Upcoming gig: Rooster T. Feathers, Feb. 7

I'll be performing at Rooster T. Feathers in Sunnyvale on Feb. 7 at 8 p.m. as part of the New Talent Showcase. I get more time if I bring people, so come along, and bring your juke box money.

I'm working on some new material. I might talk about this new obesity drug for dogs, just approved by the FDA. "Slentrol" will be prescribed by veterinarians for fat American dogs. I hope these pooches at least are really fat, and not just subject to that infernal Body Mass Index that screwed with my mind last year. "Yeah, Benji, see, for your height, 2 feet, you should really weigh about 20 pounds. You're pushing 40. Better get you on Slentrol."

But a pharmaceutical to help control a dog's weight? Are you serious? Is it that hard to control a dog's diet? Is Fido really busting into the refrigerator when you're not home and getting into your Chinese take-out? Is he ordering his own pizza or stopping by the Taco Smell drive-through on his way home from digging in the neighbors' petunias?

No. He's fat because YOU feed him too much! And YOU don't take him out for exercise. This is YOUR fault and if you think you're going to fix it by hiding a pill in a chunk of cheese, YOU should think twice about your capacity to care for a dog.

My doggy diet plan is no different than my secret people diet plan: eat less, exercise more. Yet, the doggy plan is infinitely easier to carry out. Just stop overfeeding the damn dog. And what dog doesn't like to run around? If the dog isn't getting enough exercise, chances are that's your fault too. I hope the FDA collects data on the BMI of those pet guardians who come in asking for Slentrol. My bet is that at least half of them pay for two seats when they get on a Southwest Airlines flight.

Letting your dog get obese is twice as bad as these people you see on Discovery Health who live with someone who is bed-ridden with morbid obesity and can't even get up to greet the pizza guy at the door. Somebody is bringing the fat and calories in the door. "She's the only one left who cares for me," the near-death person sobs. Oh yeah, she's just a Mother Teresa of compassion.

So, they have to build a special ambulance and remove the side of your house to take you in for extremely dangerous gastric-bypass surgery which may save your life only because keeps you from having the ability to overeat. Well, the caretaker who kept popping those Hot Pockets in the microwave for you all those years could have done that too.

Only in America. The rest of the world (save, perhaps, Tonga) sighs in disbelief.