Dogblog

Moving, Not Quitting

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 04:16:00 +0000

Because of a reason, I'm going to be posting new material over at dogblogsf.tumblr.com from here on out. Don't worry; all the old stuff will live here basically forever. But if you want to see new posts, they're going to be there from now on. Possibly more frequently. We'll see if people still like dogs in 2010.

Thanks for reading; I'll see you over there shortly.

Dogs 472-476

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 19:05:00 +0000

You can get just about anything made of styrofoam these days; the trick is to weight them down so they don't blow around in the gentlest of gusts. Superglue works, too.

When sorrow comes to your dinner table
Got to break out the cheap wine
I said when sorrow comes to your dinner table, oh lord
You better have that cheap wine
'Cause when sorrow is at your table all thirsty
Ain't nobody gonna have a good time

The Professor is perfectly content to wait until everyone is done talking. Yes, everyone. That's fine; the Professor gets paid either way, and she knows it. The Professor has patience.

"This might just be the LSD talking, but you've got a bee on your shoulder, man. Don't move! Don't move, it just -- oh man, it just turned into a ten-dimensional butterfly with rainbow magic mirror eyes for wings. I don't know if they make a spray for that, man, you might just have to let it sit there until it tells you what it wants. That's probably the way to go here. That's what I'd do."

I swear, Agent Arterius, I never told anyone! Nobody knows about the artifact -- it's safe! The coordinates are still encrypted, they're on a disk in my office and the door is coded to my voiceprint! Please don't report me to the Council! Please!!

Dogs 467-471

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 06:39:00 +0000

It's not that dogs are easily distractable, it's just that they've got way different priorities than you or me, and their senses are roughly eighty billion times sharper than ours. What did you expect them to do with all the information they're getting, anyway? File it somewhere?

The next time I'm trapped in a fantasy movie and this guy pops out of the bushes to point the way to the Path of the Chosen One and tells me the magic word that activates the Sword of Heroes, you can be sure as fuck I'm going to be paying attention.

What are you, the Chief Curator of the Museum of Ennui?

Hey, I just discovered some stuck-together pages in The Way of Zen that are spookily relevant: "There is, indeed, nothing unnatural in long periods of quiet sitting. Cats do it; even dogs and other more nervous animals do it ... But it would seem that to be incapable of sitting and watching with the mind completely at rest is to be incapable of experiencing the world in which we live to the full. For one does not know the world simply in thinking about it and doing about it. One must first experience it more directly, and prolong the experience without jumping to conclusions. It also helps to be a fucking adorable little goddamn fluffball of a puppy."

A split second after I took this picture, he looked up at me, and the instant we made eye contact, he vanished in a puff of sparkling lavender smoke. I don't know what else to tell you.

Dogs 463-466

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 06:22:00 +0000

The breath-spot is important because it proves that this breed of dog is an actual animal and not a trick pulled on us all by Hasbro.

You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge.

That can't be comfortable. Can it? I keep trying to picture the human equivalent of this, and it works out mentally to "one of those poses we end up in when we're lying in bed and trying to spoon, but that we change out of after about ten seconds of equivocation." Why is it, then, that I seem to keep running into dogs who are doing this? Are their bodies built differently from ours or something? That's fucking preposterous.

"It's not personal or anything, all right? I just ... I can't hear anything you're saying to me until I've fully absorbed this sunlight. This sunlight is here for me right now and I need to be present for it. I need to accept this gift from the sun. I'll ... I'll be right with you."

The internet has something extra for you today, dear reader: I was interviewed by Mimi of BreakThru Radio for their new Geek Out segment; that latter link should take you right to the show in question (once the player loads, you can click the View Playlist button to see the show notes). I talk about the Dogblog's origin and process, the "dog laugh," the current state of blog book publication, and probably anything else you wanted to know. You can even download it if you want, and keep my wisdoms with you forever.

Dogs 458-462

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 04:23:00 +0000

After the nuclear apocalypse or the worldwide extermination by reptoids or peak oil or whatever our endgame turns out to be, the next sentient species to appear on the planet is going to find a statue with a plaque on it that says "They tried their best, at least for a little while," and it will be of this guy right here.

