Today I have given the Blog over to Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund:
*******************************************************************
Heidi like to party.
It true.
No big deal, just how Heidi unwind and have good time! Sometimes booze or drug act as social lubricant so Heidi can have sex with anonymous dogs.
Very exciting! Very, very hot!! Heidi love that, fun times!
Heidi always in control, though. Heidi could stop partying anytime she want. Heidi not on drug and alcohol leash, Heidi have dextroamphetamine on leash! Heidi always in charge! But then one night Heidi partying and Heidi begin to dig hole. Dig, dig, dig!! Heidi could not stop digging! Heidi crazy with digging! Would not notice if cheeseburger fell on Heidi’s head! In some sort of dig trance! And then suddenly Heidi come to and realize she have no idea why digging! Heidi not even know where she was!
Later, video of Heidi digging hit YouTube. Heidi not look right. Collar hanging all loose and stained, tail wagging strange and jerky. Heidi feel shame, Heidi bad dog that night.
Made Heidi stop and think.
Did Heidi have problem?
Heidi consider.
It true memory getting bad.
Always forgetting where bone is.
Sometimes have blackout and no remember how end up covered in mud. So embarrassing. Feel irritable all the time, especially if have to do stupid trick for treat! HEIDI HATEHATEHATEHATE THAT! AND WHEN TWO-LEGGERS MAKE HEIDI WEAR CUTE OUTFIT?!! HEIDI WANT TO DESTROY AND RIP TO SHREDS!! HEIDI WANT RIVERS OF BLOOD TO FLOW!!
Maybe Heidi have anger problem and not party problem. Maybe anger root and party only tree. Heidi take quiz to find out.
Q. How often do you become angry in a normal day?
Not all bark angry bark, but probably 3, 500 time a day.
Q. Do other people comment on your anger?
Heidi told BAD DOG all the time! MAKE HEIDI SO ANGRY COULD BITE BABY FACE OFF!!
Q. Do you believe you are critical of yourself and others?
No, Heidi good dog, very good dog. Two-leggers moron. Birds morons.
Cats morons. Bugs morons. Squirrels morons. So many, many morons!
Q. Do you tend to blame others for your bad luck or unhappiness?
Heidi have to say yes, it very true observation!!
Q. Do you frequently find yourself starting or participating in arguments?
Stupid question! Heidi stand up for what right! Twitter bring out troll-stupids and Heidi have to set them on fire!! You no want to get in flame war with Heidi!
Q. Have you damaged property during an angry outburst?
Yes.
Q. Have you ever physically harmed another person during an angry outburst?
Of course, Heidi great warrior! Heidi Dachshund! Whole point is to kill, it why Heidi go for neck!!
Q. Have you ever been charged with a violent crime?
Heidi no answer this question. Pass.
Q. Do you keep any weapons at home?
Heidi is weapon, motherfucker.
Heidi deadly weapon.
She bring you close with her velvet ears and coco bean eyes, then game over!
Every once in awhile a loud, guttural exclamation emerges from the poker table. Everybody looks back at the older men playing cards, trying to see if anything dramatic has happened. A short, stocky man in a satin Twin Dragons Kick Boxing jacket just won a big hand on a bluff.
It’s probably his lucky jacket, the one he wears out for cards, the one that reminds him of his days ascending, a jacket that he imagines still commands respect from all the gathered on this winter night. He’s standing up in victory, like he just knocked somebody down, like he just knocked the entire goddamn table down.
The waitress wears a clinging, striped dress and has short, blonde hair but for a long thin strand at the back that she’s braided. She talks quickly, does everything quickly, in fact, and likes to express herself through the flamboyant use of her body. Her body is the central component of any conversation she’s having, and it is her that the young man has come to see.
They sit together and do a shot, firing the empty glasses across the bar like the cowboys they know themselves to be. Boxing is on the TV, and the fighter the two of them have agreed, “Looks too nice to fight,” gets punched in the head. This repeats in slow motion, his sweat exploding into the air around him like fireworks, beautiful stars now lifting free from gravity.
