Sep. 10th, 2015

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I caught Shaun (wheaten terrier of some sort) trying to bite Sam (one eyed rather dim pug) in the little boy-dog parts, which he has been prone to doing when Sam has to go potty but no one else has noticed. It does not help. I found myself yelling “Stop that! Stop biting Sam’s weenie!” and I realized that my day has been going so badly, I might as well make a poem out of it.

Don’t bite his weenie!
Don’t bite his weenie off!
If you do,
We’ll have to use it to play golf.
‘Cause he won’t have no balls.


If I ever become poet laureate of the United States, just remember that my plan to destroy the Earth with Vogon techniques is right on schedule.

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