Pug Row Records has released a digitally remastered deluxe edition of my landmark gangsta rap classic Tha Doggfather. In addition to its astounding nine No. 1 hits, this deluxe edition includes three previously unreleased bonus tracks: Mo' Rawhide, Mo' Problems; Lick the Police; and Get Panties or Die Tryin'. This album would make an excellent stocking stuffer for your significant other or your young children. As you may know, I got out of the rap game while incarcerated in the pound. After trading in the violence and misogyny of gangsta rap for the peace and gender equality of Islam, I vowed never to take my hip-hop bark to the stage again. But I have consented to this re-release because it is for a good cause. One dollar from every album sale will go toward Sister Bella's Children's Charities. The charity, in the Catholic wing of Pug Life Ministries, is in dire need of Milkbones and Snausages to feed the puppies and human children of the congregation during the holiday season. Tha Doggfather is available at record stores everywhere.
As you may have noticed, this blog has undergone some changes over the last week. I pray that they don't turn any of you off, for it is the Pug Life faithful whom I am blogging for. First, I turned on word verification. I hated to make it more difficult for you to comment, and I hope it won't deter anyone from posting. I greatly enjoy reading what you have to say. But I felt that the spam was getting out of hand, and it was too much of a hassle to delete it all. However, even though the spammers had been warned, I began to feel a twinge of guilt. One of the biggest offenders no longer has this site as a forum to advertise his services. "What if I am taking rawhide off of this man's table?" I thought to myself. "What if he will now have to live under a bridge? What if he will have to sell his children?" These thoughts began to gnaw at me. And so I would like to offer him one last advertisement, for the sake of my conscience and his children:
Are you looking for Dallas/Allen/Frisco/Plano carpet cleaning? Are you willing to let a quasi-illiterate spammer who writes in gibberish sentences into your home? Do you want to "compleatly elimate" pet odor? Do you want to be able to meet all of your home cleaning and online gambling needs on the same Web site? Then visit Sterling Carpet Cleaning on the Web, or call 214-348-3438. Check out the "competors," then call Sterling Myers.
There. I feel better now. The second change involves some attempts to generate revenue in hopes of building the Dogloo compound more quickly. I'm not entirely pleased with the results so far, so I will continue to tinker with it. My hope is that the new ads and Google toolbar will not be too obtrusive and that some of you will find them useful.
I delivered my first sermon behind the white sheet, and I must say, this is something I could get used to. By moving some audio-visual equipment and a crate of rawhide backstage, we were able to boost my silhouette projection to 45 feet high. However, I missed being able to look out and see the sense of awe on the faces of the faithful. An ideal balance will be struck when Pug Life Ministries makes the move to the Dogloo Mosque. Then, I will have unobstructed sight-lines to all 65,000 in attendance, and they will be able to watch me on a pair of 90-foot-high Jumbotrons. I salivate just thinking about it. With your financial help, God willing, we will make the Dogloo dream a reality. Remember the words of the Quran: "And whatsoever you spend in Allah's cause, He will replace it."
A new study has proven that canines are imbued by Allah with mystical healing powers. At last, the humans have discovered what I have known all along. The findings indicate that humans with severe heart disease showed marked improvement after the mere presence of a dog in their hospital room. Their anxiety levels decreased 24 percent. Given this indisputable evidence of the healing power of dogs, a question naturally arises: When will you humans end this chauvinistic, self-defeating process of denying canines admission to medical school? Honestly now, who would you rather have holding the scalpel as you're wheeled in for emergency surgery: a well-trained pug or that goofball Patch Adams?I recommend this article to those interested in learning more about canine healing.
