Thursday, May 31, 2007


If you're reading this, chances are good you got here from LOL BOTS. How's it going!

The title of this blog's pretty self-explanatory, so here's the rundown on everything else:

I have:
- A "real" blog
- A collection of mildly hilarious postcards I made a while ago
- A MySpace (is it weird how fast that became a noun)

I don't have:
- Any sort of clever, one-of-a-kind merchandise (which puts me well behind esteemed colleagues R, Jeph, and Ryan, let me tell you)
- A lot of free time anymore

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Dogs 301-312

I come to you now, at the turning of the tide.

What we have here is the start of a turf war. It's not going to be as dramatic as the one I saw between -- and I am not kidding you -- two gangs of hilariously earnest teenagers in the parking lot of a KFC/Taco Bell in Daly City. Not even half as dramatic. Because these are dogs, and that means by definition they will never say something as dumb as "The war's not over, but this battle ain't even begun."

Nobody should be allowed to get this mopey in public. If the girl you like didn't ask you to the springtime Sadie Hawkins dance, you get all your friends who weren't invited either to come to your house and eat pizza and drink Code Red and play Guitar Hero until one of you loses consciousness. There's always college, guy.

This goes double for those of you who have graduated from college. If you're depressed because you haven't been on a date in two years, and your buddy takes you for a night out on the town, at least be friend enough to pick your head up off the bar and have some laughs, for fucksake.

Lastly, do not get so drunk that you end up saying the wrong thing to a guy who's missing some hair and has a short, muscular friend who gets ten kinds of mean on bourbon and beer. Because they do not have anything to do tomorrow, and they will wait for you out in the parking lot until the sun comes up if need be.

Please count for me how many things in this one single photo match, color-wise. If you said three, you are not correct: Guess what's in that cup? I didn't even have to look inside it. I just knew.

If this is what all the wampa look like before they grow to full size, it's no wonder they're mean enough to smack a dude right off his tauntaun and hang him upside down to let all the blood drain into his head (the tastiest part). If what I just said made no sense to you, that means you need to watch The Empire Strikes Back. Again.

You know how when you look at a certain guy or girl, you can automatically tell their name is "Kevin" or "Caitlin" or something? It turns out that also works with the name "Scout."

"'Scuse me. Ma'am? Ma'am? Fluffy Patrol. Fluffy Patrol. Please pull over to the -- ma'am? The Fluffy Patrol is an official government body that regulates -- ma'am? I know you can hear me, ma'am. If you'll pull over after you pass us, my partner will take your -- excuse me, ma'am"

When it comes right down to it, how many times have you actually seen a dog narrow his eyes in the sun? Maybe those idiotic photo calendars are right, and we need to put more of them in sunglasses than we previously estimated.

The thing about this little champion here is that his face is already the end result of what would happen if you loaded him into that thing and lit it up. It's like telling the punchline to a joke and then just walking away without saying anything else.

How many leashes or restraints or collars or whatever does it take to contain one black Lab? Should I be worried? Who for?

I think I finally understand the basic appeal of seals to us as a species: They remind us of a different animal that we like way more.