Why do we insist on making the world one big puzzle for small animals who just want to keep us company? This leash/tree situation is going to have this dude's tiny mind boggled for the rest of the damn afternoon if someone doesn't sort that shit out for him.

"Bring da mothafuckin ruckus" is what this stance is saying. In this case, the mothafuckin ruckus should take the form of so many hugs the sidewalks splinter for a ten-block radius.

This situation is more about the practice of patience on the part of this foreign dignitary here: it wouldn't take much to just get up and start slamming that door open and shut, but he knows this, and has decided such behavior would be counterproductive.

Why is it that in a scary movie where there's a creepy painting whose eyes follow you around, there's usually just one set of eyes in it? Adding another pair ups the weird-out factor by a multiplier of at least ten.

Dogs 454-457

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 05:55:00 +0000

I don't know why I'm only realizing it now, but I could probably stand being locked up to anything for a surprisingly long time as long as I had my best pal with me. Do you think these two have ever known even an instant of unhappiness? A thousand dollars says "fuck no, motherfucker."

Life Lesson #652: Don't piss on something if there's an outside chance you're going to be tied up next to it for a while.

"Look, the assignment was really quite simple. Three pages, double-spaced, ten-point font, and no tricks with the margins. Did you even do the reading? No. No, I'm afraid extra credit will be out of the question this time around."

If you approach life with the ingrained notion that you can eat anything you encounter if you think about it hard enough, shit suddenly gets a lot more interesting everywhere you look.

Dogs 450-453

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 05:51:00 +0000

What could I have possibly interrupted you in the middle of that would result in a look like this? Were you about to solve death itself?

Yeah?

Shit.

You know, every one of us has days where we're just happy for absolutely no fucking reason, and it's one of the great downfalls of civilization that we can't just acknowledge it by sitting around wearing a face like this without getting carted off to a home for people who don't know how to use a fork.

How do we know for sure that the ghosts of dead philosophers and statesmen don't sometimes possess animals just to spook the living? Maybe it's their way of having the fun they could never grab for themselves while they were busy dealing with the rest of us.

It's not like brotherman has a choice here, but this is one reason why we will never abandon the dog as a companion animal: dogs will wait for us. Just curl right up with zero resentment and have a nap until we've handled business and can hang out again. Full-grown humans who can manage to do this are the rarest motherfuckers alive.

Dogs 444-449

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 05:05:00 +0000

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the president of Mission Street. Please don't bother him until all important decisions that concern Mission Street have been identified, solved, and implemented.

I think I'm going to try opening a pub called The Baleful Glare unless anybody has anything else to say about it. I thought not.

I know it's dark and you can't see them very clearly. Know why? Because this is what you see when you die, at the end of the tunnel of light: these two dudes right here. I can't explain why I know I'm right.

"Isn't it magnificent? The Think Tank. It uses molecule-sized processors to create the most powerful neural net ever assembled. The processors are held in colloidal suspension and are able to interact in a way that simulates the electrical activity in the neurons of a human brain. The Think Tank is the future of artificial intelligence."

Nobody's going to stop me from making more Doom Patrol jokes. As if I could be stopped anyway.

Holy fucking Jesus creeping Christ in the cornfield. Let's commission 250 million perfect life-sized sculptures of exactly this moment and install them in every house in America. If this is waiting to greet you at home, what do the rest of your problems fucking matter?

Grocery inspector's here. What? You never heard of the god damn grocery inspector? Not my problem. Now put that shit down and let's get a peek at what you think you're carryin' out to your damn car.

Dogs 439-443

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 04:58:00 +0000

All those signs were just confusing, anyway; it's much simpler to have a sensible cop onhand to explain this parking crap in plain English.

Usually I'd stop myself from just posting the picture and then a bunch of unrestrained chuckling, but what the hell else are you gonna do when confronted with a face like that. Honestly.

