On Wok the Tok

You know, I was just thinking, Hudson pretended to be a really tough guy- ripping Skeeter apart and all, but he totally was too scared to even go down our stairs
(wuss)
I'm just saying, you can't be the real deal if you're only willing to rip things apart when it's all safe and sound around, but not live on the edge a little and walk down some stairs. Granted, his legs are about 2 inches long and his body about 32 inches long, which might change one's perception of a steep set of stairs, but still, you gotta walk the walk buddy.

-TKO

On More Howseguests

I recognize that I just in my most resent post forgave the last house guest, but there is a new one staying with us and he's making me think that maybe house guests in general just aren't a good idea. . . or probably forgiveness either, for that matter.

This time the offense wasn't nearly as big as it was last time. Last time the guest (who shall remain nameless since I did in theory forgive Milo) was the cause of my dearly beloved Mr. Bush doll's insides being ripped out. I've had Mr. Bush for a really long time, since April to be exact, and he was very dear to me.

This time, our visitor Hudson- Grandma's son /Addie's brother- attempted a similar stunt on "Skeeter".
Skeeter is just this dumb stuffed squirrel that my mom has had for over 25 years. I mean, granted he was supposedly "really special" and she got him when she "was 4 years old", and she sleeps with him every single night, but I'm just saying, it's not like it was Mr. Bush. But all the same, it was pretty messed up of Hudson.
Looks like there were two main injuries. First, he was unfortunately scalped:
And second, there were two big puncture wounds:
I'm a little wigged out though because I've never seen entrails like that. Shouldn't there just be cotton inside? Why is the squirrel made of fenugreek? Anyway, not really the point here. The point is that I think house guests are not really that useful. . . . nor is Morgan. She should probably leave too before another one of mine or mom's toys is no more.

-TKO

On Foregiving

I've decided I'm ready to make nice with Milo. Maybe you remember that while guesting at my house a few weeks ago, he made himself just a little too comfortable with my Mr. Bush doll. Well, he made up for it with something that could possibly be even better than a Mr. Bush doll- A Mrs. Clinton VooDoo doll.
If you think about it, there's only one thing that's better than supporting and loving your heroes, and that's destroying and hurting your enemies. (My party has long been a shining example of this technique.) So even though I loved to lay next to Mr. Bush and lick his boots, I think grabbing Hillary by the jugular and shaking might be even more cathartic. . . (Fine motor skills, like holding needles in exact locations, are not my strong point- grabbing and shaking are much more effective for me).



- TKO

On Unglee

So I've been keeping a close eye on this years "world's ugliest dog contest." I sent in some photos of Morgan thinking she could win. Well the results are in and apparently she isn't ugly enough. Actually I think maybe this guy cheated cause he's not that ugly (especially compared to my stupid sister).

On Stem Sells

Those crazy democrats are at it again. Luckily my boy is staying strong.

-- TKO

On sheats

Whenever my parents leave the house they cover up the couch with a sheet.

Morgan and I aren't actually allowed on the couch, so they used to leave it off assuming that we followed the rules while they were gone, but they somehow figured out that we'd been getting on it.
(like the paw prints, that could have been anyones hair/fur, maybe my moms- she's kinda dirty blond like me. Or maybe Morgan's, except her hair is all nappy, so they probably knew it wasn't hers).

So anyway, they've resorted to covering the couch before each departure. But the sheet really bothers me. I have sensitive skin on my underside and it needs to touch only the finest of material. The couch cushions are velvet, and while I prefer Baby Alpaca, the velvet is still better than that lame sheet. So I am forced to do the only thing I can do which is dig at the sheet once my parents have left to get to the softer cushions.

It would be one thing if they were like 100 thread count sheets, but no, these are like some Target brand 2-count piece of garbage! Thanks guys- why don't you just go ahead and lay down a piece of scrap metal for me to lay on!! geez.

So I get yelled at a lot because when they come home the couch usually looks like this
but I've got needs.

--TKO

On Inspurational Continued

Motely has given credit where credit is due. I love that guy. If anyone else wants to tell a story about how I've inspired you please feel free to leave a comment here.

