dog daze

Oedipus, my chihuahua-great-dane attack dog, is full into teen-emo-angst right now. We're in constant danger, but every time I point out a masked man with a gun, or a wild-haired Chinese kung-fu master swinging a pair of nun chucks, he just huffs melodramatically, like he doesn't even have the energy to lift his lips out of the way of his breath, let alone save our lives -- existence is MEANINGLESS. Pointless as a naked porcupine. Let's make love, Connor Oberst.

It worries me a lot -- maybe I pushed too hard with the attack training, and now he's like some broken down Ugandan child soldier crossed with an Asian kid who's mom makes him play piano. You know, just way too much pressure way too early. Although, on the plus side, he's not going to go "goth" on me -- I put the Cure's first album and some Hot Topic boots out on the floor as a test, and he tore the Cure up and ignored the CD and shoes.

This is a pretty recent development -- maybe the last month or so. I hope he picks up, because I am pretty damn tired of Bright Eyes.



behold, i stand at the door and mock

If Jesus came to visit, would it be wrong to serve him bread and wine? I don't have anything else. I kinda need a quick answer -- he already rang the bell twice, and now he's pounding the door and pretending to be from some collection agency so that I'll let him in.

My refrigerator is completely empty, and I don't want to be a bad host... Oh screw it -- I just hope he doesn't believe in transubstantiation.