My friends, it is a sad day in American history. A day when even a fierce patriot such as myself refuses to acknowledge his American citizenship. Yeah, my friends, though I walk through the valley of death in my regular fights for these United States, were one to ask me today from whence I came, I would say, "You're on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know."
Friends, how could this happen? How could the American People fail to recognize the courage, strength, and born-to-lead qualities in Senator McCain (or, as I like to call him during our intimate walks, "The Mac")? How could they instead elect a gun-hating, baby-killing, community-organizing, crooked Chicago senator (or, as I like to call him when I, ever-vigilant, keep him under constant brindle surveillance, "That One")?
My friends, I can't even go on. This morning, when a Commie-Loving Irish Setter passed in front of My house, I did not bark. I did not whine. I merely slept. In fact, this is the activity I plan for the next four years and two months: sleep. Maybe when I awake, it will all have been a bad dream.
P.S. Any ladies wishing to attempt to help me out of my post-election slump may send their used PoochPants® to or arrive flags at the ready at:
William John Gavin
America 91101
Monday, November 10, 2008
Thursday, September 04, 2008
On Treason
Friends, you haven't heard for me for a while. Although you may have wondered after my health, I know the majority of you realize that my goings-on are matters of national security and hence quite confidential. However, a goodly portion of my time away has been spent trying to convince My Beloved Mommy that she should have my Fat Whoore of a Sister euthanized.
Let me explain. Twice this year, my friends, twice the fat whoore has "come down with the cancer." This "cancer" has both times been of the 24 hour variety, as both times she has made a trip to some fictitious animal cancer clinic and returned victoriously "cured." Honestly, the money spent carving fake tumors out of her dull, listless hide could have been spent supporting our fearless John McCain in his bid for the presidency, or underwriting programs to recruit more young republican voters!
I digress.
The reason for my return to this blog is not my fat whoore of a sister. It is not My Beloved Mommy's failure to see a con artist when such an artist is sitting black and tan in front of her face. The purpose of this posting is a request for advice.
As you know, from time to time MY BELOVED MOMMY brings me into the office to help her get 'er done. I am, of course, a well recognized savant in MBM's chosen career. Today is one of those days. My fat whoore of a sister is off getting her nasty ass coat cleaned, and I am helping MBM (May The Baby Jesus Smile Upon Her). I have heretofore enjoyed these visits very much. However, I believe I have just uncovered evidence that MBM (May I Swallow My Tongue For Saying This) may be a commie. It's true.
Only moments ago, MY BELOVED MOMMY (Please, Holy Spirit, Do Not Let This Be True) tried to trap me in a metal box! She claimed she had to "potty" in said box, and asked me to come in with her. I flatly refused. I sat down and turned my back to her. I know better. Potty is done outside, not inside a narrow, metal box with a sinister lock upon it. Friends, please help me decide what to do.
Let me explain. Twice this year, my friends, twice the fat whoore has "come down with the cancer." This "cancer" has both times been of the 24 hour variety, as both times she has made a trip to some fictitious animal cancer clinic and returned victoriously "cured." Honestly, the money spent carving fake tumors out of her dull, listless hide could have been spent supporting our fearless John McCain in his bid for the presidency, or underwriting programs to recruit more young republican voters!
I digress.
The reason for my return to this blog is not my fat whoore of a sister. It is not My Beloved Mommy's failure to see a con artist when such an artist is sitting black and tan in front of her face. The purpose of this posting is a request for advice.
As you know, from time to time MY BELOVED MOMMY brings me into the office to help her get 'er done. I am, of course, a well recognized savant in MBM's chosen career. Today is one of those days. My fat whoore of a sister is off getting her nasty ass coat cleaned, and I am helping MBM (May The Baby Jesus Smile Upon Her). I have heretofore enjoyed these visits very much. However, I believe I have just uncovered evidence that MBM (May I Swallow My Tongue For Saying This) may be a commie. It's true.
Only moments ago, MY BELOVED MOMMY (Please, Holy Spirit, Do Not Let This Be True) tried to trap me in a metal box! She claimed she had to "potty" in said box, and asked me to come in with her. I flatly refused. I sat down and turned my back to her. I know better. Potty is done outside, not inside a narrow, metal box with a sinister lock upon it. Friends, please help me decide what to do.
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