Life with Charlie
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.
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