Guess Who's Back?...It's about time!

By process of elimination, it's ME! Thank you all of my faithful followers for your faithfulness. It's seen me through recent tough times of traveling, socializing, and stomach pumps. I think it was Tolstoy that said in the event that you have masticated rat poison, be sure to take a teaspoon of hydrogen peroxide and throw it up. Unfortunately, I have yet to get into the Russians. I'm still reading Travels With Charley. Then I have to read Marley and Me which I've been told is a hoot! I love Owen Wilson! So I think I've mentioned before on this blog that I'm a bit of a culinary daredevil. Living up to the hype, I ate rat poison two weeks ago. I was in Peoria of all places. A place where such things are expected. Anyway, it was good (the rat poison). Sweet, not to rich, good texture - it was kinda like Fruity Pebbles. I've always preferred the Cocoa ones but I'm not supposed to have chocolate. Going stealth, I followed Dad down into the basement and as ole Toucan Sam says, Follow your nose. True to form, it found the gold. It had turned green though. But I couldn't tell - I'm colorblind. Dad caught me patting the sides of my mouth with a napkin and low and behold there beneath me was an empty dish of rat poison. What? I retorted. He answered with his fingers at the bottom of my esophagus. I can hold my liquor and my rat poison so despite his cute attempts and concern I wasn't bringing that back up for anybody, I thought. We took a trip through Peoria, which if you've ever read Dante's Inferno, is reminiscent of Circle 2. It's not that bad. Mom's crying though. She's upset with Dad for trying to spoil my snack. She gets me. Dad, in his guilt for shoving his fingers down my throat, is giving me one hell of a back scratch. One of the more memorable ones. We come to this place - everyone's wearing a white coat, I'm thinking finally, we're committing Dad. A long time coming. Instead I go for a ride. They inject me with something. I'm thinking, you know I quit this stuff awhile ago back in Oregon, but one more time can't hurt. It was bogus stuff though because all I did was throw everything up. Rat poison and all. I'd been bested! Usually throwing my stuff up is just what I call seconds but this time it wasn't going back down. To make a long story short, I'm unfazed. Still in fighting form. I'm a survivor! I'm a little more weary of Dad, but hell, what else is new? During my recovery I spent some time dominating a couple punk uncles of mine - George and Bailey. Talk about Omegas. These guys would make Benji feel like a Great Dane. Right now, I'm getting back into the habit of blogging. Still waiting for some sponsors...I think the name of that rat poison was Myrtle's or something, if you guys are interested. Works on dogs too! Think about it. I'm looking forward to the royal spoiling I'm about to get from Papa and Nana coming out in a few days. Getting myself ready for that. Sleeping a lot. The celebrity thing tanked. I was at a benefit for Perez Hilton's forehead reduction surgery and met most of them and actually really hit it off with the community. VH1's recruiting me for the next season of The Surreal Life. I'm weighing it. Michael Vick's gonna be on it though. But like I've said, I'm a fightgrrrr......!!!!!

Viva la Revolucion!

I've been constipated lately. Actually maybe not so much constipated as I've realized the power in holding it. I got taken out for an hour walk yesterday. One hour! Because I was supposed to go. This idea that we're supposed to go is a societal convention (and doctor recommended) that I will not adhere to. As was my namesake, we are renegades. We will not be put in a box (or a bag) and we will hold it! And we will get long walks and we won't buckle under the pressure of a leash or a "please potty Bo." We will remain constipated and go when we say it's time. We will not have our heads cut off for our rebellious constipation either! That's what happened right? So beagles out there, spread the word - Constipation is power and power is a plug for constipation and constipation in itself is a plug (I guess) and constipation means long walks and long walks means more potential to find bunny poop to roll in or more butts to sniff or a fallen french fry. Viva la revolucion!

A Very Special Day!

