A Matter Of The Heart

Hi, guys.

Today I write you with a heavy -- yet hopeful -- heart.

My dear friends -- Tree and P.Daddy -- are taking their baby girl in for heart surgery tomorrow where surgeons will repair her little heart at 11 a.m.

Preemie Donna was born July 1. Her birth was traumatic and came three months earlier than planned. For 15 weeks after her arrival, Preemie Donna lived in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. At first, the outlook was grim. There were so many hurdles for the little lady to get over. She was born with two holes in her heart. A minor, but serious, birth defect threatened to leave her blind. Her stomach was so sensitive she couldn't hold down enough food to properly nourish her tiny body and was forced rely on a feeding tube.

But as the days passed, little Preemie Donna showed us what she was made of. She kept getting stronger and stronger and one-by-one she overcame her medical issues. An eye surgery helped ensure she would have vision, medication is helping with the delicate tummy issues, but now it is time to address her biggest obstacle -- her heart.

So I come with a request: Please lift our little Preemie Donna up in your thoughts and prayers. Light a candle. Cast a spell. Do whatever it is you do. This is the holiday season and we need one last Christmas Miracle. Lets do everything we can to bring Preemie Donna home with a healthy heart.

Sonny The Pug Was Too Embarassed To Be In This Photo

SCENE: Colonial Williamsburg, 40 degrees and skies threatening to rain.

ME: Let's take our picture in the stocks!

THE AGGIE: Really?

ME: Yes! It'll be fun!

THE AGGIE: (Reluctantly) Okay.

SONNY THE PUG: Uhhh, in one word? NO. I will not be participating in this little display.

ME: Suit yourself.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Please say a prayer for my sisters. I have given them the stomach bug that had me so sick. My Baby Sister is a nurse and she is on top of the situation. They've already called our Preggo Sister's doctor and she's been told that the baby is fine even though she feels awful. Please say some prayers for them to recover. I feel just horrible and I want them to get better so badly.

Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus

By the title of this post, can you guess that I have stopped with the explosive diarrhea? Thank the birth of Sweet Baby Jesus! I think I might actually live to see Christmas morning.

In fact, I felt so much better that the Aggie and I drove down to the Historic Triangle today and played around in Yorktown. And we took Sonny the Pug and had a heck of a time.

The Aggie was able to take some really cute pictures of our little man:



Friday, we DO Colonial Williamsburg. Don't be surprised if you see STP wearing Revolutionary garb and carrying a musket.

Merry Christmas, Internet. The Pug Family is wishing you a very happy holidays.

It Is 4 a.m. And I Blogging

Why am I doing such a thing?

Because my intestines are on Greenwich Mean Time.

So I have spent the last hour finding a medical care place that 1) accepts crazy people the week of Christmas 2) takes my insurance and 3) is somewhat close to my sister's house.

Luckily, I think I have found the perfect place. But if my luck counts for anything these days, then that "perfect place" will burn to the ground during the next four hours before it opens.

And I?

Will weep. And poop.

Pray for us. Because right now? I am totally ruining Christmas for everyone.

This Blows, Literally

I have made it my sister's in Virginia.

My colon, however, is somewhere back in Alabama. It didn't get the memo that we were heading on vacation.

I wont go into details, but lets just say that if you need to know 30 or so places to take a dump between Houston, Texas and Richmond, Virginia, then just consider me an expert resource. I have road tested everything from McDonald's to Shell gas stations to roadside parks.

The Virginia state line has a particularly nice facility.

Colonial Williamsburg will not know what hit it.

Jingle This

Trucking through the house
Looking for something to eat
O'er the dog food I pass
Cause I'd like some meat
Bells on my collar ring
Making spirits bright
What fun it is to laugh and sing
A Puggy song tonight

Oh, jingle pug, jingle pug
Jingle all the way
Oh, what fun it is to ride
In a one pug open sleigh
Jingle pugs, jingle pugs
Jingle all the way
Oh, what fun it is to ride
In a one pug open sleigh

Not Enough Hours In The Day

Tonight the Aggie and I have to get a lot accomplished:

Packing for our 10-day trip to Virginia. (Doesn't seem horrible until you factor in we have to pack clothing, medication and toiletries for ourselves and our pooches.)

