Happy birthday, grandma!

I would now like to ask the congregation to join me in wishing my grandmother a happy birthday. Grandma has always been there when I needed her. When my deadbeat parents abandoned me to go on their trips, grandma and grandpa took me in. And boy, did she make sure her grandpug was well-fed. When I was released from the pound and needed money to travel to a madrassa in Pakistan, grandma wrote the check. Were it not for her kindness, I would not be the great religious leader you see today. So may Allah bless you with a happy birthday, grandma, and may the sweet taste of rawhide never leave your mouth.

Now that's progress

At times, an event will occur that leaves me no choice but to act. Like when my belly is rubbed in just the right spot, and I can't contain the wild flailing of my back leg. The spirit of Allah simply fills me, and I am His conduit. Such an event has occurred in New Zealand, where a dog has registered to vote. Toby, a Jack Russell terrier, was signed up by his caretaker to vote in the country's general election. His occupation on the voter application was listed as rodent exterminator. Toby could be our Rosa Parks, my furry brethren. He has revived in me a desire to right the wrongs of the past. For 85 years, women have been allowed to vote. And yet the noble canine remains disenfranchised. Tell me, friends, where is the fairness in that? Where is the logic? Man has not been kind to his so-called best friend. And so, with renewed vigor, I will push for the passage of the 28th Amendment. It's time to awaken the four-legged sleeping giant. It's time to take this country back, as our founding fathers intended. More to come ...

The ayatollah needs your help

Oh, the shame. To have fallen below an 8 is truly disgraceful. Lift me up, Pug Life faithful, as I have lifted you up in the past. Surely I merit at least a 9.2.

My life: Busted

Chapter VII
As I walked the hallway of the third floor one last time to make sure I hadn't missed anything, I heard a loud "clank." The lights went out, and a voice boomed over a loudspeaker, "We have you surrounded! Come out with your paws up!" I dropped my bag of panties and sprinted down the hall toward the stairway. Then a pair of German shepherds rounded the corner ahead, growling as they rushed toward me. I skidded to a halt. "How could you?" I cried. "You're traitors to the dog race!" One leaped toward me, snapping at me as I narrowly ducked under his sharp teeth. I juked the other and took off down the hall in the other direction, my body a compact ball of pug energy.

As I neared the elevators, the hallway split off in two directions. Without slowing, I zoomed around the corner, my paws pushing off on the wall as I ran. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a janitor's closet. I quickly ducked inside and climbed a steep set of shelves. After tucking my body into a tiny crease between a large cardboard box and a stack of custodial uniforms, I pulled one of the shirts over my head and held still as I heard the German shepherds approaching. The sound of their barking grew louder and louder before trailing off. They had run right past the closet. Then I saw flashlights in the hallway. The police were out in force. I heard them kicking down doors, yelling at each other, urging me to give up. But there was no way they could spot me on my perch high in the closet. I felt confident that I could wait them out. Soon, they would give up the search. They would assume that I had escaped, I thought.

Unfortunately, my pugginess betrayed me. "What's that noise?" one officer said. "Over here!" The barrel of an M-16 pointed into the room, and members of the S.W.A.T. team poured in. Though I tried to stifle my trademark labored pug breathing, it was to no avail. Centuries of breeding had conspired against me. "It's coming from up there!" one of the officers exclaimed. The flashlights illuminated my position. "Give it up, pug," a voice commanded. "We know you're up there." For a moment, I considered trying to fight my way out. But the odds were heavily against me. I raised my head, defeated. "Put your paws up where we can see them!" an officer yelled. Then the dogcatcher walked in, carrying a long stick with a net on the end. In one swift motion, he brought it down over my head and swept me off of the shelf.

They threw me into the back of a van and hauled me to the city dog pound, where I was booked and put into a cage. My freedom -- like that 3.5-ton pile of panties -- was but a memory.

To be continued

Mugsy condemns 'balloon' festival

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.

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?

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.

To be continued