ssǝɹddns ɹou ɹɐǝɟ ɹǝɥʇıǝu plnoʍ ʎʇǝıɔos ǝǝɹɟ ʎlnɹʇ ɐ ʇɐɥʇ ƃuıʇnɔolɯnɔɹıɔ suıɐʇuoɔ ǝʇıs sıɥʇ



Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Pet bowling

I'm beginning to suspect that the aging process is forcing the obligatory "mellowing out" thingie upon me.

Case in point: Wifey's 5-pound "dog."

There was a time (if my brother was still alive, he would attest to this), there was a time when I would have stuffed this bulked-up Ewok into a hamster ball and rolled for plastic bowling pins. Uh, just the depraved thought of such an awful thing would lead one to believe that the animal-in-a-hamster-ball bowling event is something that I am fully capable of when bored and out of beer, wine and after shave. I plead the 5th.

In any event, , fu>k off you P.E.T.A. bed-wetters. Go and protest outside a circus for hours on end and see if anybody gives a flying funk.

Anyway, Wifey doesn't understand why I chortled and choked after the big brown step-van delivered the new "puppy" coat just in from some far-flung corner of Tibet.




 Yeah, that's my pathetic life these days. Making sure Lala, the Ewok/Hamster mix is comfortable.

God, what I wouldn't give for just one more drunk and disorderly customer after the bars had closed.

Whatever, I'm gonna go drool on myself for a spell.

Buh-bye





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