Ordinarily, I try to fill this space with essays, ideas, and interesting things that I’ve done; today’s entry is a little different. By popular demand — which, around here, means that like two people have asked for it — I’m going to shamelessly dog-blog my two little guys, Deuce and B.
Deuce is a Jack Russell Terrier, and B is a paranoid schizo Japanese Spitz (Spitz-O). At the time of writing, Deuce is about 5.5 months old, and B is a little over two years old. And yes, my dogs are the coolest. By far. Except for the pissing on the carpet thing. Oh, and the game of “hide the poop” has gotten old, too.
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Before you go freaking out that I’m casually f-bombing helpless citizens in the name of freedom, check out the origin of this Fuckr. Did you read it? You didn’t, did you. “Too many words,” you say. Too much effort, huh?
Clearly, the creative genius coming out of JOAB Labs is relentless, and judging by the lack of refinement over at the Fuckr site, somebody needed to step up and help take this Fuckr to the next level. That somebody is me.
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My living room officially has prime real estate for butt comfort. Sure, the floor has been there since I bought the house, but the dogs have already claimed that, and trust me – you DON’T want any part of it. Of course, now, there’s a bit of familial concern over whether or not the dogs will claim the new couches. I’ve spoken with the dogs since the arrival of the new digs, however, and we’ve reached a mutual agreement. They can keep the floor and the chaise lounge, and I get the couches…Oh, and I get dibs on the best, most comfortable spot in the bed for life. That one’s not negotiable.
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I just checked my clock, and it’s offically 1 minute into December. After packing up what seemed like a million things I sold on Ebay, I reflexively checked my e-mail like any good web junky. Besides the 50 emails from PayPal saying that I created a shipping label (because the HARD COPY off the printer wasn’t evidence enough), there was also a lonely message in my primary inbox.
Okay, so if you just asked yourself how I sold a million things but only printed 50 shipping labels, I’d like to introduce you to this little thing called hyperbole. I know you two have just met, but really – he’s easy to get along with. Ready to read on, Mr./Mrs. Anal Retentive?
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