All of a sudden, for no clear reason, I understand how some people get the nickname "Bear" and have it stick for life.

When there's no viable way to physically get a U-lock securely around your primary mode of transportation, you kind of have to go with what you've got. Or just whatever's around. It's called ingenuity.

Feelings, man. It's like ... everyone has them, but how do I know what you feel is anything like what I feel? Is your loneliness the same as mine? Clearly not, because if it was, you'd've torn your own heart out of your living chest and EATEN IT just to stop it from HURTING

Dogs 434-438

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Wed, 27 May 2009 05:50:00 +0000

You make one crack about fava beans and a nice Chianti in the wrong company and look what it gets you. Next time how about keeping the movie quotes to yourself, Mister IMDB?

Are all border collies required to sign a contract guaranteeing that they remain at peak energy levels even when tied to a fucking lamppost? If you threw a ball for him to chase, that rope would snap so fast there'd be a burn mark on your face for a week.

I don't care if they didn't make it with the nonfat foam you like. Nobody cares. With the economy the way it is, you're lucky that coffee isn't 45% premium-roasted beetles.

You just know that getting to hug this guy is like 50cc's of sunlight jammed right into your aortic arch. An even 100 if his tail's wagging.

The main reason mankind domesticated dogs in the first place was to develop a machine powered by chuckles. It never got past the planning stages, but the chuckles themselves will sustain the species until the universe itself winds down.

Dogs 429-433

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 08:10:00 +0000

Welcome to the post where all the dogs have made-up names for no reason

Ronaldo here wants everyone to know that if you're going to lock him to something that's got wheels, at least have the god damn decency to give him a fucking helmet to go with it, one with a daisy on one side and a loaded surface-to-air missile launcher taped to the other.

It might be weird to announce that you want to pet a dog on the chest instead of anywhere else first, but Taylor doesn't mind because, well, nothing bothers him. Ever.

You can try to build a bicycle out of garden hoses and spare trombone parts and try to pretend they'll stick together all you want, but dogs will know what you're up to, and they will distance themselves. Samson's not going to acknowledge it when this thing collapses into a rubbery heap. Not even going to look over.

Grace. Honey. People want to get the news, not be the news. Relax. Quit compensating for the fact that you basically have a burglar mask tattooed on your face.

At the end of the day, somebody gets to untie that leash and take Oswald home with them, and you don't. Deal with this however you want, but the city called to say they won't be so understanding about burning the whole place down again.

Dogs 424-428

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Wed, 18 Mar 2009 05:38:00 +0000

I'm not saying we're done pointing fingers at each other over the global economic situation, but Professor Ephraim Mercury Jackladder Maresdamn here is pretty sure he should have been consulted when this whole thing first started to go sideways down the wheelspout, if you know what he means.

Can you even trip people anymore? Is that a thing that happens in this day and age? I don't know anybody who walks around in San Francisco and doesn't watch where they step, is all I'm sayin'.

I have an idea for a radical new form of police interrogation:

Take a suspect and strap him to a chair in a small, blank, white room.
Put this picture on the wall about a foot from his face.
Wait five hours.
Open the door, walk in, and harvest your confession.

I've never pretended to be an expert on canine nutritional needs. Even if dogs can eat pie without failing to digest it properly and blasting it out the back of them, do they appreciate it the way we do? According to this photo: maybe.

All right, seriously, what the fuck. This is the best thing I've ever fucking seen. If you don't want to run right over and hug this fuzzy little dude until the sun itself burns to a white dwarf and dies, there is something medically fucking wrong with you.

No, not you!

2009 VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Thu, 12 Feb 2009 06:26:00 +0000

Welcome to the 2009 Valentine's Day Special. I know I'm posting it a couple of days early, but listen, I

wait

oh shit

DOG IN A SIDECAR

DOG IN A SIDECAR

DOG IN A SIDECAR

Things are lookin' up, people. You saw it here first.

