Over the weekend, I attended the Plano Balloon Festival, in one of the suburbs near my mosque. And what did I see? Not a single hot-air balloon. Oh, there were a few baskets sitting on the ground; a few unfilled balloons lying flat on the grass. But the skies were empty. Apparently, the 8 mph breeze on Sunday evening was too much for the cowardly human organizers to brave. I hereby issue a fatwa that any festival claiming to have 100 balloons and advertising a 6 p.m. mass launch shall follow through. And if it doesn't, the organizers shall refund the outrageous $18 I spent for parking and admission. Truly, it was deception most foul. In other news:
WEDNESDAY, I'M IN LOVE: I met a lovely young pug named Wednesday at the dog park on Sunday. She was slender, with a perfectly curved tail and an intriguing aroma. If she plays her cards right, she may find herself on the fast-track to my harem.
A HEARTWARMING IMAGE: Twisted Dog has posted this life-affirming photo of some Katrina evacuees on her blog. It shows that the humans haven't completely botched the rescue effort.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
To the moon!
We can all sleep easier now that NASA has announced its plan to spend more than $100 billion of borrowed money to put astronauts on the moon by 2018. Can you imagine that? A man on the moon! But why stop there; let's spend billions more on these ground-breaking endeavors:
- Create a vaccine to prevent polio.
- Fly nonstop around the world.
- Develop an oven that uses microwave radiation to heat food quickly.
- Create a worldwide computer network. Even better, do so using a new form of computer that uses technology smaller than vacuum tubes -- "microchips," if you will.
- Find a way to sell loaves of bread in which the bread is actually divided into sections for easier consumption.
After all, why would the United States want to focus on curing diseases through stem cell research or ending our dependence on foreign oil when we can find innovative new ways to match the accomplishments of more than three decades ago?
Sunday, September 18, 2005
My life: The Great Panty Raid
Chapter VI
The Mary Kay convention was only two days away. That gave me 48 hours to plan what would go down in pug lore as The Great Panty Raid. I obtained blueprints for the Hyatt Regency Dallas. I procured a fleet of tractor-trailers. I conducted surveillance on the hotel staff, learning the ins and outs of the front desk, the concierge desk and the kitchen. I shadowed the maids to learn their precise cleaning schedules. I had not paid such attention to detail since the earliest days of my rap career. My single-minded focus was on the prize -- those glorious, glorious panties. Soon, zero hour arrived. As I watched through binoculars from my perch in Reunion Tower's rotating top-floor lounge, I saw a stream of women depart the hotel. Most walked the short distance down Young Street to the convention center. A few piled into their pink Cadillacs. When the flow of pink-clad women slowed to a trickle, I made my move.
I donned a pink dress and matching bonnet, which I pulled tightly around my face. After descending from the tower, I made my way toward the lobby. Then I stood upright, walking as gracefully as I could on my back legs toward the elevators. As I neared the first bank of elevators, a bellboy approached. We both entered the elevator car at the same time, and he gave me a suspicious look. I kept my eyes forward and held my breath, doing my best to look nonchalant. It seemed to work, as he exited on the third floor. I let out a sigh of relief and let my front paws hit the carpet. I was home free now, with only the maids to work around -- and I had their cleaning schedule memorized. They wouldn't be on the 28th floor, my first stop, until noon. Using the set of master keys that I had swiped from the hotel lobby the night before, I made my way into the first room. I opened a large suitcase, and out spilled a magnificent rainbow of undergarments. There must have been 20 pairs, all extra-large. A single tear of joy fell from my large left eye. The next eight hours are a blur in my mind. I raced up and down the halls, loading up bags and taking them down the freight elevator to my waiting trucks below. Running on pure adrenaline, I cleaned out floor after floor, sniffing out every last pair. But though I had gathered the ultimate underwear stash, I would never get to enjoy it. I would never swim through an endless sea of panties, Scrooge McDuck-style.
The Mary Kay convention was only two days away. That gave me 48 hours to plan what would go down in pug lore as The Great Panty Raid. I obtained blueprints for the Hyatt Regency Dallas. I procured a fleet of tractor-trailers. I conducted surveillance on the hotel staff, learning the ins and outs of the front desk, the concierge desk and the kitchen. I shadowed the maids to learn their precise cleaning schedules. I had not paid such attention to detail since the earliest days of my rap career. My single-minded focus was on the prize -- those glorious, glorious panties. Soon, zero hour arrived. As I watched through binoculars from my perch in Reunion Tower's rotating top-floor lounge, I saw a stream of women depart the hotel. Most walked the short distance down Young Street to the convention center. A few piled into their pink Cadillacs. When the flow of pink-clad women slowed to a trickle, I made my move.
