junior or emma goldman?
paris hilton has more money than me (click here!) -
okay, i never blog, but then sometimes i see a chart like the one in this discussion, and i think, wow, americans would be a bunch of commies if they could! if only we weren’t so, um, distracted?!
no, but seriously, two more days until the jersey shore finale! also, i’m pretty excited that i might be having a burrito for lunch today… wait — what were we talking about?
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there is a lot of snow in new york, and when i took junior out yesterday morning for a walk around the block, the snow hadn’t yet been shoveled, and she quickly disappeared in a drift, burrowing along like a groundhog until she found a place acceptable to pee…
but in a recent comic i implied that junior eats her poo. that wasn’t fair. junior doesn’t eat poo, and though she did once or twice as a puppy (about 50 dog years ago), it’s not something she would do today.
however, for all her good looks, junior can still be pretty disgusting.
there are many nights when i wake up to the sounds of her farts. junior’s farts are long and sad, and loud enough to wake me up. the mother in me immediately wants to jump out of bed and hold her, comfort her, promise my little dogdaughter it’ll be alright — no living thing, yet alone my offspring, should fart that sad.
but the father in me usually yells at her and goes back to sleep.
and though my dog can be disgusting, she is nothing compared to charlie sheen. for all his good looks, charlie sheen is a sad and disgusting fart. and despite all his money and fame, his fans and success, i can’t help but feel that charlie sheen is lost in the world, and someday when he dies, he will die alone and sad.
of course, they’ll find his dead body under a pile of coked-out strippers, but, nonetheless, alone, if not exactly in a literal way.
“i want a french bulldog,” the woman said.
we were standing next to each other at the bar. i had been drinking for awhile.
“i have an english bulldog,” i offered, “and i’m teaching her french.”
she looked at me with interest.
“but she’s a really, really slow learner,” i said, “really slow.”
i could see she was disappointed. she didn’t say anything, and i didn’t say anything, and eventually she turned and walked away.
i finished my drink and went home to quiz my dog on verb conjugations.
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i could be an astronaut
landing on a rich man’s yacht
i could be a polar bear
dancing in my underwear
i could be a thespian
performing in the western wind
but i could never be a lesbian
because i’m a boy and boys have penises.