"Get up, Pony."
Why?
"'Cause I need to move this table."
Again, why?
"I'm starting the trim in the living room and I need you to move. Now, please."
Damnit, Poxxy! I just got comfortable.
"Pony, ya've been lying in that exact spot for two hours. Now git up and get outta here. I've got a lot to do."
And what am I supposed to do while you're making all this racket? You know Saturday is my day to relax and just lay around all afternoon."
"Pone-Dog, every day is the day you lay around and do nothing. Maybe you could try doing something around here to help out? Like, maybe, go do the dishes or something?"
I ha . . . You know I can't do the damn dishes. No thumbs, remember moron?
"Well, maybe you could run from window to window and look for some cats to bark at? You seem to like doing that everytime I'm on the phone."
Maybe I'll go downstairs and have a smoke?
"No, you won't. I told you, you're not going to start smoking. Quit saying that. You wouldn't look cool, you know? You'd look ridiculous with a cigarette dangling from your mouth."
Chill out, Man. Hey Pox, I ever tell you what We call cats?"
"No."
Sneaky Pieces of Shit
"That's a good name. Now move it."
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Why Dogs Shouldn't Smoke Cigarettes
"So, Pony," I spoke up the day before my new couch was to be delivered, "Tomorrow I'm getting a new sofa and you, my friend, are not allowed on it." His ears perked up at this. "You shed too much and this one doesn't have a cover I can wash. So you can't sleep on this new one. Okay?"
Fuck that! And just where the hell am I supposed to sleep?
"Calm down, big fella. I'm moving your couch to the basement, near the fire. You can sleep down there and be warm all winter. Trust me. It'll be nice. All cave-like and snug, You'll like it."
First off, you ignorant asshole, We don't sleep in Caves. We sleep in Dens. And second, it actually sounds rather nice. I might enjoy the solitude. Especially when you're watching one of those clothesless movies you seem to like so much.
"Pony. They're called Pornos. At least get the name right. Christ! You sound like a stupid dog or somethin'! And I don't Like them. I just appreciate the beauty of the human body."
Don't bullshit a Woof, you lying sack of shit! I may have four legs, but that doesn't make me a Pig. Makes you one though, doesn't it?
"Alright. Enough. So you're cool with that?' I asked, awaiting another outburst from my canine companion.
Yeah, I'm good. Oh! By the way. I think I'm going to start smoking.
"What?!"
You heard me. I'm thinking of starting to smoke cigarettes. Been thinking of it a lot lately, in fact. This move to the basement is actually perfect. I can lay down there by the fire all day and smoke cigarettes. Probably the Native ones, though. They are a bit more harsh, I hear, but they cost a lot less and you're too cheap to buy me quality smokes. Aren't you?
"No . . . I mean . . .No! You can't start smoking!"
Why not?
"Pony, smoking is really bad for you."
So?
"Aww Christ!"
Fuck that! And just where the hell am I supposed to sleep?
"Calm down, big fella. I'm moving your couch to the basement, near the fire. You can sleep down there and be warm all winter. Trust me. It'll be nice. All cave-like and snug, You'll like it."
First off, you ignorant asshole, We don't sleep in Caves. We sleep in Dens. And second, it actually sounds rather nice. I might enjoy the solitude. Especially when you're watching one of those clothesless movies you seem to like so much.
"Pony. They're called Pornos. At least get the name right. Christ! You sound like a stupid dog or somethin'! And I don't Like them. I just appreciate the beauty of the human body."
Don't bullshit a Woof, you lying sack of shit! I may have four legs, but that doesn't make me a Pig. Makes you one though, doesn't it?
"Alright. Enough. So you're cool with that?' I asked, awaiting another outburst from my canine companion.
Yeah, I'm good. Oh! By the way. I think I'm going to start smoking.
"What?!"
You heard me. I'm thinking of starting to smoke cigarettes. Been thinking of it a lot lately, in fact. This move to the basement is actually perfect. I can lay down there by the fire all day and smoke cigarettes. Probably the Native ones, though. They are a bit more harsh, I hear, but they cost a lot less and you're too cheap to buy me quality smokes. Aren't you?
"No . . . I mean . . .No! You can't start smoking!"
Why not?
"Pony, smoking is really bad for you."
So?
"Aww Christ!"
Friday, January 15, 2010
Tales From a Couch I Can't Sleep On
Hey there, it's me, Pony. You Know, "Most Wicked of Woofs."
It's almost 5:30 pm, and I have to put the chairs back on the new couch Poxxy just bought. You know, the one that I'm not allowed to sleep on. Every freaking day I have to do this so he won't know just how BAD a dog I really am.
He comes home in a while and I gotta get this place cleaned up. I fucking HATE doing the dishes! I always forget what was dirty when he left for his job. I usually leave a few of mine for him to do anyways. He's too fucking stupid to notice.
Peace out ya'll,
Pony, Most Wicked of Woofs
It's almost 5:30 pm, and I have to put the chairs back on the new couch Poxxy just bought. You know, the one that I'm not allowed to sleep on. Every freaking day I have to do this so he won't know just how BAD a dog I really am.
He comes home in a while and I gotta get this place cleaned up. I fucking HATE doing the dishes! I always forget what was dirty when he left for his job. I usually leave a few of mine for him to do anyways. He's too fucking stupid to notice.
Peace out ya'll,
Pony, Most Wicked of Woofs
Suckage on the Fourth
So.
The other night as I was demonstrating my usual suckage at XBox golf, Pony lifts his head up from the floor he's conquered with his girth, and turning to look bemusingly at me says, You know, You really suck at this game.
"Fuck you, Pony," I retort, plopping my ball deep into a bunker on the fourth at Sawgrass.
Whatever, Man. You still suck. Hey, can I have some chips? Or maybe a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich?
"Sure, just get up and fix it yourself, I'm busy sucking at this stupid freakin' game," I answer.
Aww, Man. You know I can't do that. You're a dick.
"Yeah? And you're a dog. Now go lay down."
The other night as I was demonstrating my usual suckage at XBox golf, Pony lifts his head up from the floor he's conquered with his girth, and turning to look bemusingly at me says, You know, You really suck at this game.
"Fuck you, Pony," I retort, plopping my ball deep into a bunker on the fourth at Sawgrass.
Whatever, Man. You still suck. Hey, can I have some chips? Or maybe a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich?
"Sure, just get up and fix it yourself, I'm busy sucking at this stupid freakin' game," I answer.
Aww, Man. You know I can't do that. You're a dick.
"Yeah? And you're a dog. Now go lay down."
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