Moon Me!

I'd like to introduce you to the newest and coolest sensation to hit this town and hit it hard -
Mr. Willy Moon.

You won't be disappointed, America. Just hop on board the Willy Moon Train! 

(Will he moon? We hope so!)  

Dig this, pigeon lips!

Many Thanks, My Tootsie Pops

Crafts Can Hurt

My dog Ed is really good at crocheting.  He’s just got a talent for it. A flair. And to be perfectly honest, I’m a little bit jealous.  First of all, it was my idea to start a crocheting circle, not Ed’s.  Second of all, he’s never shown any interest in the Arts.  But now that everyone is all, “Ooooh, Ed, you’re so good at crocheting, could you make me something?  You’re just so great at it”, it’s all I ever hear about.  There’s no more, “Can I have a treat?” or “How ‘bout a catch?”.  No, Ed’s all business.  “Paula, I’ve got to get to the Yarn Barn before they close, I’m almost out of teal and I promised Cheryl I’d finish her plant hanger tonight.”  Well, who do you think has to drive Ed to the Yarn Barn?  Me.  For fuck’s sake, dogs don’t drive.  So I’m stuck chauffeuring this douchebag around town, so he can find the perfect width, or whatever, of yarn.  It just makes me sick.  

Plus, he’s gained weight.  Big as a blimp.  Does he honestly think he’ll burn calories sitting on the fucking couch? The only thing he moves are his wrists.  And he wasn’t thin to begin with.  He’s a pit-bull, so he’s pretty barrel-chested, but now he’s just plain old fat.  And I plan on saying that to his face tonight.  And I’m also going to mention that he’s just a little on the slow side.  His vet said so himself, “Ed’s slow.”  That’s a professional opinion, not just me saying it because he’s getting so much attention lately.  

Then this morning Ed asked me if I wanted any help with my crocheting technique.  Oh really?  Do I want help?  Uh, no.  Crocheting is stupid.  It’s what old ladies do.  I hate Ed.  He’s adopted.  He wasn’t even housetrained when I got him.  He peed on my brand new mattress, but did I yell at him?  Did I embarrass him?  No I did not.  I just took him outside and praised him when he did his business in the great outdoors.  I didn’t fucking ask him if he needed “help” with his tech-fucking-nique.  

And he keeps pronouncing it, CROTCH-HAY.  I said, it’s CROW-SHAY, and he says to me, “I’m using the European pronunciation.”  Oh really, Ed?  ‘Cause you eat your own barf.  And eating your own barf, if I’m correct in my assumption and I believe that I am, is gross.  Even in Europe.

Zen Shmen

You should meditate. Find a quiet place, put on some tranquil music, fold your legs up and go. It's gonna make you, I don't know, nicer.

Or you could just take stealth sips from a dented tin flask throughout the day and save yourself the fucking hassle.