Dogs 418-422

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 07:31:00 +0000

This Super-Dimensional-Fortress-class battlecruiser is just going to sit right here and concentrate until he gets so fuzzy-wuzzy that nobody within a 50,000-mile radius can handle it even a little bit and all activity on the planet ceases. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends.

That Feeling You Get When You Realize You Left The One Thing At Home That You Needed In Order To Get That Really Important Errand Done Today, But It's Already 1:30 And You Found A Great Parking Spot.
Anonymous Street Artist, 2008
Urban Installation

Some students of Zen Buddhism would tell you that a true master doesn't advertise or announce himself in any way. But then how the fuck are you supposed to recognize one when you see him?

You know that feeling you get when you do spontaneously excellent stuff like sink a three-point shot when you don't play basketball, or pull off a perfect parallel parking job on the first try, or navigate precisely to a location you've only visited once before without making any wrong turns? Every day with this champion of the world right here must be like opening up a big sack full of those moments that never runs out.

This is why nightclubs just aren't fun after a certain point in the evening. Once you've hit that spot where everybody's tried to do too much the wrong way and walks around like their brains have been pickled in booze, someone should do the responsible thing and just call it.

Dogs 412-417

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 03:57:00 +0000

Back in the olden days, kings had at least one wizard onhand basically 24/7 to do their calculations for them and help run the place. It's a system that worked so well, people are still writing books that have kings and wizards in them. That ought to tell you something.

You know that old saying about letting sleeping dogs lie? Now you know why, and it's not just because a sleeping dog that's been woken up might maul you just on general principle. What is the fucking point of disturbing something as peaceful as this, other than to prove to the world what a gigantic asshole you are?

There's simply no way he's going to find what he's looking for under all that concrete. But don't you want to pat him right between the ears anyway, just for trying?

I guess he really wanted a copy of BUTT.

What do you suppose this little superhero's top speed is with those tiny little legs? Just a hundred miles an hour? Two hundred? There's no way to measure it, because once he gets going, they blur so fast they rip the fabric of spacetime open in five directions simultaneously and causality resets itself. This might be the six hundred thousand billionth iteration of this universe and we would never, ever know the difference.

What's that look for, dude? We're not going to tell Mandy that thing you said about her in the locker room, man. Promise. No, really, we swear.

Dogs 406-411

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 07:36:00 +0000

No snarky comment goes totally unheard. If you're going to say something unkind about another person's looks, you need to be prepared on a subconscious level for a throwdown, even if there's glass between the two of you and there's no way the sound would carry. This is what is known as basic karmic law.

Why did the ancient Egyptians have to build the Sphinx to look like a dull first-grader's idea of a cat-manimal? Did they just not have dogs? I know they had that one god with the head of a jackal, but come on now.

I could be wrong about this, because I took the picture a while ago and didn't get it from any other angles, but I'm nearly positive this guy wasn't actually leashed to anything. He just knew what the fuck to do in this situation. Think about this for a second and realize how few people you know that you can say that about.

What would the world be like if we could just stretch out on any patch of sidewalk we wanted to with our heads on our arms like it weren't no thang? Would the global temperature go down by a degree or two as the entire world's population chilled out just a little? Who can we write to in order to get that going.

You could take a paranoid insomniac, feed him eighteen shots of espresso, stuff a rail of coke up his nose, and plunk him down in the middle of Times Square at noon on a Saturday, and you still won't approach the level of alertness we have here. This guy's naps probably stand guard over Fort Knox.

I have had it with people keeping this shit a secret. Where do you go in order to get a dog exactly like this, and why is everybody not automatically issued one when they turn ten years old. Dogs live for more or less a decade + change on average, right? That guarantees you the absolute best buddy possible right up until you discover drinking.

Dogs 400-405

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 03:50:00 +0000

Look, there is just no way around this: there's a good chance your body may simply never grow the way you wanted it to. In this case, the only thing to do is own it completely and allow yourself to be dressed up in pastels and be led around by a ribbon. Yes, a ribbon. The bloodthirsty war god who presides over your fiery howling dreams will make sure you get a better slot in the gene lottery next time around.