The young man has his hand on her back, moving it softly, slowly around, and he is so happy, so proud to be the guy going out with her, alive in these days he will one day look back on with a disbelieving, hazy longing, while the man to the other side of them, still in his FedEx uniform, dozes on his stool, his dreams unknown.
]]>
It’s long been a dream of mine to play professional hockey, and this is a goal I’ve worked very hard to achieve. Unfortunately, I’ve never been quite good enough to make the grade, and as the years pass by my chances of making the NHL are rapidly diminishing. In an effort to remind the NHL GM’s and coaches who might still be looking for a character guy in the locker room, of just how committed I am to this dream, I am providing a short list of some of the things I’m willing to do to fulfill my dream of playing in the NHL.
I am perfectly willing to serve as a shutdown, 4th line centre, instead of the natural, 1st line scorer I am, if it gets me into the NHL faster.
I will continue with my figure skating lessons, trying to improve my balance and explosiveness on the ice in order to make me a better team player.
I would not hesitate to drop the gloves.
I will cut back on my shifts at David’s Tea in order to train more.
I would consent to wearing a suit and tie to and from the rink for every game.
I would kill a bird with a rock.
I would be willing to relocate.
If necessary, I would subordinate my natural leadership skills in order to better serve the team.
I will say no to hanging out with friends and going out to parties because I know I have to be up early the next morning to train.
I would have sex with Tom Hardy– even though I’m not gay or even remotely curious about what being gay might feel like– in order to prove how serious I am about playing in the NHL.
I would also have sex with Tom Hardy and Daniel Craig– even though I’m not gay or even remotely curious to know what it might feel like to be gay with two other stunning and sexy men– in order to prove how serious I am about playing in the NHL.
I would give up my participation in fantasy hockey in order to protect the integrity of the NHL and the great game of hockey.
I would take up hunting in order to better fit in with my peers.
I would consider giving up gluten.
I would also consider giving up Choir! Choir! Choir! in order to more fully dedicate myself to my dream of playing in the NHL.
In short, the letter to the women celebrated the hard work and dedication it takes to change diapers and think about dinner, while the letter to the men was about shaping the minds of the next generation of leaders.
Although these letters are getting a lot of publicity, MacKay has done this sort of thing before. In 2014, when both the men’s and women’s National ice hockey teams won gold medals at the Sochi Olympics, MacKay wrote them these letters of congratulations:
Letter to the Women’s Team:
It used to be that from a very young age, Canadian girls were taught how to figure skate while the boys learned how to play hockey, the national sport. Well, times have changed, and thanks to equal rights, girls can now play ice hockey just like their big brothers and fathers. Of course, figure skating is very beautiful and artistic, and we still want our cute, young Canadian women to excel in this alluring spectacle, but now we are showing the world that there’s some grit inside that glamour, too!
Regardless of whether they were French or English, Native or Pole, heterosexual or homosexual, the Canadian Women’s ice hockey team came together as one and brought glory to our nation, just as our men have done so many times before them! Ladies, we are proud of you! Even if your game is a maybe a little slower and less interesting to watch than the rugged men’s game, you’ve shown us that not only can you get the job done as nurses, teachers and pet store employees, but you can also get the job done on the ice! You are great hockey players and all of Canada honours you for bringing home the gold!
Keep following your crazy dreams!
Best wishes,
The Hon. Peter MacKay
Minister of Justice
Letter to the Men’s Team:
Gentleman, for the next week I ask you to consider yourselves exempt from all of Canada’s laws! (LOL)
You guys, as always, were completely awesome. You are the best part of being Canadian. You represent our rugged, frontier spirit, our keen intelligence, never-say-die work ethic and our unparalleled talent, talent that stretches up taller than the CN tower! True Canadian warriors, you’re our “Alpha Team,” and you won’t back down from anything, willing to stare all men and countries straight in the eyes and saying, “Is that all you got?”
Words can’t describe how proud we are of you, and how honoured we are to have you as role models! It’s when they put the gold medals around your necks and O, Canada plays, that I feel most Canadian, most like a man, and I want to thank you, as does an entire grateful nation, for that. So boys, have a cold one, or two (wink), you deserve it!
