Listen lady, for the tenth time there's a dead dog in the alley behind my house.  He's stinking to high heaven!  Ok. He's got this massive head – a bulldog I think.  And…he's got a tuxedo on.  One of those fancy ones with an ascot to boot.  Looks like a mafia hit.  Maybe he deserved it, I dunno.  Anyway he deserves a proper burial.  Can you please send someone to pick him up!  All I'm getting is the runaround here.  I call animal control – they say the dog has to be alive for them to pick him up.  I call the refuse department – they can't pick him up because he's not refuse.  The street crew will not pick him up because he's not on a public street – he's in the f****ing alley behind my house. Lucky me huh?  All the while, I'm becoming nauseous because of the smell. Well it's a health hazard, isn't it? But the health department referred me back to the animal control department.  And on and on it goes.  Listen do not hang up on me lady!  I will load this dead dog up in the back of my van and come down there and personally lay Fido out on your desk – ascot and all.  That's right, get a big whiff of it lady.  Those tears you'll be crying won't be tears of joy.  Now am I'm going to get some satisfaction here or not?  Hey!  Did you hear that?  That's the sound of flies buzzing around my head.  Don't hang up on me lady…. Ok, yes, I'm taking a deep breath.  Counting to ten won't help.  My therapist recommends I count to a hundred in situations like this.  Ok..one…two…three..ah screw it…one hundred.  Hello? Anyone?  Somebody….