All I wanted was to be left alone. It wasnít that much to ask. I didnít want sympathy or help or your free cheese. Just to be left alone. If you had let me be, none of it would have happened. Donít blame the sleeping dog if you go and poke it with a stick. Dogs are dogs. They donít appreciate being poked. If you get your ass bit off, good for the dog.






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Dogs are dogs. You canít change them. Sure, the young ones can be trained. Throw a bone and watch them roll over. Big deal. Theyíll also hump a chair leg, geniuses. The young ones donít know the difference. But donít try it with the old ones. Thereís nothing like a true clichť. It isnít that the old ones arenít smart enough to learn anything new. Itís just that they know a chair leg when they see one.

If I had been a dog you can bet I wouldnít be fetching anyoneís shoes, either. If some prick tried getting me to fetch his shoes, I might piss in them. No, Iíd definitely piss in them. Actually, now that itís come up, I donít think shoe-pissing ought to be the exclusive province of canines. There are some people whose shoes Iíd like to piss in right now.

Not that Iíve actually done such a thing. For the record--because posterity deserves a full, accurate account of my experience, and outlandish accusations are probably already being thrown about--I never pissed in anyoneís shoes. Thereís no need for exaggeration--I stick to the facts. Iím a little ashamed to admit that this is the first time pissing in a shoe occurred to me. There were some very deserving people, and all of them owned equally deserving footwear of one kind or another.

Get the whole story.





I blog at myspace. But think twice before being my friend. Pitney might hunt you down.

New frog



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