I donned a pink dress and matching bonnet, which I pulled tightly around my face. After descending from the tower, I made my way toward the lobby. Then I stood upright, walking as gracefully as I could on my back legs toward the elevators. As I neared the first bank of elevators, a bellboy approached. We both entered the elevator car at the same time, and he gave me a suspicious look. I kept my eyes forward and held my breath, doing my best to look nonchalant. It seemed to work, as he exited on the third floor. I let out a sigh of relief and let my front paws hit the carpet. I was home free now, with only the maids to work around -- and I had their cleaning schedule memorized. They wouldn't be on the 28th floor, my first stop, until noon. Using the set of master keys that I had swiped from the hotel lobby the night before, I made my way into the first room. I opened a large suitcase, and out spilled a magnificent rainbow of undergarments. There must have been 20 pairs, all extra-large. A single tear of joy fell from my large left eye. The next eight hours are a blur in my mind. I raced up and down the halls, loading up bags and taking them down the freight elevator to my waiting trucks below. Running on pure adrenaline, I cleaned out floor after floor, sniffing out every last pair. But though I had gathered the ultimate underwear stash, I would never get to enjoy it. I would never swim through an endless sea of panties, Scrooge McDuck-style.
To be continued
Gmail, anyone?
As a public service, I'd like to extend an invitation for Google's Gmail e-mail service to Pug Life followers. I'm not affiliated in any way with Google, but I have been an admirer of the company since reading this on its web site:
e. Our Dog Policy
Google's respect and affection for our canine friends is an integral facet of our corporate culture. If you're interested, here's our official Dog Policy.We have nothing against cats, per se, but we're a dog company, so as a general rule we feel cats visiting our campus would be fairly stressed out.
If you'd like one of the invitation-only Gmail accounts, e-mail me with a 5- to 500-word essay on what you've done in your life to further the Pug Life cause. The web-based Gmail offers 2.5 gigs of storage space and some nice archive and search features.
My address is ayatollahmugsy, then one of those @s, and then gmail.com. (Perhaps that will thwart the spammers.) Please put "gmail" in the subject line.
e. Our Dog Policy
Google's respect and affection for our canine friends is an integral facet of our corporate culture. If you're interested, here's our official Dog Policy.We have nothing against cats, per se, but we're a dog company, so as a general rule we feel cats visiting our campus would be fairly stressed out.
If you'd like one of the invitation-only Gmail accounts, e-mail me with a 5- to 500-word essay on what you've done in your life to further the Pug Life cause. The web-based Gmail offers 2.5 gigs of storage space and some nice archive and search features.
My address is ayatollahmugsy, then one of those @s, and then gmail.com. (Perhaps that will thwart the spammers.) Please put "gmail" in the subject line.
They're real, and they're fantastic
A couple of readers have asked me if the recently unveiled papal merchandise is really for sale. Let me assure you, it is not a hoax, a scam or a joke. The items are being sold through Cafepress.com, a reputable company that I myself have made purchases from. After you select an item to buy, the web site will guide you through your payment and delivery options, and then the item will be quickly produced and shipped to you. And all Pug Life goods feature a 30-day money-back guarantee. These products feature a beautiful portrait of Pope Pius Pug taken during his 2004 trip to the Holy Land. It was during this visit that he issued his historic apology on behalf of several dog breeds -- including Rottweilers, weimaraners and Italian greyhounds -- for their complicity in the persecution of Jewish tabby cats during World War II.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Tip-top shape
I have just returned from my yearly physical exam at the prestigious Pepper Square Pet Clinic, and I am pleased to announce that I have received a clean bill of health. Just as it is important for President Bush to release his medical results to the public, I believe it is imperative that you know that your spiritual leader is fit for command. My teeth were pronounced "wonderful," and I have dropped three pounds since my last checkup -- down to a svelte 27 pounds.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
B-listers need not apply
Tell me, friends, if Hollywood were to make a movie about my life, who would be the best choice to take on the starring role? Who has the charisma, the looks, the pugginess to play me? I'm thinking Denzel Washington.
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