Previous installments of this autobiographical series are available in the right-hand rail, under the heading "Mugsy's Biography."Chapter VIII
After being booked and having my mug shot taken, I was locked in a cage. With my one phone call, I had commanded my agent to put together a legal dream team the likes of which this country had never seen. Having been caught red-pawed, I knew I would need it. Within an hour, they began to arrive from around the country: F. Lee Bailey, Harriet Miers, Alan Dershowitz, Jackie Chiles, Robert Shapiro and Johnnie Cochran. If these legal masterminds couldn't help me, no one could. Johnnie Cochran took the lead, going over every last detail of the Great Panty Raid with me. He spent countless hours running through different courtroom scenarios, preparing to poke holes in the prosecution's case. Johnnie interviewed witnesses and took a team of forensics experts to the Hyatt Regency Dallas, the scene of my arrest. After months of preparation, the trial began.
To say it was a media circus would be an understatement. Reporters and camera crews from around the world converged on the Old Red Courthouse, the landmark building where my trial took place. Johnnie's strategy was to use what he called the cross-dressing defense. I remember well the day that he famously told the jury, "If the panties don't fit, you must acquit." Then he had me try to squeeze into some of the tinier pieces of evidence. I, of course, made a show of my curly tail getting hung up on the waistbands. But the prosecutor, no legal slouch himself, argued that I was stealing the panties to chew, not to wear. He brought in a slew of witnesses -- roadies, club promoters, fellow rappers -- to document my panty habit.
The prosecution had made a compelling case, showing that DNA evidence connected me to fur and saliva found at the hotel. The city of Dallas -- clearly embarrassed by the Mary Kay scandal -- was pulling out all the stops, eager for a conviction. After shooting down my suggestion to bribe the jurors, Johnnie said that our only chance was for me to take the witness stand. With the star-struck jury hanging on my every word, I did as Johnnie had instructed: I let my innate charisma shine through. I stayed cool under the prosecutor's relentless questioning, offering an explanation for every piece of evidence, a well-thought-out answer for every question. But would it be enough? The defense rested. My fate was in the hands of the 12 human jurors. To be continued
I went today to be fitted for a prosthetic wrinkle. I felt that my newly Botoxed face might frighten worshippers at this weekend's services, so I was looking for a way to disguise the temporary damage. But as I browsed the selection of ready-made wrinkle masks, I realized that this would be yet another act of vanity. So I left the prosthetics store, empty-pawed. I will wear this look of toxin-induced surprise as a reminder of my moment of weakness. And to avoid scaring the Pug Life congregation, I will simply preach behind a large white sheet, with my silhouette projected 40 feet high.
Today's lesson, dear Pug Life faithful, is about vanity. And I am ashamed to say that the subject of this sermon is none other than your faithful leader. Foolishly, I put my personal vanity before my obedience to God. I disregarded the wise words of the Prophet, peace be upon him, who said, "Verily, God instructs me to be humble and lowly and not proud." You see, in a moment of weakness, I used Botox. I began to feel self-conscious about my appearance several weeks ago, when I received a less-than-impressive rating on a hot-or-not Web site. My self-image deteriorated further when I failed to receive even a third-place ribbon at Pug-O-Ween, despite an obviously superior costume. Add to those two events the fact that my beard is showing a little more gray lately, and perhaps you can understand why I would undertake this rather drastic cosmetic procedure. I sought the fountain of youth in a bottle of botulinum toxin, and let me tell you, friends, Allah has made it clear to me that my act of vanity was a mistake. I now see that a pug has wrinkles for a reason. Without them, I carry a look of perpetual surprise and astonishment on my face.
I traveled to the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth on Sunday to view an exhibition of works by the acclaimed photographer Richard Avedon. His "In the American West" features photos of oilfield workers, miners, drifters, carnies and other decidedly unglamorous humans. Their piercing eyes and haunting stares held the rapt attention of all in attendance -- until I entered the room. My taut brow instantly drew stares. My large eyes, usually minimized somewhat by the folds of loose skin surrounding them, stood out like saucers. As I rounded a corner into the exhibit, a young girl actually screamed in terror. This was my punishment. For the next three to six months, I will pay my penance. Every time I venture out in public. Every time I look in a mirror. Fortunately, this toxin that was injected into my head will wear off, and my rugged yet handsome features will be restored. I just thank Allah I didn't opt for the laser hair removal.
