Friday, September 29, 2006

Spokane is for lovers

Bill Clinton is getting nailed for his overstatements in an interview with Fox News last week concerning his efforts (and demonstrable lack thereof) to combat terrorism. Hillary is jumping ugly on Dean to raise more money because the pubs are crushing them on spending. I sense fear out of both of them. An old saying is tugging at my conservative heartstrings at present: May you live to see your enemies die.

Did you hear that? I think it was dirt being kicked into an open grave. I love the sound pebbles make when they descend six feet and bounce off a casket. No, two caskets. Think Hillary is homely now? Just wait until the fires of Hell burn her head bald. Methinks Billy Jeff will be mistaken often for WC Fields, but will lack the pleasant aroma of distilled spirits.

Public Service Announcement. A reader in Spokane, Washington, logging in through Comcast on September 26 at 1:15 A.M. local time, asked google, “is it ok to masterbait my dog?” Of course, my site came up numero uno on the search and he (presumably not she) clicked on through.

Dear Reader: What are thinking, dude? C’mon. Leave the dog alone. You’ll feel horrible when you wake up to the dog humping your back and barking out in doggie language, “more, more, more.” It just ain’t right, buddy. If you are concerned about the dog’s sex life, then take him to the pound and pick out some nice little foo-foo mutt he can bang all night long. Watch if you need to. If you are that lonely yourself, rent a movie – as long as it isn’t a Lassie flick. Go to a strip club, a porn shop. Rent a hooker. Find a t-girl. Just leave the dog alone. Please. I’m begging you. Masturbate the poor thing today, and you’ll be blowing it tomorrow. When you finally find a woman and she comes to your apartment, how will you respond when she says, “your dog sure loves you,” and, “ew! What’s that red thing? Is that what I think it is?”?

Dude, I read a lot. Once you enter the animal kingdom, you can never leave. Pretty soon you’ll be driving around with doggie treats in your pocket trying to entice homeless hounds into your car. You’ll watch the Animal Planet channel all the time. Then you’ll start driving into the country and scoping out farms. Your fashion will be dictated by hides and furs. You’ll put bumper stickers on your car with phrases such as, “No Farms, No Food,” “I love my Great Dane,” and “It all feels the same when the lights are out.” The last one will get you into trouble. You’ll have sheep inside your house, and will send to Canada for Viagra without a script. You’ll buy that Natural Male Enhancement product Bob uses and will mix into your dog’s food.

You’ll research starting a puppy mill, and then will selectively breed for bigger penile glands. You will start to have orgies with strange dogs, and word will leak out. That will be your big mistake. Then the ASPCA will send in a team to covertly photo-document your behavior. They will picket your eventual trial and all of Spokane will know that you are the “Puppy Pounder.” You will seek a change of venue to Olympia. It’ll be granted but you will be found guilty anyway. Your cellie in the state pen will make you howl at the moon like a feral dog every time he pounds you. You’ll be rented out for cigarettes to all the girls in the block. Dysentery will set in, and your stool will just drip out of you in a steady stream because your sphincter muscle will be stretched like an old rubber band.

It’s not worth it, man, I’m telling you. A dog is man’s best friend, not his replacement squeezebox. Think this through carefully. Next time you get the urge, look at your dog, think, and then pet him on the head that has two ears. Leave the other one alone. Best of luck, pal. You, too, Fido.

OK. I had hoped to write more, but that PSA just took it out of me. I have to shower and scrub real hard. I may vomit, too.


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