Iggy, you’re awfully calm. Mind if I take your picture?
That’s perfect! What an adorable expression! Hold it for just a second long–
“CAN I SHOVE MY NOSE IN THE LENS?! YAY! Oh, look, a cat! I’m gonna go lick his back! No, it’s okay, he’ll like it this time! HEY CAT, LEMME LICK YOUR BACK!!”
It’s going well with him.
My husband got me a stand for my banjo.
Trouble is, I sold my banjo to get him this:
I thought he’d like it, but instead he broke down crying. Then he confessed that he sold his ass to get me the banjo stand.
Upon realizing the irony, we both laughed. Then I got him the ointment out of the medicine cabinet. He went to bed early, and as long as he sleeps on his stomach he should be okay.
So… um… yeah. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
“I think I’ve known all along. The first time I saw Arya Stark I felt an immediate kinship with her,” said the childless, multiple-cat-owning, middle-aged Executive Assistant. “But still, I’m glad Buzzfeed could confirm it.” She then got into her four-door Honda Civic sedan and left the office 10 minutes early to beat the traffic back to her exurban subdivision. “Don’t tell my boss,” she pleaded.
My homage to The Onion. Yes, I’ve decided that “homage” is French for “ripoff.”
Watching The Year Without A Santa Claus. Everyone’s so wrapped up in Heat Miser and Snow Miser, nobody mentions how the elves found themselves on a one-way street, getting ticketed for riding a Vixen the wrong way.
Couch. Sofa, so soft.
I should exercise more, yes?
No. Couch! Couch, couch, couch.
Yeah, I don’t know either. Here’s another pet picture. This one is Miniature Schnauzer, Confused.
Yes, he’s on the cat perch. This dog ain’t right.
Before getting Iggy the Wonder Schnauzer from a nearby rescue, I considered going to a breeder. I know, I know — why would anyone do that when there are so many animals looking for homes?
Well, for starters, you have a good idea of what you’re getting before you let the animal in your house.
See, at a rescue, all you have to go on is how the dog acts right there and then. A reputable breeder, on the other hand, would have lived with the dog, and would have records going back several generations. We could have said, “Hello, Breeder! We would like a dog that will grow up to be calm, intelligent, not likely to morph into a pan-dimensional hellhound, and maybe not too barky, thank you,” and that’s what we’d get. Instead, we have Iggy — a dog that needs constant supervision, tons of mental stimulation, and a priest.
But you want to know the scariest part? Look at the picture again. My husband is petting this thing.
From the depths of my patriotic soul, I say this to you now:
Christ, is there ANYONE in this country who can sing the national anthem? I don’t mean “KISS MY ASS MARIAH CAREY” vocal pyrotechnics like Mariah Carey shot your dog and fuck her now because from here on your sole purpose in life is to show up that dog-shooting bitch everywhere you go. I mean is there anyone in this country who can just SING THE DAMNED SONG?! If you’re not already a professional singer, kicking off a goddamned Met game is not going to be your big break. You’re not gonna get to duet on the Grammys with Justin Beeberlake and D-Jism or whoever the fuck you consider an “icon” because of your “stirring rendition” of the national anthem in which you hit every note within the range of human hearing just on the word “brave,” okay?
JUST SING THE GODDAMN SONG AND SIT THE FUCK DOWN.