Wrapping gifts.

Washing clothing.

Getting the house ready to leave.

Shopping for gloves/hats.

Finishing up end-of-the-year products for our prospective employers.

Have pre-going-to-your-folk's-house-for-a-week sex.

Like I said, there is a lot to do. Some more important than others. And to top it off? I have the worst headache I've ever had (at least since the last time I typed that exact sentence.) And? I'm tired and completely unmotivated to do any of the things on that list. Except for the sex part -- speaking of, did you see my bling?

Well, at least we got our Christmas cards out. Sort of. I will not be surprised at all if I left someone off the list. If you're that person -- sorry. Take comfort in that my Christmas card efforts were bipolar and half-assed, at best. So it's nothing personal. Unless you consider my having The Crazy personal. In which case, you probably are afflicted as well and have way bigger fish to fry and pondering where your Christmas card from Momma Pug is.

My Sweet Husband

Yesterday I just knew the Aggie was up to something. He was being a bit secretive. Kind of shady. I didn't think too much of it, as it IS Christmas – the season to sneak around and spend money like a drunken sailor. So I didn't think to much about his behavior, other than my curiosity was peaked. The Aggie is horrible at keeping surprises. He is very matter-of-fact and he likes to just lay it out there. Usually we pick things out together. No sense in leaving whether we'll like it or not up to chance. So you see, I figured he'd tell me pretty quickly, so I didn't push or snoop… at first.

Well, the Aggie actually kept me in suspense yesterday. And the more cool he acted about it, the more I had to know RIGHT NOW what he was up to. I tried everything I could think of to snoop. Alas, my efforts were to no avail. By the time he picked me up from work I was literally DYING to know. And, boy, did I use all my womanly charms to try and get him to break. Yet, he remained strong and refused to give anything away. Finally, after I had annoyed him into submission he said I could have my gift before I went to bed last night.

So I tried to go to bed at 4:30. Which sent the Aggie into fits of laughter.

At about 6:30, the Aggie said he had to run an errand – fill the car up with gas, I think – and he headed off, leaving me to finish up some sewing projects for my soon-to-be-born nephew. Clearly, I took this opportunity to search the house for my gift. It didn't take long for my frustration level to increase. DAMN IT! He's getting smarter. Five years ago -- about two months before he asked me to marry him -- I found my engagement ring. When he was gone to work, I'd put it on and look at myself in the mirror. (Stop judging me. I was excited.) Years later, after he "surprised" me with the ring and marriage proposal, I told him about the many afternoons I'd prance around in my ring feeling like the Queen of England in my jewels. He just laughed and commended me on my having the fortitude to put it back in the box after each "test drive."

But that sucker didn't forget my actions. No, sir, he did not make the mistake of trusting me again. He did a lot better job hiding his handiwork this time around. I was knee deep searching in our closet when I heard the front door rattle. Immediately I scrambled back to the couch where the Aggie had left me. I practically crushed the coffee table getting back into my I-have-been-here-the-entire-time position when in walks my father-in-law. False alarm! I resumed my search.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing….?"

" How was your day?" he said, looking confused.

"Fine, yours?" I replied as I pulled all the steak knives from their drawer.

"Same old shit, another day," he said as he watched me search. "Can I help you? What are you looking for?"

Before I could answer, the front door opened and I dove back onto the couch.

"Hey honey!" I said a little too perky.

Sensing my urgency, the Aggie walked into the bedroom, rumbled around a few minutes then returned with a square gift the size of a book. Quickly I started ripping into the package. I had guessed correctly. It was a book… and a Wii game. Both very nice gifts. You should have seen the Aggie's face. He was very, very proud of his Wii game – one that included professional football. Well, of course he's excited, I thought! He just bought HIMSELF something FOR ME for Christmas. I tried not to show any disappointment, but he could tell I was a little letdown.

"Why don't you flip it over and see the list of games. I think there's one in particular you will really like," he said.