On Almost Perfekt

Tonight was almost perfect. You see, I love Le Petit Ecolier cookies.
Actually, to be perfectly honest, I'd never had them before, but I did tonight, and I love them.
Sometimes my mom can be kinda absent minded (left wingers are like that) but it worked out to my advantage tonight b/c she left a box of these cookies at ground level, and that can only mean one thing: Fair Game.
Oh what heaven. 5.3 ounces of cookies all for me. Well, almost. Unfortunately I was so happy with this find that in the excitement I forgot I was being sneaky and accidentally ran downstairs mid-feast to where my parents were. They found me with half a cookie in my mouth and marched upstairs to confiscate my goldmine.
The tragic part, the part that keeps this evening from being perfect, is the fact that I still had one cookie left.
So Lame.
Then things just went downhill from there. They yelled and scolded and said they needed to weigh me to see how much medicine to give me, and as if it's not humiliating enough to have other people stand around while you're on the scale,
My mom with her camera trickery made it look like I weigh way more than I actually do.
I'm totally only 15 pounds guys- a lean mean 15 pounds of solid muscle. Don't even worry that that looks like 20.

--TKO

On Witnesess

I received a piece of mail the other day. I suppose technically it was for everyone that lives here- the envelope was addressed to "our neighbor"- but since Morgan will probably be moving out anytime, and since I saw it first, I think that makes it mostly mine.

Turns out it was a letter from our Jehovah's Witness neighbors. Even though it was really only meant for me, and it's kinda personal, I've decided to share it with you.

Now I'm all for the cause of the good American Christian, but this particular sect doesn't seem to have enough good hellfire and damnation talk. They talk a lot about ridding the earth of evil, but they seem to be misguided as to the right way to do it. They say nothing of cleansing by sword, but only that the meek will reign. Sorry guys, but it sounds like you hired a hippie or a Quaker to do your Bible interpreting. BUT, on the upside they do meet in the KINGdom hall, which sounds like an approrpriate sort of place for me.

While I have been wondering where to look for certain answers ever since Jerry's death, I'm not quite THAT confused. Looks like I'm gonna have to stick with the true church.

-- TKO

On Branding Strategeez

TKO

Tatanka Kessler, Obviously

On Howseguests II

I also hate the fact that he got cake and I didn't.

On Howseguests

This weekend Milo is staying with us. You know Milo, he's been on my blog before. Anyway, I don't want to complain but today he went too far. To recap: I don't mind that he poops on pads:


Or that he spilt noodles all over my mom: (okay fine I was half to blame, but let's not play the blame game, okay):


And sure I'm fine if he wants to waste his time playing with my stupid sister:


But this morning I woke to this, the death of Mr. Bush:


All I had to do is follow the trail of blood to figure out who the culpurit was:


Milo was found at the scene of the crime chewing on Mr. Bushes heart:


On the one hand I'm impressed that his bleeding-heart liberal parents taught him that killing is a good way to handle political adversaries, but on the other hand NO ONE messes with Mr. Bush.

R.I.P Mr. Bush.

On Inspurational

You guys may or may not believe this but I'm actually starting a little bit of a trend in the dog world. I know for a fact that Motely started his blog because he was inspired by my own lovely, funny, intelligent, insightful, rational, fair and balanced blog. You may doubt this since he doesn't actually give me props on his site but it's true none-the-less. I wonder if I've inspired any other dogs out there.

On Dukie

I recently realized that I'm 7 months in to my blogging career and I have no posts dedicated solely to the topic of poop. I know some of you humans are not big on the subject (excluding my dad and Uncle Jason, of course) but pooping is a big part of my life. Seeing as how I'm a polite and respectful Republican, I normally try to avoid posting about potentially controversial or offensive topics, but I'm gonna have to take the risk here. I just love poop too much.

While I could go on for hours about all the many aspects of poop and pooping, I'm gonna focus mainly on technique this evening. My personal approach is to aim for the highest possible place. This makes sense because the President (my occupation) is the highest person in the land, so I should always poop at the highest possible elevation- have somewhat of a thrown, so to speak. In the backyard I usually aim for the tallest weeds. These can get up to about a foot higher than everything else in the yard because my lazy liberal mom doesn't ever get around to doing the yard work. Sometimes finding the highest point can be difficult- like at the beach land is pretty flat. In this circumstance the trick is to find a piece of driftwood or something.
Even though it's only an inch or so above everything else, that inch can still be a bold statement. In addition, what's lacking in elevation can often be made up for in artistic style.

On Rumers

You may have heard the rumor that I'm no longer posting on my blog. Although I haven't posted in the last week I'm still definately in the game. The problem was that my parents went on vacation (again, I know they're always doing that) and they turned the computers off. They said I couldn't use the computer while they were gone because they didn't trust me to use it responsibly unsupervised. Obviously their worries are unwarranted seeing as how I'm a good God fearing dog. Oh well. I'm back, that's all that matters.