Sup dawg?

For years Al has been parading around referring to our dogs as "asos." And for years I thought that it was just another sound example of his insanity. I mean, walking around calling things by nonsense names isn't too far removed from any of Al's other habits when confronting the world. When Al puts four digits from his left hand to his face and makes a face of disgust, I know from all of my past experiences with him, he will follow his hand motions with a high pitched, "Bobby Bayouk-son!" (bye-YOOK-son). He will then repeat it around six times, each getting louder and higher pitched. Now I can't tell you who exactly Mr. Robert Bayouk-son is, but he's been a topic of conversation for years in my household. As legendary as Santa Claus is to a four-year-old (or a fourteen-year-old if you live two doors down) the rest of us in this house talk of Mr. Bayouk-son with great amusement and fascination. We've come to figure that he must not have been a sincerely profound character in Al's life because he is only mentioned when LuLu decides that pooping outside is overrated or when Al decides to smell the lint that has been wedged under his toenail for the past seven weeks.

After procrastinating for nearly twenty years I finally built up the strength (and the courage, who wants this looney toon to be correct after all these years?) to see if Al's childhood imagination is relentless or if he does indeed belong in a padded Filipino prison. I found that in Tagalog (the mother country's native tongue) "aso" means dog. I'm not sure if "aso" in the plural tense is "asos" but Al has been right all along. Pointing at LuLu and exclaiming, "That, my friend, is a little ASO!" She sure is. I am happy to have some sort of sign that I will not become completely insane by the age of forty, however I am still stuck in a world of confusion. Who is this Bobby Bayouk-son, and why does he remind Al of terrible smells?

Some "Asos":

Daisy.

Peekaboo.

Chase. Behind bars where he belongs.

LuLu.

Phi Mu.

I could have ran with that one.

When all else fails...

...blame it on the Mexicans.

Summer Reading.

When I won the Accelerated Reading program in grade school when I was only in 2nd grade, I knew that I was a genius. Actually, it just proved my theory that public school was filled with minions and minorities who had neither the attention span nor intelligence to fully grasp Ramona and Her Father. While sobbing, I raised my trophy in front of the entire school and rested my head on it as if it were the teat of let's say Megan Fox. I knew the future promised excitement and success (but, unfortunately, no Megan Fox). It was my Michael Jordan moment.

My heart tells me he was saying, "This is my Marty C. moment."

Nobody writes anything more interesting and entertaining about China than Peter Hessler.

Maybe even smarter and wittier than David Sedaris. Why are all hilarious writers gay?

About a hilarious team of advertisers in Chicago. Really awesome.

I only read it because I saw Sloane Crosley's picture. Pathetic I know. She has a very cool way of putting some things but I've heard better stories on a Thursday night from TyTy. I think women would appreciate it more. "It" being Ms. Crosley's stories and also TyTy.

Depressing and not depressing but very much badass. Even Oprah thinks so.

He's gay and thinks he's hilarious. Only he sucks. Maybe the worst book I've ever read.

What would it take?

Hey Bauer, your time is up...motherfucker.

I have had to listen to the 24 cock-jockeys for far too long. Constantly riding Jack Bauer's scroters like he ever did something besides kill imaginary terrorists. Well your brown-people-killing ways are done Jack! Ever since A.P. Calculus class (which I was allowed to play MasterMind in, since I was so lost, as long I kept quiet) I've been shushed like a little kid while Jack prances around smashing his All-American elbow into jihadists' faces. Don't you dare shush me, I'm a grown ass unemployed man.

I've never really seen 24 but I don't think I really need to. Let me guess: white guy with a bad haircut has a day to kill a shit load of people trying to ruin America? Watch Die Hard and save yourself the 22 and a half hours. For some reason people can't find a great reason to explain why the show is so good. "Jack Bauer is so clever and awesome and the writing is so genius!" Bitch please, raise up off those n-u-t's, because you gets none of deez (thoze), at ease. How is that for writing?

The real "Jack" is the one from Law & Order. Murder mysteries of any kind are no big deal to Jack McCoy. The fool will be locked up and bleeding in the showers before you can Object. At a recent sighting at the Playboy mansion where Jack was the guest of honor he was quoted saying, "Mr. Bauer, I object to that whack ass show, that whack ass plot, that whack ass pistol, and that whack ass haircut! Peace mu-fuckaz, McCoy out..." When McCoy leaves the courtroom NBC, TNT, and USA networks all refuse to play the music that is actually accompanying the exit. "I'm a seventh letter of the alphabet!" See below!

There might be a supreme being.

To be honest, I firmly believed a dog as nice as Daphne would never have been returned just because she is so gosh darn adorable. And because Humboldt Park can be unforgiving. I guess there are still good people out there.

Lost Dog.

English Bulldog
If anyone sees a dog that looks like this give me a call. It's my cousin's and we want her back.

Them damn Boleyn girls.

I try to keep my love affair with Scarlett Johansson updated and relevant by ogling over her in any movie she is in. That was my intention when telling my parents to hang on to "The Other Boleyn Girl" an extra day before retuning it to BlockBuster. Usually the routine is simple. I insert the DVD and laugh at the absolute ridiculousness of the fact that Ms. Johansson (soon to be Mrs. Van Wilder) is terrible at her craft. To be honest, she was actually alright in this one but I will never get over how much she over acted, and how many mouth airplanes she gave to Woody Allen to be, in "Match Point." That's neither here nor there. At first I wasn't at all interested in this other movie. Some of the phrases in the dialogue were rather not believable. At the very least, I figured there may be a hilarious cleavage shot or some ridiculous baby making scene but I was not at all expecting to be thoroughly entertained. It should be noted that I wasn't entertained in the traditional sense. I'm sure most audiences thought the complexities of the story and the themes of jealousy, betrayal, the lust for power, and what kind of trouble a boner sandwich can get you into, were the most thought provoking aspects of the film. Meanwhile I was sitting on the edge of my seat trying not to erupt with a "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!"-chant. Al was sleeping after all and to wake him would be a sin.

What the movie taught me is that behind a country that prides itself on its traditions and values, there lies the root of every evil in the world: Hillbillies who can't keep their peters in their pantalones.

Mickey packin' heat.

Why would anyone need to bring a gun onto Disney property?

Just in case this mu-fuckin rodent wants to step up.

Why I hate Advertising.

I hope everyone is aware that Google and other search engines and websites have come up with a way to make sure there are advertisements that fill various details of your online profile. After gathering your information online, they start to shape particular advertisements to better suit your needs. At first I thought it was a cool idea, because I did fit the "Limited Edition Jordan's" and "single wild college blonde girls" target market. But after seeing a few disturbing ones (I guess I shouldn't have been visiting those websites those particular ads were attached to) I began to notice just how degrading and insensitive the fuckers who programmed these things really are.

Shit.