Slowly I flipped the game over, preparing myself to fake-spout fireworks over Wii shuffleboard or badminton. At first I didn't even notice that there was something taped to the back of the game box. I just assumed it was left over from the Aggie's horrific wrapping job. But then I ran my finger across it. It was solid, metal and just small enough to fit around my finger!

The Aggie had purchased me a new wedding band set! Custom-made, two-tone and one of a kind. It was the wedding set he said he'd wanted to buy for me five years ago, but couldn't afford it. It took him five years, he said, but he knew it would be worth it.

Well, you know? He was right.

There were a lot of people that thought we were crazy getting married six months after we'd been dating. A lot of folks bet against us. And that's all right, because we were young and stupid. It could have totally blown up in our faces. But it didn't and we proved them wrong. We're stronger now than we've ever been. Every day I fall a little more in love with my husband. He is my best friend. He believes in me and I couldn't be happier in the life we've made together. It's been the best five years of my life and I can't wait to experience the next five.

And to all those doubters? I got two words: Suck it.

Thank you, my sweet husband. I love being married to you. My gratitude is so strong that its difficult to find the appropriate words. Lets just say that this thoughtful, kind and expensive Christmas present has totally bought you an infinite amount of sex. And not just married people sex. We can even do it on top of the covers and with the lights on if that's your thing.

If My Grandmother Used The "F" Word

Unless you know me and MawMaw, you have no idea how much this resembles us. You know, except for her dropping the F-Bomb, which I cannot imagine her doing. Unless she was really, really excited, I suppose.


(Click on it for a larger view.)

Also? My thighs will never be represented by stick figures. Never. Not under any circumstances. But other than the thunder thigh issue, this couldn't be more representative of myself and MawMaw Pug. I get my sauciness honest.

I Love Irony

Houston anti-kidnapping expert kidnapped in Mexico

Associated Press
Dec. 15, 2008, 1:22PM

MEXICO CITY — A well-known U.S. anti-kidnapping expert has himself fallen victim to the wave of abductions in Mexico as unidentified assailants snatched him from a street in the northern state of Coahuila.

Local authorities say American Felix Batista was in Mexico to give talks and offer advice against kidnapping. The former U.S. army officer sometimes serves as a negotiator with kidnappers.

Batista is a consultant for the Houston-based security firm ASI Global LLC.

ASI Global President Charlie LeBlanc says Batista was abducted on Dec. 10 in Saltillo, the capital of Coahuila.

LeBlanc said today that the FBI and Mexican police are working on the case, but would not say whether any ransom demand has been received.

Ten Coolest Characters From 1980s TV Shows

Hi internet.

Momma Pug is taking a day off, but I didn't want to leave you without fodder for the weekend. Please enjoy this HILARIOUS post from the Aggie. I think it's his best ever.

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There were some horrible shows on TV in the 80s--"Webster," "Manimal," Misfits of Science," just to name a few. But there were also some very cool shows on in the Reagan years, some of which I remember. With those cool shows came cool characters. Here's a list of some of the baddest-asses of a badass decade, with pros and cons to explain their ranking:

10. String Fellow Hawk (Jan-Michael Vincent), Airwolf

Yes, I might have a drink before I fly. Is there a problem?

Pros: Highly skilled pilot of a super-awesome helicopter that could defy the laws of physics (could do Mach 3+ without tearing itself apart), which he conveniently stole from the U.S. Government (which did not put, oddly enough, end this show by putting 50 bullets in his brain in the first five minutes of episode 1). The chopper alone, along with the show's theme song, makes him at least moderately cool.

Cons: Then again, this was a dude in his 30s who was obsessed with his brother (ok, the guy was a POW in 'Nam), didn't talk--he mutters--and blows off steam by riding around on a rowboat outside of his smooth mountain lake cottage PLAYING THE CELLO. No wonder JMV ended up a drunk living in a double-wide outside of Vicksburg, Miss. (no shit, you can look it up.)




9. Cliff Huxtable (Bill Cosby), The Cosby Show

Eat your Jell-o Puddin' Pops, kids.

