Try as I might, I simply cannot get The Charlie Dog to lay on my back while I do push-ups. So I’m just not going to do push-ups. Thanks a lot, Charlie. When I get grossly obese it will be because of you.
One of my favorite things about having a dog around is blaming everything that goes wrong on him. Whether it’s a hole in my shoe or a tragedy in Darfur, Charlie can be blamed. I just noticed we’re out of milk. Dammit Charlie! Does Charlie drink milk? Irrelevant!
Aside from all the things I rightly and wrongly blame on him, Charlie makes for a pretty interesting roommate. He’s just a hairy little unemployed guy who lays around all day in a stoned haze, sings when you play harmonica, and smells like the blow hole of a whale carcass. It’s kind of like living with a hippy, minus all the preachiness about vegan-only cookware and recycling containers.
Incidentally, the blow hole of a whale carcass may have replaced above-ground pool filled with drain hair and semen as my #1 Worst Place to Make Love.
I said MAY HAVE. I’ll get back to you on that one. Updating opinions on important issues is exactly what blogging is for.
My name is Ben and I blogged this.
So my first day of blogging is complete and 226 hits later, I’d say it was a good one. Thank you for knowing how to read and doing it here. Please tell your comedy-loving friends, family, and co-workers (as well as your comedy-hating enemies, adversaries, and rivals) about my site.
I’m a hit-mongering web slut!
Here’s a picture of a scary-looking gator duck.
There’s nothing like a picture of a baby on a social networking site to remind me, man I’m hungry. Am I alone? Ask yourself if, in the presence of a baby, you’ve ever uttered the words, “You’re so cute I just wanna eat you up.” It’s because, deep down, you know that baby looks like it would be yummy to eat. Baby back ribs got their name for a reason. That reason has nothing to do with eating babies, but I think my point is made.
My name is Ben and I blogged this about eating your baby.