Sometimes it's really just about the waiting, isn't it? Tell this guy his leash actually broke on the way to having a sit-down, and he'll just look at you like: So?

When you receive this expectant look upon your return from wherever it is you went, you had damn sure better have whatever they're hoping for hidden behind your back. If you don't, you should make like you forgot something at the store and just run back there. It's cool, they'll wait, but not for too long. Be quick.

Did somebody spray this secret agent out of a can onto a slice of pumpkin pie, and just miss?

I don't know about you, but I for one would appreciate it if the aliens infiltrating our planet's ecosphere from top to bottom were a little more fucking subtle about it.

Shh. Shut up. Why? Because we're passing right by Cardinal Sighs-a-Lot from Our Lady of Perpetual Dismay, and if he sees us looking at him, we're going to get another one of those god damn sermons.

Dogs 394-399

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 05:44:00 +0000

Hint: there are certain times when you run across someone you can tell has some advice to give you. But there are also certain times when you shouldn't take said advice. And if you stop to ask yourself which kind it is every time, you're doing it wrong.

There's something to be said for going into battle alongside a dude who's dumb but also tough as hell. You can be sure he's not going to pull any surprising bullshit on you, for one thing, like turn out to be a double agent. He just doesn't have the brainpower, and for once you can be glad about it.

If you've got one of those super-strong dogs that can yank a parking meter out of concrete like it ain't no thang, there's only one way to handle the situation: tie his Hulk ass to a tree and hope it had a long time to put down some deep, deep roots.

Your secret's safe with me, Gandalf. I won't tell anyone you transformed yourself into a dog by accident, as long as you hold up your end of the bargain and see to it nobody makes another Rock of Love for as long as the Earth remains spinning.

What is that around his neck? A bottle for capturing magical pixies? I feel like that's the sort of thing I would've noticed when I took the picture, but maybe anti-pixie technology only reveals itself when it wants to.

Don't you love those dogs whose heads you just want to ruffle with both hands and go "wooga wooga wooga" while you do it? Or is that just me? Shit.

Dogs 389-393

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 03:47:00 +0000

So you couldn't get into the Walgreens this time, either. Why beat yourself up over it like that? It's just a drugstore, dude. Do you honestly wonder why none of your fun friends ever call you anymore?

I don't know what it says about this breed of dog that I always expect them to be able to talk. It's the only realistic way they're going to get across what it is they expect from the rest of us lesser beings.

When you're in the kind of situation where you need to make a decision and a devil and an angel appear on your shoulder representing Good and Evil, this happy camper should appear in between both of them representing Enthusiasm. You still won't make the right choice, but you'll make it with energy to spare.

Look, sometimes you just have to take a god damn nap and you don't give a shitting fuck where your body ends up, you have had a long fucking shit balls day and everything that's not a damn hell ass horizontal surface needs to watch. The fuck. Out.

Why is it that all the dwarves and wizards and magical dudes in the movies always seem to have British accents? Am I the only one who's noticed this? We're not going to get any straight answers out of this elder thaumaturgist, either.

Dogs 384-388

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 05:29:00 +0000

You can't get a dude like this to care too hard about it being wet outside. Not when he's already wearing his raincoat. If you hadn't pointed it out to him, he might not've even noticed.

Shut up, shut up! Not a word! Just sit here and don't make a god damn sound, because whatever this elected official is thinking about is approximately eight hundred fifty-seven thousand times more important than whatever bullshit you were about to say, and if you interrupt his concentration, we might wake up tomorrow in a world where potatoes are poison and babies are eating other babies just to make themselves giggle.

When you forget your ID, but your other pals have already gotten into the club and one of them has your car keys, you've got basically no choice but to make the best of it and try to create your own fun.

Listen, buddy, just because I never actually saw "Let That Be Your Last Battlefield" doesn't mean you get to make me feel fucking guilty about it, okay?

Probably one of the best things about owning a dog has to be that eternal fuzzy optimism. Honestly, who else is going to greet you like you're about to have the best day of your lives every single time you see them? Even for the richest man on Earth, that has got to be one short-ass list.