Pros: A loving, caring father with a good job and a sense of responsibility. A refreshing change when a lot of black families (hell, families in general) were disintegrating and men didn't have the guts to take care of their kids.

Cons: He wore a damned sweater. ALL THE TIME. Even kids knew that was lame, and it hurts his standing. But he could still whip String's ass.

8. Dan Fielding (John Larroquette), Night Court

Hi. Didn't I nail your mom in 1988? Or your older sister? Both?

Pros: One of the funniest characters in the history of television, not to mention the most underrated. Would hit anything that moved and always had a hilarious quip to describe his very busy sex life.

Cons: He was a public defender at a night court. This does not speak well do one's competency. His best friend was the judge, who thought lame magic tricks and Mel Torme were cool (Harry Anderson), and he never did nail the hot prosecutor (Markie Post). That hurts, but I doubt Dan cares, because he's out buying another gross of rubbers.


7. Mick Belker (Bruce Weitz), Hill Street Blues

Nobody told me not to go full tard! AAARRRRGH!

Pros: The toughest of tough guys, Belker was an undercover cop on the mean streets of Chicago (though the show never specifically said it WAS Chicago). Belker was not above beating the shit out of a suspect IN or out of the station house and had a fetching battle cry: "AAARRRRRRGGGGGH!"

Cons: Socially retarded. "AAAAARRRRRGGGGH" was about as deep as he got. Weitz was nominated for an Emmy six times as Belker, and won only once. His later career credits include guest spots on JAG and a continuing role, now, on General Hospital. It just goes to show, never go full tard.

6. T.J. Hooker (William Shatner), T.J. Hooker

Spock--you're much dumber than I recall. And Bones, you're much hotter.

Pros: IT'S WILLIAM FUCKING SHATNER. Enough said.

Cons: It's very disconcerting to see the Shat in full--ahem, girth, shall we say?--running with a revolver in his hand. Phasers to kill, dude. Also, Adrian Zemed is a lousy Spock and Heather Locklear (in her early 20s, GRRR) is no bones--though she could give you one.
(NOTE: And yes, T.J. Hooker did have dramatic pauses andthentalkrealfastlikethis. Love it.)


5. Michael Knight (David Hasselhoff), Knight Rider

There are no words.

Pros: IT'S THE HOFF! It's not only the Hoff, it's the Hoff with THE CAR! And the theme song! What could possibly be more cool than Turbo Boost?

Cons: Ok, it's the car and the theme that's cool, not the Hoff. The leather jacket with the open shirt under it didn't hide the acting flaws, it compounded them. But you have to admit, he'd kick the ass of everyone on this list so far. And the man is the Shat of my generation.


4. Rick and A.J. Simon (Gerald McRaney and Jameson Parker), Simon and Simon

Yes, we're related. But only one of us married Delta Burke.

Pros: Polar opposites; Rick's the grizzled 'Nam vet, A.J.'s the suave ladies man. But combined, the two not only solved cases and kicked ass, they were hilarious in doing so.

Cons: Hard to find. Maybe the only thing really holding them back is that their coolness diminishes when judged separately and there are three badasses ahead of them. Well, Major Dad doesn't help.


3. Thomas Magnun (Tom Selleck), Magnum P.I.

I know what you're thinking, and you're right--I did make your mom wet.

Pros: I know what you're thinking, and you're right--how could Magnum not be higher on the list? The guy was a SEAL, had the 'stache, looked good wearing tennis shoes without socks, had the Ferrari and drove Higgins nucking futs. And he always got his man.
Cons: You never, EVER wear a belt with a Hawaiian shirt and short shorts! It's not done! And why'd he have to be a Tigers fan?

2. MacGyver (Richard Dean Anderson), MacGyver

Why, yes, I AM going to kill you with this laser-guided bomb and a tampon.

Pros: Never carried a gun, and kicked ass anyway. Could make a weapon out of almost anything, and most of the MacGyver-isms were actually tested before going on the air. Dude could wipe out a Red Army regiment with a paper clip, poilet paper and a Banarama tape. Total stud.

Cons: The long hair was just utterly lame, and the environmental crap the show got into late was no good. WHIP COMMIES AND BAD GUYS, MAC!



