Chapter V
I was hovering about an inch above rock bottom. Like this guy. My addiction was controlling my life. Before, I'd chewed on the panties. Now it seemed like the panties were chewing on me. I stopped going on walks, stopped going to the dog park. Rolling around all day in a room full of women's undergarments, all I could think about was that next fix.
As I chewed on a nice pair that I'd picked up at a show in Miami a few nights before, I moved to the television remote control. My paw nimbly flipped through the channels. Soap operas. Reruns. Talk shows. One of my music videos. Then I saw the local news, and I was transfixed by the on-screen headline. It was like a gust of wind -- as if from the lungs of almighty Allah himself -- struck me square in the face, penetrating to the deepest recesses of my wrinkle to plant the seeds of epiphany. "Mary Kay Convention Coming to Big D." So read that fateful headline. More than 50,000 women descending upon Dallas, nearly all of them, presumably, clad in underwear. Even better, this story focused on a downtown hotel that would be hosting a huge contingent of pink-Cadillac-driving cosmetics saleswomen. The Hyatt Regency Dallas had set aside each of its 1,122 rooms solely for conventioneers. It was the mother lode. To be continued
The rodeo is coming to North Texas. But not just any rodeo. This is a rodeo that exemplifies the spirit of interspecies cooperation that Pug Life Ministries seeks to foster. This photo sums it up.
Chapter IV
We all have our vices. Some smoke cigarettes. Some drink too much. Some gamble away their savings. My vice of choice has always been women's underwear. Some chew tobacco; I chew panties. Cotton or satin, thong or granny panty, I love 'em all. When I was a pup, I would burrow through the laundry pile, find some lingerie to my liking, and then chew the day away. When we'd have visitors, I'd find a way to open up their suitcase. Guests were always shocked -- and more than a little embarrassed -- when I came rocketing into the room with their underwear hanging from my mouth, my head shaking furiously. Anything to get my fix. As I gained fame as the Notorious M.U.G., my access to panties grew exponentially. I was like a slightly less wrinkly Tom Jones. Every night, women would fling their panties onto the stage. They couldn't help themselves. By the end of the show, I'd have panties hanging from my tail, panties draped across my back, and, of course, a fresh pair hanging from my jowls. What began as an occasional vice had become a full-fledged addiction. I hired a crew of roadies whose sole responsibility was to gather up each night's underwear haul. It reached a point where I couldn't even go into the recording studio without a few pounds of panties to get me through the session. I was a junkie, pure and simple. And I was about to encounter the ultimate temptation.
To be continued
I have always been a believer in the value of a good education. Even before I graduated from PetsMart at the top of my class, I knew that knowledge could be my scimitar in the battle for a fulfilling life. So I'd like to share with you a few numbers. It would cost you about $4,500 a year to study theology at Ankara University. At Baylor University's Truett Theological Seminary, tuition and fees run more than three times that -- about $15,500 a year. This blog offers you a superior religious education, free of charge -- and you don't have to move to Turkey or suffer the indignity of calling yourself a Baylor Bear to take advantage of it. You will never find a better educational value than this. In a completely unrelated note, I'd like to point out that Pug Life Ministries now has an online offering plate. To donate to Pug Life, simply click on the PayPal icon below my handsome mug on the right side of the page. You can contribute with a major credit card, a checking account, a PayPal account or food stamps. Allah smiles on the generous.
The day that we have long dreaded is upon us. Scientists have announced the first successful cloning of a dog. Lesser animals have been cloned in the past -- sheep, cats, tadpoles. But to create a dog in a laboratory is truly to play Allah. I condemn this most reprehensible act, and I call for an immediate end to research on canine cloning. God help us all.
Chapter III
I was trapped in my apartment. My human parents moved the furniture so that I couldn't jump onto it. Several times a day, they'd put me through strenuous rehab exercises. It was a brutal summer. Unable to leave the crib, I poured my feelings out, writing and rhyming about what I knew best.
Betrayed by da boss,
my tail came uncurled,
Galvez, watch your back,
can't hide nowhere in this world.
I vowed to make something of my life, and my rapping skills would be my ticket to the big time. Rapper-producer Dr. Dre came across a mix tape of my rhymes, and he took me under his wing. Then things started happening quickly. My bark propelled N.W.A.'s "Straight Outta Compton" to platinum status. After I got a couple of paychecks under my collar, I knew that I had to get my folks out of the Dallas ghetto. I couldn't bear to see them live in that one-bedroom apartment anymore. So I bought them a house in the well-to-do northern suburbs. After the doctor cleared me -- my knee as good as new -- I went on tour with N.W.A. We were rolling in the dough -- buying gold chew toys, diamond-studded collars. But I knew that I could do more. It was a difficult decision, but I felt that my homies in N.W.A. were holding me back. It was time to go solo. I still remember how Eazy-E cried when I broke the news; he begged me to stay. "Sorry, Eazy," I told him. "I've got to make my money." Three months later, I debuted at No. 1 on the charts. I dropped my N.W.A. moniker, MC Muggy Pug, in favor of a new name: The Notorious M.U.G. The paychecks and crowds grew bigger. You couldn't turn on the radio without hearing my songs. I was on the cover of "Rolling Stone." But the more money I came across, the more problems I'd see.
To be continued
Chapter II:
I was making so much money for Mara Salvatrucha that I began to attract the attention of the group's top leaders. But rather than feel gratitude for my contributions, they felt nervousness. They feared that I would usurp their positions and take over the gang. Given my natural charisma, their fears were understandable. But I was a team player. Unfortunately, Juan Carlos Galvez didn't realize this. He flew in from El Salvador and told me he wanted to meet with me. He said he had big plans for me -- the biggest rawhide heist ever. It was 3 a.m. when I wandered into that industrial park in West Dallas. I didn't even see it coming. The next thing I knew, I was lying on a table at the veterinary hospital, the victim of a gangland ambush. Galvez had betrayed me, set me up. I was rushed into surgery to repair my broken knee; I still wear the scar as a reminder. After surgery, I was in for months of rehab. Even worse, I had to wear that damn cone on my head. To be continued