Dogs 379-383

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Fri, 30 May 2008 06:07:00 +0000

If you're a villain, this is what you see for just a split second after Rebis says "Release the Negative Spirit" and everything everywhere goes dark. Look, if you don't know who the Doom Patrol are, I'm not going to sit here explaining it to you; there's this thing called "culture" that we're all a part of.

"No, it's cool, guys, just ... just go on ahead! I'll catch up with you when you're done. With dinner. At Joss Whedon's house. With Natalie Portman. I'll ... I've got my iPod here, I'll just wait a few, uh, hours. Call me? When you're done? Guys?"

Taking a photo with the exact right background is important because -- wait a minute, what the fuck is that? Look at this dude's back feet! Somebody call the gene police, because someone has obviously been trying to make a goatdog, and that is not cool.

You can give a poodle his ball, a source of clean water, even a jaunty sport coat, and he's still going to project a field of hatred so strong that paint blisters from thirty feet away. Poodles don't like us! They don't. We should have given them their own island when they asked.

Why do you think every time there's a kung fu movie, the main character has to go learn the hidden secrets of his order's ancient style from a wizened old dude? They sure as hell don't live that long by accident.

Dogs 372-378

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 05:16:00 +0000

Dog waits patiently
Ball eternally unthrown
Will you be the one?

I don't know if I'm getting any better at poetry.

I know you're not tall enough to be able to open it up and look inside for treats, but pretending it's not there doesn't mean the compost bin goes away, dude.

There's a school of thought that says magic can't be real, because otherwise we'd've done something awesome with it by now (portal to paradise dimension, creation of candy mountain, etc). But I wonder if the truth is that it's real, but all it's actually good for is occasionally bringing your shadow to life and having it take your naps for you, like some kind of Sleep Battery. Maybe that's why there are some motherfuckers who always seem to get more done in their day.

When it comes right down to it, the holidays are just a little bit rough on everyone. But when it gets to the point where you need a really stiff eggnog to just sit down by yourself and kind of stare off into the middle distance where nobody will bother you, you should probably consider doing something else entirely for that time of the year.

What I'm about to show you next is a before/after series for people who are considering entering the exciting world of software development.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

The choice, as always, is yours.

Every time I run into one of these "don't even need a leash" dogs, I wonder whether they feel superior to other, lesser dogs who need a piece of rope to know where they're supposed to be at all times. Does it even cross their minds?

Dogs 366-371

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 04:41:00 +0000

Something I used to wonder about is why people even do this in the first place, tie their dog to a parking meter while they go inside a store or whatever; don't they worry about someone stealing their dog? I think I know why: sometimes, you can just tell that dude's tail isn't going to wag for you unless you're the guy that tied him up in the first place, and nobody, not even a would-be dog thief, wants to be exposed to such a wrist-slitting apocalypse of sadness.

There's a certain type of individual you will inevitably run across who listens very carefully to every conversation taking place around them, just waiting for the correct moment to open their mouth and begin saying their opinions. This correct moment never comes. Because it doesn't exist. But you will never be able to tell them that.

I know you have theories and ideas you want to share with me. I know this. But I am on a personal mission to try to convince the rest of America that we're not all hippies and Grateful-Dead-remembering acid casualties who think shampoo represents oppression here. You are not helping.

Do we understand, as a people, why short-haired breeds just won't ever be completely awesome? When I think about a dog, I picture a couple of shaggy dudes like this who I can run up to and ruffle, some real fuzzy guys who I'll never have to put a sweater on. You know what I'm saying?

Maybe this is just me, but that's not really a look I want to be waiting to greet me when I get done with whatever errand I was just running. I could be the only one, though. Who knows.

Buddy, we're trying to eat here; nobody wants to see your Cloverfield monster impression while there's food we want to keep down, OK?

Dogs 358-365

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 05:07:00 +0000

I think we've all been here. You're just sitting there, minding your own, when all of a sudden it occurs to you how many other people on the planet are probably right this very second pooping, or opening a can of Coke, or saying the word "the," and that's when you realize that you are completely out of drugs.