1. Lt. Col. John "Hannibal" Smith (George Peppard), The A-Team

If I could shoot, you'd be dead now. B.A., kick his ass.


Pros: Uh, did you ever see the show? Hannibal was the personification of cool, leading his men against insurmountable odds and never breaking a sweat. Cigar firmly chomped in mouth, he always had a pithy comment for the bad guys, looked suave as hell dropping a wrecking ball on a car and saying "nice." And, he brought us one of the greatest lines in TV history: "I love it when a plan comes together." He also tought us that it's ok to always go in through the front door, especially when you're on the jazz.

Cons: Virtually none. Except he was a bad shot. Then again, so was everyone in the 80s.

The Weather Proclaim Jihad On Momma Pug

It doesn't matter that I've issued a formal, public apology. The Weather apparently holds quite the grudge. Its still freezing today and there was still snow on the ground. I fear The Weather was just warning me last night and that any minute now a blizzard will commence. Because I compared it to Britney Spears.

This is what the snow looked like last night. The flakes were about the size of a quarter:



Palm trees and snow don't mix.

(Thanks to my carpool buddy David for the photo!)

An Open Letter To Momma Pug From The Weather

Dear Momma Pug,

Suck it.

Sincerely,
The Weather

(Yeah, it is now snowing like a mother. And sticking. I think I might have pissed The Weather off when I called it Britney Spears. Oops.)

An Open Letter To The Weather

Dear Weather,

Stop acting Britney Spears the day after she shaved her head. You are completely bi-polar. Yesterday, it was muggy and 78 degrees at my house. I was sweating. Today it is 36 degree and I am freezing my figurative balls off. That's a 42-degree difference, and for us people who live in the south Texas tropical climate, it is a hard change to swallow. That kind of change should be ratified by Congress, not just happen over a six-hour period while I'm sleeping. That's just nuts!

So be forewarned Weather, you are hereby official Put On Notice. Warm up to about 55 or 60 degrees, quit trying to snow (hail or sleet) and just stabilize yourself already. My sinuses can't handle another one of your mood swings. Get your shit together, Weather. As you, I'm spending Christmas in Virginia -- and while I have no preconceived notions of 78-degree December days up north -- I expect to keep things mild as possible here. So do what you need to do. Check into Promises, or the Betty, or where you go for personality disorders and get that shit straightened out. It's been cold for five hours and I'm over it.

Yours,
Momma Pug

PS The dogs wont go out. That's how cold it is. And they poop in the house enough, so come on, Weather. Throw me a bone and I'll never compare you to Britney Spears again.

Bah Humbug!

My stress level is at about a 14. On a scale that only goes to three.

There is so much to do before we depart for the holidays -- we're spending our Christmas in Virginia with my uber-preggo sister who is so knocked up that air travel isn't allowed. (By the way, Sonny the Pug is going to Viriginia with us. How funny is that? I predict -- per his behavior -- we will be tempted to dump him at a roadside park before we hit the Alabama state line.)

But just to get to THAT point, there is so much that must be done. Packing. Wrapping. Medicating. You know, the usual. And I'm being overwhelmed by a much heavier workload than usual. I don't feel like I can't pull all our shit together in time. (Types Momma Pug as she has her first drink of the day.)

This weekend we are having Christmas with the Aggie's side of the family. I have all the gifts bought and assembled. Except one -- a large photo collage for his grandmother. It's Tuesday already and I don't even have all the pictures gathered up yet. I am sensing disaster, people, and thinking that perhaps we should purchase a backup gift in case I drink myself into a spiked eggnog coma and cannot function enough to tie my shoes, much less make something crafty and thoughtful.

The question is, Internet: What do you get your husband's grandmother?

I have absolutely no idea and am counting on you for a miracle.

What can I purchase that says: Merry Christmas, we love you and would very much like to use your condo this summer?

That Aweful Silky: Part Deuce

Oh, Deuce.

This morning I woke up to the Aggie holding an empty container that used to house Sonny the Pug's hip dysplasia medication. Yesterday there were about 20 medicated treats in the canister. This morning there were none.

