Every time I lean over to get my beer off the table my little pug puppy rolls over and falls between my ass and the couch. Every time I forget to remind myself that he does this and I sit on him.

Anonymous asked: So, I was, of course, thrilled that you published my two questions and added your comments. Thanks for that, you're the balls. And, sure, other folks will try to claim that the questions were theirs but, as my gram-gram would say, "bitch, pleez!" That shit is mine, all mine. I dig the shit out of your blog but I secretly hate your guts for not doing more. Blog or get the fuck out, you know? BOGTFO. Sure, I love your guts for being an awesomely Idahoan blonde bombshell but I need more if we're going to take this relationship to the next level.

You’ll have to stop being anonymous before I go anywhere. I’m assuming you’re a girl… or a gay man cause:

• “bitch, pleez!”
• gram-gram
• you’re the balls
• BOGTFO
• and I don’t think straight men say bombshell… their dicks don’t think that far

Anonymous asked: Why are your glasses so flippin' cute? A more general question is, why are ALL girls cuter in glasses. Do you suppose that Arthur G. Spectacle, who invented eyeglasses in 1902, knew what he had wrought? The sooner you get back to me on this very important issue the better. KTHXBY

I have a theory: About 10,000 times a day I do this certain look and action which I would bet helps infuse the cuteness. The look requires unconscious thought and serious nerd-dom. It goes like this: pierce the lips together in tight concentration, stick your tongue out (to the side is preferable), squint slightly, take your middle finger and gently push on the middle bridge of the glasses so that the glasses slide up on the nose to their original position, after this is all done you should look around rather confidently and make sure no one saw you being such a fucking geek.

Anonymous asked: Not so much a question as an observation: you got yourself a boxer there, right? They are a proud and dignified breed. It's a testament to their spirit and pluck that they can be taught to stand on their hind legs and wear tiny boxing gloves. Their tiny, furious fists are nothing but a blur.

Zim, the new kid, is actually a full-blown Pug. But if you’re referring to my firstborn, Grrr, than yes he is a boxer/terrier mix. Since Grrr has a serious love for boxing all things I’ve attempted to attach little boxing gloves to his fists but he’s refuses that sissy crap. Only the straight-up-bare-knuckle-fist-to-face kind of boxing for him.

In roughly two hours Grrr will have his master. That’s right, we’re getting a Zim.

Pics whenever I damn well feel like it.

I really hate when I’m reading old literature and I find typos. I get really frustrated, I mean, how fucking long have those been there? Don’t people know about this shit?!…. maybe I should write the publisher. Aw fuck it.