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“What the hell is that?”

“That’s my dog.”

“Jesus, man, he blocked out the sun!”

“That’s Tiny. He’s a Great Alaskan Horse Moose Dog. Say ‘hello,’ Tiny. No, no! Tiny! Put the man down! Bad dog!”

Little dogs are different. Little dogs jump all around, and their legs move real quick. They got those teeny little legs. They got legs that if you feel around under the fur it’s like a pepperoni stick under there.

Sometimes they jump up high. Some of ’em can jump clear up onto a real high bed.

[Boing!]

“Holy shit, what a jump! Lemme see ya do that again.”

Put him back on the floor.

[Boing!]

“God, I can’t believe it. C’mon, one more time.”

Back onto the floor.

[Boing!]

And I make him keep doin’ it and doin’ it, over and over, until he gets all tired out and can’t quite reach the bed anymore. I let him fall short a few times and crash back onto the floor. Then and only then, if I decide I want him on the bed, I put him up there myself. It’s my decision; I buy the dog food.

Fleeky Disappoints

Besides, if you do allow him on the bed, sooner or later he’ll create an incident. Before the evening is over, he will force one of the humans to turn to the other and say,

“Honey, did you fart?”

“Not me. I thought you farted.”

“Not me! Phewww! That’s not even one of my farts! I told you, I’ve got four farts. My Heineken’s fart, my broccoli fart, my rice pudding fart, and my nondairy creamer fart. And the fart I’m smellin’ right now is definitely not one of mine.”

[Sniffing]

“Wait a minute. I know! The dog farted!! Fleeky farted! Fleeky, why did you fart? Look at him! Look how guilty he looks. He knows he farted. I seen his asshole open up. I seen it. What? Well, I just happened to be lookin’ at his asshole by chance, that’s all. What kind of a question is that? I was simply glancin’ at his asshole, and I saw it open up. I thought he was doin’ some kinda deep-breathing exercise. I had no idea he was into chemical warfare.”

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I don’t mind leaving my house as long as I don’t have to look at a lot of unattractive Americans in the process. Visors, logo hats, fat thighs, beer bellies, bad haircuts, halter tops, cheap sneakers, camcorders, and unattractive children wearing blank expressions. God, these people are ugly. I stay home a lot.

I always refer to any individual member of the Red Sox as a Red Sock. Is this correct?

America: where the Irish, English, Germans, Scandinavians, Poles, and Italians all came together to kill Indians, lynch niggers, and beat the shit out of spics and Jews.

Next guy who says to me, “Badda-boom, badda-bing,” is gettin’ kicked right in the fuckin’ nuts.

I was one of the people at Woodstock who took the brown acid. Lemme tell ya, there was nothing wrong with it.

NEVER FORGET, HITLER WAS A CATHOLIC.

Here would be a good epitaph for some guy: “I want everyone to know it was great being alive, and I really enjoyed myself. I especially enjoyed fucking and going to the movies.”

If you listen to his voice carefully without looking at the screen, Ted Koppel sounds like he’s taking a shit.

There’s a thing called shaken-baby syndrome that people get upset about. Personally, I think you have to give ’em a good shake, or they don’t bake uniformly.

The Golden Gate Bridge should have a long bungee cord for people who aren’t quite ready to commit suicide but want to get in a little practice.