Uh, oh.

Someone had infiltrated the kitchen pantry and feasted on the ass-flavored, medicated treats. At first we assumed it was Ripken, as he has a history of stealing things off the cabinets. If he'll pull an entire flank steak or ham off the stove, then what's stopping him from rummaging through the pantry? Besides, he just looked guilty.

"That dog knows something," I said to the Aggie, as I got dressed for work this morning.

"Yeah," the Aggie replied, staring down at the big sissy, Ripken. "I don't know why I'm bothering, but I'm going to feed the dogs."

Three minutes later…

"Uh, babe. I don't think Ripken was the culprit this time," the Aggie said.

"Oh?"

"No, he is hungry and eating his breakfast, but Deuce isn't," he said.

This is very suspicious behavior, as Deuce is a tad aggressive over food and likes to dominate Ripken while they eat.

"Deuce won't come near his food. I think he ate the pug's medicine," the Aggie explained.

Just then I looked down and noticed the Silky sitting between my feet. He looked okay, I thought. He wasn't foaming at the mouth or pooping blood so I reached down and picked him up for a closer inspection.

Uh, oh.

It was the belly. It looked like he'd swallowed a softball or a grapefruit. Immediately I showed the Aggie. I won't print his X-rated response.

While I continued to get ready for work, the Aggie monitored Deuce and read up on the medicated treats that he'd ate. The medication did not seem to be too scary. In the Aggies words: I read the bin when I found it this morning and saw that it did not say, "IF CONSUMED IN MASS QUANTITIES BY YOUR IDIOT SILKY TERRIER, THIS MEDICINE IS FATAL."

Other than being a little calmer than usual and having a potbelly, we couldn't tell that anything was wrong with Deuce. Since it’s the holiday season and Deuce already has a surgery scheduled for this month (a de-nutting), we decided to take the wait-and-see approach. Which isn't our style at all. Our animals are our children, so when they get sick we go to the vet.

This philosophy has resulted in Sonny the Pug personally financing our veterinarian's lease on his new red BMW. Rather than fund the veterinarian's down payment on his vacation home, the Aggie took me to work and promised to monitor Deuce closely. When he returned, less than an hour later, "nature" had apparently taken its course.

Deuce had purged his system of the medication by yacking in every conceiveable place a 12-pound terrier can go, including but not limited to: our bed, under the bed, the carpet, the couch, the ottoman, himself, the pug, the fire place, the Nordak Trak, in the Aggie's shoes and the kitchen sink... Okay, not the kitchen sink, but you get the idea. The little bastard puked everywhere he possibly could.

"How much vomit could he possibly hold?" the Aggie asked when he called to report on Deuce's condition. "Is he like a cow? Does he have three stomachs? Its not possible to puke this much."

"It can't be that much…" I began.

"No! You're not here to see it. It's… epic," the Aggie said, as he continued to mop up the stomach contents of our Silky. "He only weighs 12 pounds? How is it possible to throw up more than your body weight?"

"I… uh… I don't know."

"Okay, well, I just wanted to let you know he's ok now. Running around and playing," the Aggie said. "I guess his hips feel GREAT. He's in perpetual motion, running all over the place."

Think about that for a second, Internet.

The Silky has vomited his own body weight, but has never felt like running so much in his whole life. Paints a very horrific picture doesn't it? He was running and puking at the same time, thus the house covered in vomit.

Next time? We are so taking him to the vet.

An Open Letter To The Skinny Bitch Who Gave Me The Stink Eye Today

Dear Skinny Bitch,

Hi. It's me again – that fat girl you cast a disparaging gaze over this morning. Sorry to be in your way again, I realize that I've already inconvenienced you once today by my mere existence. But there are some things I should have said to you earlier and since I've promised myself not to hold so much in anymore, I'm going to go right ahead and share those thoughts.

