What My Dog Says

I am just so Last Week in my thinking that I decided to spend more family time with Fuzz to kind of get an idea what is on her mind these days. I did have to retrogress some in my deprivation tank but soon got on her wave length. She is really very brilliant but her mind works in flashes of disassociated thoughts she refers to as cajas de sopa; she’s multilingual also. Keep in mind, please, that I probably missed a ton of nuance in my translation:

Do handicap tags really mean “ride real slow in the freakin’ passing lane?”

What is up with women and all those revolting cat photos, cats on a hat, cats in a boot, cats at a nap? Only good place for a moronic cat is on a bun.

How come I can’t ride through the inspection lane? Are they afraid I might bite the wand they stick up the ass of the car? Oh, it’s a tail pipe, my bust.

Why do you have Jimmie-legs? Do you know why I sleep all day? It’s because all night I fight your jerky-assed Jimmie-legs.

I have bad breath because you feed me chicken butts, chicken feet, lamb tracheas, lamb bladders, and ox lips. You want good breath? Give me a lamp chop, cheapskate.

I know people do not like me jumping up on them. Hell, I am 12 inches to my eyes; you try telling whether a person is a republican or not by looking at their damned socks. I mean I can tell but I am tired of socks, socks, socks.

I run of whenever it is windy because I can smell one part of chicken manure per every million parts of air. So, I go nuts, but then when I get away, there is so much chicken shit floating around in the air, I get lost, confused, dislocated. I get the same way listening to FUX news. Look if you’d bought something in Nithsdale instead of this scrungey neighborhood, I would be disinclined to run off. This is Nitsdale.

Look if the going rate in Afghanistan is 5.25 per day for working men, why don’t we just hire the Taliban to be good? That’s 5.25 x 260 x 100,000 (Taliban) equal 136,500,000 A YEAR A YEAR ONE HUNDRED FIFTY MILLION A YEAR TO PUT 100,000 TALIBAN to work for a year. Hell, dude, double the wages and we got them for 272,000,000 dollars a year. Come on HOME and guard the borders. Sorry, I slobber when I get excited.

Look, you are the human; you figure that one out for yourself.

OK so, the Taliban makes some money off the opium and weed over there. Come on think outside the kennel for a change: With all the money (about 4.6 billion) we saved hiring the Taliban rather than fighting them, BUY all the opium and weed directly from the farmers . Bring it back here, use the best stuff for medicine and give it away by prescription. Then, take the rest and put it on the “free market” and sell it right here. Takes care of the sleaze ball Afghani politicians selling it to us. Probably would put the boys in Colombia and Mexico back into the coffee market, and with all that new competition, our coffee prices would go down. Win, win, and win.

Hmm Brad Pitt is pretty hot to me but that Jolie girl is whacked and just think,I am the one who takes a dump out in the cold.

By the way, I am glad you are not using the wood stove this year. In case you hadn’t noticed that damn fire alarm scares hell out of me when it announces another one of your chimney fires. Get a life and spend some money on decent, safe heat.

And while I am at it. Leave off cutting the toenails. That hurts you goober; I don’t flinch for fun. IT HURTS, HELLO.

Look, I think you are as reasonable as a human is going to get; I could have done worse, but dude you got to get out more. One, because I like to ride and stick my nose out the window, sneezing is orgasmic for dogs. Two, man you just got to get off that computer and go DO something. Jesssh.

I quit; I am tired of using third grade vocabulary so that you can understand me, and besides I am getting ready to contemplate on some silly republican or another, and I would simply rather go lick my ass. Thanks for the chat, dude.



Fuzz is pretty cool but uses bolding and capitals way too much and is a bit snobbish about her intellect but only to me; if you came by you’d never know she wasn’t a regular good-gal dog. . . unless of course you had on republican socks.