudly hard-drinking SF Metropolitan clubs columnist C. Silo, Chronicle Career Search columnist Dave Murphy, whose serial killer-looking photograph matches the name of his column (On the Fringe) so perfectly — and was about to make my selection when, like a god in a machine, the February issue of Playboy arrived.

“Well, with such a perfect example of middle-aged American mediocrity staring me in the face, I knew I'd found the one. After all, what could be more summary-worthy than the $4.95-an-issue Playboy, with its playmate fan mail, endless Q&As, and the ubiquitous shots of 'Hef' on the job in his bathrobe? (Who does he think he is, Jon Carroll?) And then, of course, there are the articles, some of the finest examples you can find of applying '50s-style thought patterns to the late '90s. So here, I'll save everyone who was thinking of picking up the February issue five bucks and summarize the best of what the new Playboy has to offer.

“This Month in Playboy

'The Naked and the Dead,' by A.J. Benza: Oh no, my favorite strip club is closing down. Now I have to find a new place where I can pay girls to like me.

'Who Can Read Your E-mail?' by Andy Ihnatko: Stop sending dirty jokes from the office computer. Your boss might read them and fire your angry white ass.

'She Is … Pamela, America's Most Dazzling Single Mom' (pictorial): Boy, Pamela Anderson sure doesn't look like anyone's mom. Especially when she's naked, or wearing nothing but a fine coat of sand.

Very truly yours,
John Would”

As told to Laurel Wellman

Tip Dog Bites — especially if you're disgruntled. Phone 536-8139; fax 777-1839; e-mail

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