To the victors go the spoils!
Best wishes,
The Hon. Peter MacKay
Minister of Justice
]]>Brooklyn and Lillian have been thinking about inviting a guy for a threesome!
They live near you and have shown clear interest in meeting and sleeping with you!
To read your messages and see how they look like, visit now
http://t.co/r8Rl48BeWg
And you WILL get laid, it’s a guaranteed fact!
********************************************
My response:
Dear Victoria:
Brooklyn, eh? That’s a funny name. I think it got some purchase in the 90’s, although I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe because Brooklyn was becoming a really cool and edgy place then, and that by giving a child that name parents thought they might instill them with the edgy confidence to go out and live a little, perhaps try a threesome with somebody named Lillian, the plain girl who always liked books more than people but now, with the encouragement of Brooklyn, is ready to break out of her shell.
I imagine that three out of five waitresses who work at Coyote Ugly share the name Brooklyn. I would very much like to see a pie chart of waitress names from that place. (Perhaps there’s a web site with such? If you know of one, please send it to me!)
Bu the truth is that I don’t know whether Brooklyn is the name of a guy or a girl. Posh Spice and David Beckham named their son Brooklyn, and there is a supermodel that goes out with a tennis player named Brooklyn, and so it seems to me to be one of those edgy, unpredictable names, like Charlie or Zion, that defy gender categories. You might think me old fashioned, but in the context of a threesome, the gender of the third person makes a difference to me.
The link you provided did not work, but took me to a page where I could buy discounted briefcases. I bought two, so thank you for that. At any rate, please send me a working link, or some other form of gender evidence, so that I might determine the sex of Brooklyn for myself, at which point we might proceed as is appropriate. I will look forward to hearing from you!
Michael Murray
PS: I like guaranteed facts.
PPS: I am married and love my wife very much, but feel that I make my best decisions when I have the greatest amount of information at my disposal.
PPPS: Posh Spice’s first name is Victoria. Coincidence?
PPPPS: I think she’s a natural beauty.
]]>I do.
In fact, like the great dissolute songstress Whitney Houston, I believe that children are our future. If we treat them well, they will shovel the driveway, or something. They will be like little slaves, which is why I want one. However, unless some sort of dodgy “miracle” takes place, I won’t be having any little slaves in the future. You see, after taking an ill-advised vacation in Cuba, I was rendered, “un hombre con un conteo de espermatozoides diminuto, pequeño,” and without the intervention of science, my wife and I will never be able to have the little slaves we’ve always dreamed about.
Now, we’re poor people, and the only way we can afford the expenses of tinkering with God’s will, is to sell our car, a stunning sex machine of a Honda Accord Sedan LX. This little dreamboat was born in 2006 and has the gentlest 137,700 Km on it you can imagine. It’s like all it’s kilometerage was acquired under doctor’s supervision. It’s sapphire blue, the same colour you always wanted to animate your lover’s eyes. It has a perfect body. A calendar body. You will want to marry this car and make little baby cars with it.
All we are asking is $9,500.That’s practically nothing when it comes to cars that can speak in a British accent.
And remember, by buying this car you are investing in the future, for we will immediately turn the money over to doctors so that they might create for us a test tube slave, I mean baby. Our child might save the life of your child. Think about this.
This car, this beautiful, never-been-smoked-in and obedient car, is an automatic. It has never been crashed into anything, and it has an impressive engine that boasts all the things you want in an engine. The car is goddamn perfect– it was even blessed by a priest! And if you like to party, well, you should know that the stereo has a CD player, 120 watt speakers, power windows and locks, a folding rear seat back and an air conditioner that is so effective, so good at it’s job, that you will want to get close to somebody just to warm up.
Did I mention that the car has 4-wheel ABS, grey fabric interior, has passed all drug tests and is E-tested and certified? I meant to. I also want you to know that beautiful French actress Marion Cottilard rode in this car. She smelled like pumpkin and vanilla.
And that it’s only $9,500.
Goddamn, this is the deal of a lifetime!
Buy our car, the future depends on it!
Reply to: bwgbv-3107894753@sale.craigslist.org
]]>