Thursday, March 25, 2010
I'm scared of them. As I look at just the name, KIDS, it looks like an acronym for an STD. Definitely something lethal. But then again when you capitalize most monosyllabic words, they tend to look like STDs - CATS, CARS, ANTS, LIDS, AID. Weird. But KIDS (say it aloud - it sounds harsh doesn't it?) man... they act like they all got bit by the wrong squirrel. Like they got RABIES. And we're the ones getting the shots!? Every time I see those hob goblins, every time I hear that shrill glass-breaking laughter, my tail sinks faster than Rosie O'Donnell in a pool. And then they make their death march. It's always in slow motion for me but never slow enough. There aren't a whole lot of things one can do on a leash. I consider violence, but I had a good friend (Jenkins - pouring my whiskey out for you right now buddy) that got put down for that. The papers said he was possessed. Went into a fit of rage. He bit a little KID after she thought she'd use his tail as a jump rope. And that's really what I don't get. Really, I don't mind if you act like a lunatic within a safe distance of me but to act like a lunatic as you're crashing upon me - it's criminal. And we refer to these people as our future!? They all have to touch you as if they're all on ecstasy or something. And they don't pet you, they pat you as if they're playing Whack-A-Mole with their hand. And that's why I'm starting crack - I mean CRACK - Canines Rising(Up) Against Crazy KIDS. Please, we need your support (i.e. your Benjamins people). Canines everywhere cannot continue to take this abuse from KIDS. We need to bite back. We need to bite the good bite. I'm gonna go grab a bite, but please make your checks payable to my mother or father. And jump on the CRACK train!! And don't forget your spoon. There's gonna be tapioca.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Some of the world's greatest poets (author unknown), writers (Norman Bridwell), psychologists (Pavlov) and musicians (Baha Men) have had to spend some time finding themselves in order to be great. I thankfully, didn't have to spend anytime finding myself to be great. However, I did have to take some time to find myself in order to be brilliant. My last post was (hold on let me count my nails) 4 months ago. I know I've left some of you in despair. Unfortunately despair is a common state when I'm not filling you in on my life, but ya'll are too dependent on me for your happiness. I'm just a dog. I lick my butt. I like my privates. I sniff other dogs' butts. I roll around in rabbit poop. I used to do all these things greatly. Now I do them brilliantly. Because I've found myself. Some of you haters may say What do you mean? That sounds so cliche. Who ever really finds themselves? Who are you Sherlock Holmes? Shut up and get a job! Well I can tell you I'm sure as lock not Sherlock Holmes, homes (see what I did there?). That movie sucked. But no, I've taken these past 4 months off to find myself. And where did I do that? Where does everyone do it? College.
I went to college. I took classes. I read textbooks. I bought a North Face fleece. I wore Uggs. I gotta fake ID. I went to themed parties. Bad Xmas Sweater, CEOs and Secretary Hos, Pirates, 80s, 70s, 60s, 1840s. If it was themed, I was there. I threw up in public. I was put on academic probation. I got an internship. I used different variations of Bro as a salutation - Broseph, Brougham, JerBronomo, Brosky, Broski, Bro Ho, BaROque, Brogue and Bra. I had overdraft fees. I hit my parents up for more money. I drank 21 shots on the birthday on my fake ID. I gotta number. I never called it. I was in a relationship on Facebook. I had 6023 friends. I hit up people for cigarettes. I read On the Road. I considered myself liberal. I protested. I wore a shirt of George W. Bush with a Hitler mustache. I grew dreadlocks. I saw Old School. At bars, I shouted, "You're my boy Blue." People laughed. Other people had nervous breakdowns. They had never heard a dog talk before or be so funny. I saw The Big Lebowski and all of Wes Anderson's films. I tailgated. I passed out before the game. I skipped class. I went on spring break to Mexico. I opted for the cheaper flight to Oaxaca. I didn't know it wasn't all like Cancun. I got diarrhea. I drank a Coke. I got determined. I used the phrase "Turning over a new leaf." I was going to get on the Dean's List. I went to the library. I checked people out. I started a study group. It became a drinking group. I thought a 2.9 was good enough. I ate Easy Mac. I gained fifteen pounds. I slept on a couch. I took a philosophy class. I quoted David Hume. I watched The Hills series finale. I cried. I wanted to go home. I crammed for finals. I passed. I came away with a sense of Now what? I moved home with my parents. I wrote this blog. I found myself. I find myself writing this blog. I find myself licking myself. I find myself licking the keyboard. I think Dad was eating Cheetos and typing at the same time. I am now brilliant.
Go find yourself. Or live vicariously through me. It may be your only hope for brilliance.