Grandmother ate the dog. But not my dog. Because mine is a cat. Cat and I discussed philosophy and rodents, we two, while Grandmother sat and munched paws.
I fed all the neighborhood dogs to my cat Hermann last night. Actually, Hermann did all the work. I just came up with a good alibi. We work as a team — Hermann does the locating, selecting, stalking, killing, and eating, and I leave the back gate open and handle the police. He's a good cat. Nice, cuddly, warm, colorful Bengal tiger. My pal Hermann. He even has his own Facebook account.
If you want a friend, get a dog. If you want a real friend, get a cat. If you want my advice, get lost.
Today is National Exhume a Dead Parent for Lunch Day, but Dad keeps digging himself up every old random day. I just set out a leftover burger and cold fries by the dog bowl and that usually does the trick, though sometimes I have to shoo him away before things can return to normal. Stuffing him into the dumpster is iffy. The crew will usually toss him back out. Parents — you can't live with them, you can't get rid of them, not even by burial.
Didn't think that farting in church would sound so loud. Maybe it was because the moment of silent prayer sounded so quiet. Anyway, I was able to point to the dog, though that was when they threw us both out. Odd really, because I have no idea where the dog came from. We had a good laugh about it over beer, and then sniffed each other's butts before heading our separate ways.
Ever considered a pet snake? I come with solid references and can help out if you have problems with rats, stray dogs, or unruly children.
My dog is named Daisy. I don't have a dog. I hate dogs. She always hogs the blankets, and I can't sleep because of the moaning.
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Me? Trying to keep secrets from the cat. Hard. Very hard.