Faithful followers:

Let's just say it's been awhile. I take some of the blame. I got a new rawhide. It's tough. A good tough though. More like a delicious tough, but tough nonetheless. I've been out of the rawhide scene for awhile so getting back in has been like easing into a peanut butter bath - slow at first and slow later too but euphoric overload in the end. That and you get real thirsty. So I've been peeing alot too. So with eating the rawhide and then drinking water and peeing I haven't had much time to blog. Not to say this is any reflection upon my followers. I just knew ya'll would understand. And if you don't then get a rawhide or take a peanut butter bath and you will. Today though is a very important day. Yes, it is the day that I'm blogging after not blogging for a week but more than that (a little more ;)) is that it's my Mama's birthday. So happy birthday Mama! And in honor of your birthday I will not use any profanity in this blog. That's how much I love you. The Navy really did a number on me. Blog you soon!

Coyotes and Dogs Just Don't Mix!

Hold the phone! The celebrity gossip can wait. Well actually this is celebrity gossip but it's serious. Jessica Simpson's dog - Daisy (an acquaintance of mine from my early pregnancy days) has ran off with some coyote! You believe that?! A coyote! Oh the shame! Daisy always had a thing for wild dogs (I'll never forget that Rottweiler in New Orleans (I think his name was Bubba)) but this is taking it too far! Daisy if you're listening - a coyote really!? They're not even dogs. They eat chickens for goodness sakes! I mean I love a good cooked chicken francese (cooked and francese being the operative words there) but we're talking feathers and all! Oh Daisy, what has become of you? Your mama was feeding you steak for dinner. And filet on top of that. Why take the feathered chicken when you can get the filet? That's what I used to tell those old hound dogs but that's another blog all together. But Daisy listen up! I want you to hightail it home. That Wile E Coyote may make you feel like you're two again but so can those pills we used to find on the floor in your mama's bathroom. You know coyotes ain't nothing but trouble. He just wants you for the filet. Besides, I don't even think they speak Dog!

Machinations

People, beagles, may be asking themselves what's with the lull in bugles? I'm a celebrity gossip columnist. You can't expect a celebrity to do something, say something worth writing every day. They're not machines. Although Haley Jole Osment played a pretty good one. Also, I'm not a machine. Although I eat, defecate and sleep at the same time on a daily basis. It's detailed on my resume. But this weekend I did those things double-time and alas was unable to work in a bugle. However today, I got an inside tip on some late-barking news and was back to my routine.

Michael Moore's second chin has signed on to star as the new villain, The Gobbler, in the next Batman installment. In other Michael Moore news, he still hates capitalism but I've heard likes to wipe his ass with Hamiltons. Because he hates capitalism so much.

Apparently the Emmy's were on last night. Or was it the night before?

David Hasselhoff has a drinking problem. Still. Explains hosting America's Got Talent. Still.

Kelly Clarkson is a fan of her butt. Her words. And Sir-Mix-Alot's.

I'll try to stay on the ball. Be it the bugle. I'd lick all ya'll if I could. I'll just think of ya'll when I'm licking my paws.

Love your celebrity!

The Weight of Glory

I had a bit of nervous breakdown today realizing the responsibility I have taken on as a celebrity news columnist. It was so bad it took me four squats to find the right place to deuce. Dad was telling me to breathe. "Just breathe," he said. He stole that from Faith Hill. He's such an unoriginal nincompoop. And he wants to be a writer. He'll never be Faith Hill. She's genius. So I pretended like Faith was singing it to me and then I was able to drop the weight that I, perhaps society, has put on my shoulders. And let me tell you, it was a lot of weight. About four stogies worth. I'm usually a twopher. But I have 5 followers now! I can't let you guys down. What would you guys talk about at parties, bah mitzvahs, PTA meetings if I didn't feed you the celebrity manna?! You'd probably go on talking about clinging to your guns and overalls and collector matchbooks. And we all know what those lead to. America's Got Talent! And no self-respecting person wants to go on that show. I was a mother once - I understand the importance of a mother's milk. That's why exposing my metaphorical nipples. I have eight of them. Literally. So here it is. Open up and take it nice!

Tyra Banks is awkward.
Oprah knows how to throw a party.
Michael Moore hates capitalism. Loves money.
Charlize Theron is waiting for gay marriage to become legal to get married. She's gay.
Jon Gosselin will not be starring in Kate + 8 - Jon = Who the &#$@ cares!

Taste good don't it? That should fill you up for now. Keep it dialed here beagle lovers!

A New Dawn! A Late Breaking, Ground Breaking, Up-to-Date Dawn!

I made a pledge to myself to use this blog as an advocate for beagles and the issues we beagles are currently up against. Then I thought that we've won Westminster, there are multiple movies starring beagles and our supernatural and natural achievements, and there's even a stupid comic about one of us (whom I will not mention as not to encourage the stereotype). That being said, we're not really facing issues. Maybe a little overeating or over-sniffing here and there but that's to be expected. We're dogs! And beagles on top of that! Then I thought I'd use this space as a platform to jump-start my career in gangster, excuse me, gangsta rap. But I think I was a one-hit-wonder. Me trying to rap is like the Olsen twins trying to eat. It's too forced (I apologize for the Full House references - I think that's my second. Although I'm sure some of you out there will appreciate them). So then I thought I'd do like A Day In The Life Of thing but that would get trite. Anyone that knows me knows that a day in my life is like a day in the Truman Show (pre-revelation), despite all the weird things that guy did in the bathroom. However, I do those things on the sidewalk in front of tens of people because I don't give a %&@$($#!! I'm tasting Dove tonight. Whatever. I imagine it's an acquired taste. So what's next for me to do? Retire? Hell no! I'm only 5. Plus I have followers. I can't let them down. Not now. After all seven blogs we've been through. So we're taking it to where the money's at. Pop culture. It worked for that bitch Perez Hilton (I think I actually used that correctly this time Mom). He'll probably comment on this now because he Google's himself four times a day. What's with that? I tried it the other day and searched through 100 pages of results and found nothing about me. Can you believe that?! I almost came to the conclusion that I don't even exist. Then I farted and realized that you have to exist to fart. Or vice-versa? It's the chicken and the egg thing. I'll eat both. Sorry for all the existential questions. Try to keep up though. Where was I? Right! Pop culture. From now on, dial it here for all your update-to-date, last minute, ground breaking, late breaking, by the moment, you heard it here first, pop culture news. First bit of ground breaking news -

Kanye West won the award for best female video at the VMAs.
Patrick Swayze will be starring in the Ghost sequel.
Megan Fox is not as dumb as rocks. No one is as dumb as rocks. It's simply impossible. She is dumb however.

That's it for now. Stay tuned!

Mad Props

Above is about as close to Snoopy as you'll see me look. I was also hungover (Thanksgiving) and the atomic flash Mom had on the camera didn't flatter by any means. Speaking of Mom, I wanna take a moment to give some mad props to the fanbase Mom, Grandma, and Auntie. Finally, I got beagle street cred. Really though. Thanks. I'm about as cool as Danny Tanner right now. Maybe Comet. I do wanna say though that I love being freaking cute! I got the hook-up today from some Stepford wives. They gave me biscuits and talked baby talk to me. Bring on the biscuits - hold the baby talk! For one, I can hardly understand you anyway (I'm a dog!), so it doesn't help when you talk like Miss America 1995 (she was the deaf one) with a mouth full of mash potatoes. And two, articulation is matriculation. I don't even know what that means. I saw it on a bumper sticker I licked and liked. It tasted like feet. I have a foot fetish. Nobody knows toes like Bo(es). That should be a bumper sticker. And WTF! is that on the right?! I found it at the dogpark. Not sure what breed that is. Probably a Daschund. I'll lick the toes of anybody who can tell me what that is. I'm gonna go back to being really cute. Much puppy love to my followers (Mom, Grandma, and Auntie)!

