My dog is my best friend, so I didn't mind too much killing all those people when he told me to. What *did* get me upset was the furry little bastard turning me in for the reward.
It would be nice if the Grim Reaper gave 24 hours notice before taking us, allowing enough time to say goodbye and arrange our affairs so we could depart this world in a dignified manner. I'd then be able to rest in peace knowing that my obituary would read, "Local man found barricaded in basement, suffocated inside world's largest recorded bean burrito."
Everyone at work was very surprised when they found out that I smoke. They'll be even more surprised when they find out I only smoke when I drink.
If I were a conquering alien, I'd skip right past New York and Washington, DC, and head straight for Mount Rushmore so I could laser-beam some pimples, earrings and Groucho glasses on the presidents. Nothing like a little humor to win over a hostile crowd.
If I were a talking dog, I'd never speak to anyone -- unless I met someone having a bad acid trip, in which case I'd try to help talk them through it. Then, when they really started to freak out because of the talking dog thing, I'd just laugh and laugh.
Ruminations
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment