Why I vote Republican.
First, they take my balls. Now I’m apparently being tracked by satellite.
This is bullshit.
First, they take my balls. Now I’m apparently being tracked by satellite.
This is bullshit.
It’s not the Hamptons. But it’ll do.
Oh man…DB, if you only knew what I was getting away with on your couch. Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this:
Never loan leather furniture to a redneck.
Notice the nice cover on it though. While DB might believe this is to protect the couch from Lucky, in fact, the cover conceals something quite different…
Get out your slide rule, class. There’s a new equation going up on the board…
That’s right folks, I’m a four-legged melting pot. The ingredients, according to Happy Dog DNA:
Be sure to check your work.
Do dogs ‘ave orgies or was it was it it all done in a blender an’ that?
Part Dalmation? I just don’t see it.
Check your spelling, Arkansas.
.
Seriously, Leph…I’m with the Fuhrer. It’s getting a little ridic, brah.
Here’s yet another site dedicated to the demise of that turd on your computer.
Seriously…is Timber’s Twitter account meant to be read by mylephnt’s great aunts and uncles or something? Cuz the updates are llllllllllllllame. Where’s the profanity and general discontent that we’re used to?
For those of you that still aren’t convinced of my knack for surviving close calls, here is one more chapter in the saga that is my life with Deporter.
This is a pic of me watching her and el D leaving for some dinner a few miles down the road from the beach condo. What they didn’t immediately realize (and what you can’t see from this pic) was that I had managed to tie myself up in the blind cords. Here’s a closer look:
Fortunately for me, Deporter suspected something was up and sent the Dude back up to investigate. Here’s his account:
Yeah, man. That dumbass had his entire torso through the loop in the cord. It was funny and quite sad at the same time. Good thing we caught it. I swear, it’s like living with a Martin Short character. What would that little shit do without us?
I often wonder that myself, asshole.
they let you that close to the window! You are lucky!
Maybe he was just channeling David Carradine…

Molly was kidnapped from the Whole Foods at 14th and P.
FYI: This post is going to be tacked to the front page for the time being.
I hope they find you!
If they haven’t found you yet, then you are probably gone. Let’s end the unnecessary internet vigil for some dog that none of us have ever met. Molly probably ran away because her parent made her move to DC from some cool town with lakes and hiking trails (like in the picture). Whole Foods just doesn’t cut it. – Timber
With each passing day, the odds of finding Molly decrease… Let it go Lucky. Find a new obsession – maybe focus your energy on avoiding autoerotic asphyxiation.
I am agreeing with Myleph on this one… minus the cold and heartlessness
It is just that I admit to not caring. Now, if it was Thea or Timber or Lucky, that would be different… I would wait at least another day.
Found. Thanks to the Ramble? Yeah – right.
And by anal, I mean Palin pulled this one from her butt. Here she is being defended by her spokeperson “Meg”, who also tries to tie Sarahcuda’s decision to walk out on all Alaskans to bocce ball or something.
What’s great is that Anderson Cooper doesn’t know fuck all about sports (or so he says) and is therefore allowed to say exactly what everyone else is thinking: “Lady, what the shit are you talking about?” Pay particular attention around the 4:40 mark.
[YouTube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0XRot6ydGM]
Is anyone else reminded of the phone scene between Brian Fantana and Ron Burgandy in “Anchorman”?
[Wonkette]

I honestly don't know what the photographer cares about more in this pic.
Whatever that is…has apparently begun, according to my handlers.
Apparently, a lot.
I thought I had lived up to my handle when I tumbled down a measly 150-year old staircase and walked away from it. But you, man…you out-did me in a big way. Truth be told, it hasn’t exactly been détente between me and your kind in the past (see the afore-linked post), but I gotta say…respect.
You might be a pussy…but you ain’t no pussy. You feel me?
I’m starting to wonder: does this name of ours act like some sort of animal kingdom version of Groundhog Day? Are we immortal? I’m gonna look into this and get back to you. We might be onto something here.
Tom Petty would be proud.
But, how can we be sure that the woman did put Luck in the Pet Sematary? He looked pretty bad from the overhead shot…
Vacation: va⋅ca⋅tion [vey-key-shuhn] -noun. Leisure time devoted to rest or pleasure.
Ah yes.
Rest. And pleasure. Two things that I was promised when I agreed to tag along for a nice Memorial Day weekend in Hagerstown, MD. Why Hagerstown, you ask? Well, el D’s coworker, Fred, offered up a 150-year old house for he and Deporter to stay in and get away from it all. Not exactly the beach…but hey, it’s something. So into the Zipcar I jump.
A couple hours later, we arrive at our destination. (More …)
Hilarious. Seriously, though – explain the ghost in the attic.
You live and you learn.
First, I just want to point out that el D tried to poison my dog.
Second, doesn’t Luck know that for a good clean feeling, Orbit is the way to go? Silly dog.
Timber asked me to pass along to Lucky the following: Hubba Bubba Raspberry is the way to go…
I’m standing in an open meadow. Sniffing the grass. Spraying the trees. Searching for a suitable place to bang one out. When all of a sudden, a big-ass doberman is full sprint towards me. I’m like, “DAMN”! And I start leggin’ it. I mean I’m GONE. But that dude is still on my ass!
So I turn on the afterburners. PWWWHHHOOOOOOOHHHH. Now I’m really moving. With each stride I stretch farther (and further). I didn’t even know I had it in me. Smoke trails. I look back, he’s still gaining. How is that possible? He starts nipping at my tail. Now he’s got a paw up on me. I begin to slow. Has he got me? The horror! The only thing more moist than the sweat on my furry brow is the frothy saliva of the rabid predator that has begun to coat my lower extremities.
And then the warmth. It’s all beginning to close in on me. In my last breath, I bid farewell to this cruel, cruel world and all my bitches. My sweet bitches.
Then I am stirred. For it was all chimera. And I am back on the couch.
I have a dream. This dream. About three times a day. Here’s what actually happens:
My paws twitch a couple times. My upper lip trembles. I emit a barely-audible whimper. Deporter snickers and I wake. I look up, yawn, and then I lick my hollow scrote. No big whoop. For others, it’s all too real…
Easy, spaz.
Awesome. How come people don’t ever get that active in their sleep? The most you get is a flinch, never a full on chase.
Could be a new form of “sleep-r-cise” if you could control it.
It pays very well, in fact.
I knew huskies couldn’t be trusted. Criminals.
What, you’ve never woken up next to a French fatty before?
Don’t judge me.
—

At least not one of a different species…
Did I commit a crime?