The Glory Express

Apparently someone noticed I didn't bugle anything yesterday, however, I'm thoroughly confused because I only have 1 Follower, and it wasn't the 1 Follower. Does that mean I have other Followers? Followers who are too scared to make a cyber commitment to me? Followers who want all the glory that comes with knowing what's on my mind but don't want anyone to know why they feel such glory? Don't hide me under a bushel, No! I don't wear Nikes. I don't even like Kool-Aid (although I've never had it but that monster pitcher breaking through walls to tell someone Oh Yeah scares the bejeebies out of me). The only Hale-Bopp comets I'm familiar with are the ones I'm dropping at 8 and 4. But Dad picks those up. Really, what I'm trying to stress is, make a COMMITMENT to me and I'll make one to you - by blogging on Fridays. This isn't just some cathartic soundboard for me. I'm doing this for the followers - oh wait I'm sorry - follower. That and, I wanna be freaking famous! I wanna be someone's homepage! I wanna be invited to parties with local TV anchors! So climb aboard and I'll take you to the North Pole quicker than Tom Hanks ever could. This ain't no Amtrak. I'm the Chinese bullet train! I'm not really Chinese though. I think I'm from England. Specifically Slough. I'm not sure though. One of my uncles was doing some genealogy research about it. I'm gonna go eat though. Think about what I said about commitment. I can't remember now. Bugle out!

Cheer Pup, Chin Pup...

My petters -

Not much shaking today in the way of news or opinions. I'm feeling rather nonchalant. I think it might have been something I ate. I found a tortilla chip on the kitchen floor. Tasted more like an ethanol chip. Maybe that's the problem. I pooped this morning. I'm hoping to do it again later today. Mom get's excited when I go twice in one day. It's the little things - well in that case the big thing but you know what I mean. I started reading some Neruda today. What's a goblet of milk? That kinda stuff just makes me hungry. Although I think I'm lactose-intolerant. A scar from my childhood. Now I'm depressed. I won't be able to poop again and Mom will be disappointed. More than that though - it's one less treat. Now I'm really depressed. I'm gonna post a picture of myself. That should cheer me up as well as the rest of the world.

Woof Now?!

I just received a call from Will Smith's (I-Robot, Independence Day) lawyers threatening legal action if I didn't acknowledge that my rap was to the meter of the Fresh Prince theme song. So I said, "Excuse me, ahems (acutally clearing my throat), but I don't have to acknowledge that I stole the meter, because you just did, because I'm blogging everything you're saying." "Touche," they said. So now I sit on my throne as Boleyn of the Bugle. Can I get a woof woof?! Raise the woof! Who's Afraid of Virginia Woof? Fiddler on the Woof! SubWoofer? I did a lot of woofing this summer. Who wants to play some woofle ball? Peter and the woof. uh...hmm...err...Woofy Mammoth?

The Context of Consequence

Typically I consider myself a culinary daredevil. I mean I've eaten feces - how much more daredevil can you be? But last night I pulled a Evil Knievel 1967 (he crashed that year). I tried handsoap. I think it was Dove. There was aloe in it. There was also a reason behind it. Apparently I was using the word "bitches" out of context. At least that's what Mom thought. It was always used in reference to dogs. Female ones mainly. She wouldn't buy it. I told her I was 5 and that I'm a dog and shouldn't even know what context is. "But you do," she said. "But I do," I said. So with my tail between my legs she cleaned my tongue. It took a while. I have a long tongue. My dawgs will never let me live this down. Fortunately, they can't read. Lesson learned though. I will not use the word, ahem, out of context. I can say I am a bitch because I'm a female dog. I can say my friend Lola is a bitch because she too is a female dog. However, I cannot say malteses are, ahems. Or that haters are, ahems. Speaking of ahems though, some ahem called me Snoopy this past weekend on the street. Snoopy!? That horse-pill for a nose, pale-skinned caricature.

For one - It's racist. Not all beagles are Snoopy, nor do they want to be. It's offensive! And if you use it as such you may want to undergo a character evaluation and you'll find yourself somewhere between Hitler and Michael Richards (although I loved Kramer).

Secondly - The beagle is one of the biggest canine stars Hollywood has - Underdog, My Dog Skip, Shiloh, and his majesty, UNO! But no, you call me Snoopy! That's like calling all white male children Charlie Brown. Can you imagine that if every time somebody saw a small white male child they called him Charlie Brown? Charlie Brown looks like a 8 year old Benjamin Button! Offensive right? Plus, look at all the other white male child stars that a child would rather be represented by - Macaulay Caulkin, Rory Caulkin, Kieren Caulkin! Alright not the best examples, but you get the point.

