Guest Blogger- Buddy T. Dog

Evening folks. I went and picked my dog up from my dad's house tonight, and he asked if he might be able to write a guest piece for the blog here. He seemed bored, so I said sure. So, everyone enjoy tonight's guest blog, courtesy of my dog Buddy.


My Life
By Buddy T. Dog


Cars are overrated. Some of my friends seem to get a strange enjoyment out of sticking their heads out the window, panting breathlessly, and slobbering all over the side of the door. So unsophisticated. Furthermore, why the hell would you ever sit in the back? Be subordinate to that dimwitted person "driving the car?" Not for me. I sit in the front. Where I belong. I should be driving, but I don't have opposable thumbs. Life's a bitch.

Speaking of driving, my chauffeur is sitting over there, inanely trying to hum along to the rock song on the radio. It's sort of sad to watch, to be honest. I mean, it's not impressing anyone. Good grief, he's lucky he's not depressing the rest of St. Paul. Quite pathetic, if you ask me. I'd never be caught dead doing something so embarrassing. Licking my crotch? No, that's not embarrassing. It makes sense to me. If it's dry, why not lick it?

These silly humans, they think they're in charge of me. Let's stop and think about this. Who's driving who around? Exactly.

The fact is, I'm in charge. Now he's trying to look "hip" as he bops his head around to the blues on the radio. That stupid grin has to go. Maybe it will get the girls, he thinks. Wrong. Who's the one who still has their virginity in the car? Definitely not me. Took care of that at least 7 years ago with Denali, that hot litle Alaskan husky. Ladies never take the Budster lightly. The fact is, ladies are all over me. Constantly. In fact, there are so many, they're almost in fear of me. That's the unfortunate result of riotous packs of lovestruck female dogs.

He's petting me again. He thinks I find it cute or endearing. If you're going to pet me. why not pet me where it will matter? All this stupid neck scratching is really starting to try my patience. Here's a tip. Necks do not itch. Butts itch. Scratch the butt. There you go. He's still not scratching. I think I'll shed all over his black dress coat in righteous retribution.

That building out the window looks like a large piece of bacon. I love bacon.

Damn I'm hungry.

He thinks it's so funny, stuffing his face with pizza on the couch as I wait patiently. Placate me with crusts? I think not. Frankly, it's rather disgusting. I mean, do people really need all that pizza? Judging by the portly physique, I think not. Especially compared to my lean build. I have to leash him to me on my walk, so he can keep up. Anyone watching can see I'm walking him. He's so slow, it's just irritating. He thinks he's getting a hard body, "working out." Maybe he'll get that hard body when I walk him more than half a block. Maybe if he could handle it. It's so sad, watching him trying to catch his breath like that.

That Beetle looks like a box of french fries. I'm still hungry.

I think the worst part is the way he dresses. So many things wrong, I don't even know where to start. For starters, there's that stupid coat. You look like you just came in from building a snow fort with your 4th grade buddies. Wash your jeans, how many times do I have to say it? You smell, simple as that. Sort of like chicken. Chicken sounds good.

Me? I'm always clothed in beautiful fur. What do you mean people think fur is inhumane? Fuck PETA, they only wished they looked this good. I can wake up at 2 A.M. and looks as stunning as always.

He thinks he wears the pants in this relationship. I don't even wear pants. It makes sense. Pants are uncomfortable. They ride up. Not pleasant. So really, isn't it smarter to just drop the pants altogether? I think so. It's more rational.

Dang it, he's trying to get me to go outside again. I don't have to go outside. Half the time I don't have to go outside. I'm hungry. But I'll go. He doesn't have any friends or anything, so maybe this will boost his confidence a little. If he can break himself away from E! for 2 seconds. Whatever, maybe I'll just go crap on the yard. He has to clean it up anyways. Like I said, I'm in charge here.

That piano looks curiously like a steak. I'm so hungry I could DIE. This Iams stuff sucks.

It's up to me to keep him in good spirits. Life is hard as a dog. Especially when everything is left up to you.

I'm hungry.



Cheers,

Buddy T. Dog