Have you ever wanted to ask someone "Even if you got it, would you know what the hell to do with it?" confident that they didn't have a ready answer? I'm positive I'm not alone in this.

Of course reincarnation is for real. If anyone ever asks how you know this information, have them take a look at this champion right here. If that's not the face of a dude who has done good work in the past and needed a little break to just chill out and goof the fuck off, then nothing anywhere has ever been true for even a second.

You know that song by Rilo Kiley, "Hail to Whatever You Found in the Sunlight That Surrounds You"? Yeah, I'm not sure why it just started in my head, either. Weird.

Six or seven pictures of this guy I took, and this was the closest one to decent. One look at that parking meter pole probably explains it; I think he figured that if he quit moving, all life as we know it would stop instantaneously and every molecule in our bodies would explode at the speed of light. Ghostbusters was a documentary, you know. It's time you were told the truth.

There's something about going to a place where all the old regulars hail your arrival with enthusiasm and ask you earnestly how you're doing when you pull up to the bar. Those don't happen very often, so take the opportunity to soak in it when you can.

All I can think about is how for some reason it looks like you could just scoop the front guy up with one arm and just fling him over the nearest tree, and he'd just sort of float to the ground at about a quarter the speed you'd expect. The one behind him you'd need a forklift to move an inch. That's not a commentary on laziness so much as contrast.

I remember saying a while ago that the reason people want a dog is that at some point in their lives, they've wanted a stuffed animal to come to life and be their pal. I am now here to tell you that it is possible to take this too far. You know those people who collect dolls? Strange, creepy, perfect dolls with too-combed hair and clothes precisely crafted and aligned just so? That's weird, is all I'm saying.

Dogs 346-357

dogblogsf@gmail.com (Jon) — Mon, 17 Dec 2007 06:31:00 +0000

It's one thing to know about the party and not be invited, but it's a whole other thing to not be invited and then have to tell people where the party's happening.

I'm not convinced this guy had a home, but not because he had no leash. He just doesn't look like he needs one. Look at that stance and then tell me you think a human's going to take better care of this superhero than he would himself.

If you don't have that good of a hand, you should just fold. It doesn't do you any good to hide your cards; we know what's going on, man.

What nobody tells you about time travel is that your past self might be so disgusted at what a fat slob you became that he might not even listen to what you have to say. And then you've wasted your trip! You should've stuck with your first idea and gone to see how they built the damn pyramids.

So you wanted to get the old high school gang back together for one more picture, except one of you went and had a little "operation" done overseas, and now the whole story's a little more complicated than you imagined. Sound familiar? No? It will. It will.

It turns out Wile E. Coyote learned how to disguise himself as a regular dog, and he's just laying low until he can get a catalog from some company other than those incompetent fuckers at Acme. He made me promise to destroy this picture, but I figure he's probably somewhere around Albuquerque by now and doesn't have internet access.

ShadowDog just wants you to know he's watching you no matter where you go, how safe you think you are, or how far you run. And when you cry out in the night, it is ShadowDog that you see.

"My dear boy, if you had only paused a moment to think about it, you would no doubt have realized that the earth's natural rotation timed against the annual migration cycle of the lesser-winged Dunharrow moth would have prevented the evil madman's diabolical scheme from coming to fruition until tonight at the stroke of nine! Quickly, untie this vile leash and let us away -- we haven't a moment to lose!"

Everybody's got that one buddy, the guy who's not even half as bright as you are, but the very thought of whom gets you chuckling to yourself until you can't help but get out your phone and see what the funny sonofabitch is up to this afternoon.

They might not be able to read yet, but they're learning.

Whoa. Whoa. Somebody needs to call Jim Henson's people and alert them to the fact that some of the bigger, dumber Muppets have come to life and are at large throughout the city. We'd better hope they saw this day coming.

When was the last time we had a movie with a real albino villain mastermind? Never? Is that in and of itself an albino villain mastermind plot?