So haters, stop calling me Snoopy. Unless you're all ahems. In other news, it looks like it might rain. There's only a 20% chance of rain with gusts from the northeast reaching 5-10 mphs. I woke up late today. Like 30 minutes ago. I think it's time for a nap. It's exhausting be adorable. Just check out the pic.

Haters Already Hating

Within minutes of my first post the Haters are already swarming like vultures to a carcass. I expected this. Same thing happened to Machiavelli. Be it for me though, I'm just playing dead. They're yapping like Fran Drescher that I'm dictating this thing. How's a dawg gonna type without thumbs? Spell check suckas. Secondly, How's a dawg so smart? Well, really I'm flattered. But I ain't home 8 hours day all by myself just licking where it smells funny. I mean, I am, but that's for 5 hours tops. I read though. Mostly books on tape. Try it - if you can find the play button. I bet you gotta use your thumb. Bitches.

On another note, I'm thoroughly enjoying the urban vernacular and with it, persona. It's quite liberating. I like the idea of being from the Dawg Pound or at least a part of it. Mark Twain ain't got s-word on Big Pun! Also, I'm in the market for a new collar. Preferably one with chrome spikes or studs. Petco doesn't carry anything like that. Petcos for malteses and yorkshires. In other words - bitches!

Being A Beagle Ain't Easy...But It's Necessary.

Beagles, Bloggers, Unemployed, Homemakers, Plumbers, Haters...

Welcome to The Beagle's Bugle. A place where you can get a subjective and biased perspective on what it is us beagles are not saying. Now technically, I don't know any beagles (purebreds that is) beside myself. So the haters are gonna say that I don't know what beagles are not saying and therefore who am I to tell you what beagles are not saying...

Well, I'll tell you who I am (can I get a mmmhmmm....) I'm straight off the boat, from Oregon bitches. Spending most of my days, licking my stitches. You ask how I got them - I'll tell you what happened - It's a long story so just sit back and listen...


When I was born the breeders called me the runt,
so I flashed my fangs and I said whassup,
they jumped back and said Oh f-word.
Being the runt wasn't easy for me,
so I had to front and fight for that teet.
Mom's milk was good but hard to get,
so now my therapist says I food possessive.
What's a bitch to do when she's small yet sweet
but to get knocked up by an old horny beag.
Can you blame him really, I mean look at me,
I've been the centerfold twice for Dog Fancy.
At eight months old, life was tough,
I was hungrier than ever with a belly full of pups.
Come summer time and I was ready to deliver, but them pups wouldn't pass without going under the scissors.
They opened me up like a well paid slut, and the pups came out without a grrr or a ruff.
They died and it was sad.

So with a belly of stitches and unable to breed,
There wasn't s-word to do but to lick and eat.
Then came the operation,
Making me a lame duck.
Those breeders, them bastards, they gave me up.
But the Lord up above had other plans for me,
And I was put on a plane to NYC,
With Puffy and Bigge, and of course Jay-Z.
And there my mama saved me and the rest...it's history.

So that's my story. I've never rapped before but it was congenial for the most part. I think it would have been better had I spelled out the f-word and s-word but haters be censoring me. Mostly mom. Speaking of Mom, she's back at school. That's why I started the blog. She's been hounding me to get a job. Says I don't do enough around the house. She may be right. I've been having a "what does it all mean" moment as of late. It used to be food. I think it still is. But I'm open to exploring it. I'm 5 now. This could be a mid-life crisis. I hope not. I'd like a new toy. Congress is in session again. I was considering joining Facebook. I got some friends on there. I won't name them, but they're status updates are utterly dry and frivolous. "I'm sleeping." "I just took a dump and got paid for it, what!." There's the raison d'être. I hope to keep this thing updated for your sake. I'm gonna go scoot now. Bugle more later.