The Doggy Cage

“So,” I say to my friend Lauri last night. “When you’re all old and busted and your dog dies, I can move into the doggy cage?”

“You sure you don’t wanna move in there now?” she asks. “She’s in heat. She’s always whining for me to f*** her.”

Oh gross, I think to myself. This conversation has taken a turn for the worse. How do these exchanges to so bad so fast? “What does your dog look like?” I hear myself asking.

Ok, before you guys get any gross ideas, I want you to know that you’re just sick for even thinking of such a thing. Admit it! The idea popped into your head as to where you thought this was going and I have to just say that some things are so incredibly disgusting as to be completely out of bounds, even as far as humor goes. You just don’t go there. Some lines you simply do not cross!

Anyway, a couple hours later, as I was leaving the doggy cage and buckling my clothes looking for a place to shower.

DAMMIT! You’re doing it again!!! YOU GUYS ARE SICK!! THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH YOU!!!!

Geez Louise, y’all need to get a life. I’m really stretching for blog-worthy material today. I’ll have to update if I end up thinking of something worthy of writing.

* Most of the above story was untrue
** I didn’t buckle my clothes, I snapped them

3 Responses to “The Doggy Cage”

  1. THE "D" says:

    It must be hard to come up with something everyday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    Really I don’t give a damn—-I need my blog by 8:15 everyday. You were a little slow today buddy!

    Did L watch??

  2. Mexigogue says:

    Pistons dammit!! WOO HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

  3. THE "D" says:

    DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.

    AND I REALLY SAY IT THIS WAY WHEN I HAVE HAD A FEW BEERS