puppytoes

perception

The crows seemed to be calling his name, thought Caw.

                                              ~Jack Handey

did i forgot something yesterday?

seems like i did.  but what? hmmmm...let's see... i got up, yipped at max, did my business, snagged my requisite number of treats, tried to trick bobo out of one of his greenies, took a nap, followed mommy around the house, watched mommy read her favorite blogs--and happily noted i had the winning caption on belle of the brawl this week! (many thanks, in no small part, to tan lucy pez, who acted as my highly effective "campaign manager"! and who has an adorable video on her site everyone must check out!), took another nap, ate another treat, stared out the window while mommy took bobo for a long-ass walk, greeted them happily when they got back, took a nap, ate my dinner, went out of my mind with joy when my daddy finally got home, poked mommy with my nose until she shared her baked ziti with me, listened to mommy & daddy whine, moan, and otherwise complain while watching american idol, listened to mommy & daddy moan, groan, and otherwise gag while watching house, did my "business", went to bed, went to sleep. sounds pretty much like every other day, why do i have this nagging feeling i forgot to do something? oh well, i'm sure it'll come to me...eventually.

in the spirit of not writing about stuff (my emerging theme this week)... i'm not gonna write (much) about american idol today, because last night's show featured queen songs, and, since everyone knows daddy is the consumate expert on all things "queen" (the band, not any given man, mind you!) i think it best to let daddy wax poetic (or not) about the various performances they were subjected to. all i have to say is:

1. bucky: why? why are you still here?

2. ace: screw paula's brains out, ASAP! not sure anyone can take another week of watching that woman writhe in, what i can only imagine must be, extreme ace-deprived-lust-misery. you--and only you--can fix this.

3. kellie: you're no suzie mcneil. and the lighting director should be shot.

4.  chris: dude. seriously. find a band.

5. katharine: "miss america sings queen"...  enter a pageant, dear. it's where you belong.

6.  elliot: fine vocal. 90% deaf in one ear? are you sure?

7. taylor: mommy loveloveloves you when you're in your joe cocker/spaz mode.

8. paris: big voice. lots of leather. still annoying.

in other tv views/news: not one single tick in one single vagina last night on house. instead, the show focused on a kid shitting blood. gripping drama. house was grumpy. argued with his staff/best friend/boss/kid's parents. almost killed his patient. went down to the wires. house had his weekly gestalt "aha!" moment. kid was cured in the nick of time. hooray. house gets to play god for another week. the end.

sigh. is this all i have to write about today? am i really this pathetic? what happened to all my inspiration? ...why am i asking you?

maybe i should take my morning nap and hope the answer comes to me in a miraculous dream. oh, and trust me, you'll know if that doesn't happen, because i won't be writing about it, tomorrow!

"Writing the story of your own life is a bit like drilling your own teeth." ~ Gloria Swanson

no big weekend whoop...

...sadly, this past weekend was nothin' to write home about. which means, it was nothing to blog about, either. which means i'm not going to. write, that is. which means...anyone? anyone? that's right! the worms you see here are merely a figment of your own pathetic imaginations! (i say pathetic, because if i were imagining something right now, it would be "something" really fabu, like... a tub full of greenies or... a tub full of beef jerkey or... a tub full of vanilla bean ice cream. in other worms, it would not be a blog full of imagined worms. but that's just me,)

of course, if i had decided to write something today, i would have told you about the major injury daddy sustained on saturday (poor daddy), but, since i'm not writing, i can't tell you about that, either. hopefully, now that you know there's nothing to read here you're over at bobo banjoey even as we aren't speaking and learning about daddy's pain, for yourself.

the other thing i won't do today is show ya any pictures from the wee bit o' fun festive frolicking we managed to carve out in the front yard, yesterday, when the sun was actually shining and it was a balmy 56 degrees. for then, of course, you'd know that i'm a big, fat liar, and had something to write about, after all. thank goodness that secret will never get out.

the more i think about it, the more i realize how wise i am to not be blogging today. for then i'd surely be tempted to make derogatory comments about the shows mommy and daddy watched last night. altho', come to think of it, that's not quite true, 'cuz there really aren't any to make. mommy & daddy thought the west wing was pretty good... and, as of this non-writing, the verdict is still out on the sopranos (it didn't start out too well, but by the end of the episode, tony's balls grew back, vito was "outted" and was getting ready to "whack" himself--which, i'm guessing, is something he does all the time, anyway, if you catch my drift and i bet you do, and, we learned that a garish mob wedding can run upwards of 450G's--which is f*cking impressive by anyone's standards).

no doubt the only picture worth showing/discussing from last night is the shot of bobo resting in mommy's lap, which he did for most of the evening... little cuddle bunny that he is.

the good thing about not showing the picture, of course, is that i won't have to mention the 2 (count 'em TWO) creepy, blood-sucking ticks mommy found on the top of bobo's head, either! that way no one will know how quickly mommy tossed bobo out of her lap, in case any more of those freaky blood suckers were lurking under his beautiful coat. bobo may be a precious doll-boy, but, ticks? ticks are evil and... well, i guess i don't need to go on about ticks, now, do i? after all, i'm not showing the picture and i'm not writing a post. besides, i'm pretty sure i talked about ticks enough a few days ago to last a lifetime, don't you? (naturally, since this isn't a post, there is no "you" to respond, but if i had done a post, that might have been a good place for "you" to do so.)

yeah, the more i think about it, the more i'm convinced i'm totally doing the right thing by keeping my thoughts/pictures to myself. honestly, i'd feel terrible if i disappointed my loyal fan (daddy?) by putting up a crappy post...at least this way, that ain't gonna happen!

