KIDS

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.

Finding Myself....Oh There I Am...Brilliant.

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.

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!