First of all, yeah, I noticed The Look you gave me. It was really, really hard to miss. You squinted your eyes up in utter disgust and wrinkled your nose like I'd farted. But I hadn't let one rip, now had I? No, because if I'd farted I'd been giggling and I wasn't laughing now was I? No, I wasn't. So basically you shot me The Look for just existing. My being on this earth inconvenienced you and you couldn't help but give me The Look so I'd know exactly how much my appearance revolted you.

And do you know what, Skinny Bitch? I am mad at myself because I turned the other cheek. I didn't run away crying or punch you in the junk. No, I locked eyes with you and smiled. I SMILED – for the love of melted cheese products – I smiled at you! And do you know why? Probably not, because I'm pretty sure you're not deep enough to consider there are actually reasons behind actions. So let me tell you – I smiled at you because deep down I am still the awkward, fat kid with glasses seeking approval. I hate to give you so much credit, but The Look was able to undo years and years of my self-constructed defenses. You tore me down with that one disapproving glare. And I let you.

I know what some of you other readers are thinking: "Just be the bigger person, Momma Pug. Let it go." You're right. I shouldn't let it bother me one bit, but you know what, I'm human and sometimes -- usually when it's getting close to time for my next dose of Prozac -- I find myself caring. And, lets be honest here, I'm sick and damn tired of being the bigger person. I am always the bigger person. Literally.

So suck it Skinny Bitch.

If I ever see you again, in stead of smiling at you, I will tell you the following:

1. You're really skinny. You're jeans are really tight. We get it you are HOTT with two Ts. Sadly, you also have a camel toe. Which is one of the most disgusting fashion blunders I can think of – unless you are a member of the Jackson family and performing at the Super Bowl.
   
   
2. Your hair was really long and really blond. I'm sure it cost a fortune for all those extensions. But you should also know that it looked kind of like Britney Spears three months after she shaved her head and emerged from rehab: Yes, it was the most expense fake hair in town, but at the end of the day its still just bad weave.
   
   
3. Only porn stars and strippers maintain fake French tipped fingernails as long as you are wearing 'em. You might consider having Ling Ma wrangle it in a bit the next you are having a mani.
   
   
4. Underwear is defined as garments worn under your clothing. Thanks, but we don't need to see your thong straps hanging out. It's not mysterious. It's trashy.
   
   
5. Your boobs are uneven. The right one was bigger. Tell Dr. Rubinstein to look in to that when you're in for your chemical peel next week.
   
   
6. Shoes with clear plastic heals are not meant to see the daylight! If you're not working the pole are going to prom, there is NO REASON FOR CLEAR SHOES.
   
   
7. Your cute little shirt with a Chinese symbol on it translates to "I used to be a man."
   
   
8. The fur-lined designer coat you are wearing? Looks like it is made from Wookiee.

So the next time you give a fat lady the stink eye because you are so much better than she is, go you look in the mirror. Because, Paris? You look like a walking STD.

Cheers,
Momma Pug

That Awful Silky

I might be going out on a limb here, but I'm guessing that having your dog bite the FEMA dude isn't the best way to get in his good graces.

DAMN IT, DEUCE! Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. (Do you have any idea how many times I say those words? Thousands. Maybe millions of times.) DAMN IT, DEUCE!

Why can't he bite someone annoying like the Jehovah Witnesses that knock on our door at 6 a.m. on Saturday? Or the kid who rides his bike through the middle of our yard then crashes into our car? Or that stupid black cat that is stalking my Gertrude? Or that evil landlord we had we lived up in Navasota? We have a long and sundry hate list, why can't he take one for the team and be aggressive where it would be appreciated? Not when Momma and Daddy are trying to get someone to give us money!

I'm not sure, Deuce, but I think dog bites send the wrong message. Why can't you focus on expression in other ways? Like, say, by giving the FEMA guy a hand jobs. Now there's alternative!

Under Pressure

Great song, right.

I mean, except it was done by Queen. And Queen equals Freddy Mercury. And don't even try playing the David Bowie card. I know he's singing, but it's still Queen. It's still Freddy Mercury.

It's the terror of knowing
What this world is about
Watching some good friends
Screaming 'Let me out'

THAT is exactly how I feel right now. Plus I like singing "ee da de da de da de da" over and over again.

Know, what I mean?