"I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive." ~ Gilda Radner

off to a bad fart...

i have been sitting in the office trying my best to compose something meaningful all morning, but with little success. i think it's because of max. not because he's a girlie-dog. not because he's a wimp that barks non-stop at the drop of a cat (by the way, you'll be happy to know fuzzy was not hurt after slipping off the desk). no, max is preventing me from conjuring up worms of wisdom and/or wit because he farts like a 457 pound sumo wrestler after consuming a huge bowl of aduki beans, brown rice, and broccoli, then sucking up a shit load of fugu sushi.

of course, i have no way of knowing for sure if fugu sushi actually causes massive amounts of flatulence, but in my mind, it does. my point--because i do have one--is that it's impossible for me to think my way through this haze of smelly dog farts i find myself currently immersed in. now, the other day i saw this item featured on dave barry's blog*, and, i'm thinking i should see if mommy and/or daddy might not want to pick one up. though, one wonders if it would be A) difficult to actually attach to max's ass and B) difficult to take-off C) so smelly we'd all have to move to another state. still, it might be worth it, if only to provide me with a breath or two of fresh air in order to properly compose my worms.

*oh, and speaking of the aforementioned pulitzer-prize winning humorist's blog? i just happened to be cruising it earlier and i was shocked (shocked i tell you, shocked!) to discover this link to a game that lets people shoot puppies! can i get an ack! out of everyone?? how 'bout an aieeeee! those bastards! (is nothing sacred?) of course, if max doesn't learn how to control his stinky little problem soon, i might have to find a way to insert him  into the game. heh heh. just kidding. (or...am i?) oh, and in case ya wondered? it took me exactly 10 mins 34 secs to not shoot that stupid f*cking puppy (in  15 levels).

"I tell you we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different." ~ Kurt Vonnegut

i have a dream...

it's not a big dream. it's not necessarily a noble dream. no, mine is but a simple dream of having 2 or 3 moments of quietude in order to compose my thoughts and/or blog post in order to move forward with the rest of my day.

that's not to say the ideas aren't flowing, mind you, for they are. oh yes, they most assuredly are. much like the cold clear waters spilling out over the side of a mountain flow the creative thoughts from my little brain... but, like the jagged rocks those waters are forced to splash against on their journey towards that happy reflecting pond at the base of aforementioned mountain, so do the constant nagging whiney yippy barks of girlie-dog max mar my ability to make a smooth, unfettered journey from idea to printed word. stupid max. making all that stupid noise and making mommy get up every freaking 2-3 minutes because he's such a stupid scardy-cat-wuss. so, instead of trying to write a lot of, what are sure to be, meaningful and/or memorable worms rightthisminute...i'm gonna suggest you read this post by daddy, cuz it really is meaningful and/or memorable!

then, for a laugh, why not watch this again, and see if ya think the superterrificspecial real people-playing-cartoon-characters open being featured on the simpsons this sunday will be anything like it. (fyi, it promises to be a good episode, since british actor/"the office" creator ricky gervais not only stars in it, he wrote it, as well. of course, if you don't know who ricky gervais is, none of this matters...tho' why wouldn't you know who he is? he's a really funny/talented guy. odd, sure. but really funny. and really talented. don't you like good talent? don't you like to laugh? aren't those things more interesting than, say, listening to wimpy max whine at mommy all day? don't you know the answer to that, either? sigh. why do i bother with you?)

ah me... perhaps later, when max settles down a bit (which will happen soon, if he knows what's good for his sorry/wimpy/girlydog ass...) i'll be able to tell you about boy #2's birthday. did he get a tattoo? did he get a cheesy birthday cake? did he have any sudden epiphanic/ah-hah! moments regarding his life/life in general/life as a journey/life as a bitch/life in the fast lane/life after 22/life as an actual grown-up living in a place that's not his parent's house/life? all good questions. too bad i'm too tired to answer any of 'em right now.

seriously, it's hard for me to give more than a rat's ass about any of this stuff when my mid-morning-early-afternoon nap beckons... but, worry not, my friends! for there's a goodgood chance i'll come back here later and write more. (of course, there's an equally goodgood chance i won't.)

only time will tell, my prettys... remember, patience is a virtue. and i think if we've learned anything from daddy's blog today, it's that A) sometimes the slow-moving idiot and/or asshole you're yipping about is you and B) hawks kill squirrels.

"Patience is something you admire in the driver behind you and scorn in the one ahead." ~ Mac McCleary