Tongue In Check

First of all, I am going to apologize in advance for the length of this post. I kept trying to cut it down, but just didn’t feel I could do it justice if I did.  You may want to wade your way through this over a day or two.

Some of you may remember previous posts about some adventures with my former boss, Batty Old Boss (BOB). If you aren’t familiar with BOB, then you can go here or here.

On Wednesday morning, I had to fly down to Houston with BOB to talk to my new employers. BOB has apparently appointed himself my agent. Finally he is useful. He got me a great gig.

After spending well over 9 hours on Wednesday dealing with planes and airports, we finally got to Texas. Normally it’s a 3 hour flight, but thanks to snow and terrorists and faulty windshield wipers and BOB, I got to spend an additional 6 hours making my way to Texas. It would have almost been faster to drive it. Oh, and in case I have never said it before, Fuck Northwest Airlines.

On Thursday morning, we were supposed to meet with my new employers to iron out some details.  Since it was technically my first day of work, I explained to BOB that it was imperative that I show up on time. Just so you know, I don’t normally show up on time and I don’t ever intend to make that a habit, but on my first day of work, I like to at least make an effort to make them think I will play by the rules.

We were supposed to be at the meeting at 7:30 so I wanted to leave the hotel before 7:00. I explained this to BOB in great detail. He seemed to understand but one can never be certain when it comes to BOB.

Me: Do you understand what I am saying?

BOB: Fucking Penis.

At 6:45 we finished breakfast and BOB said he needed to go back to his room to get his pills. I went to go start the car. After 5 minutes, there was no sign of Bob. I tried calling him and there was no  answer. I went back in the lobby to see if I could find him and he was nowhere to be found. I considered just leaving him behind, but that would have surely made the situation worse. Trust me on this. I have tried many times to kill BOB, but it somehow always comes back on me.

After a minute or two, I got in the elevator and went back up to BOB’s room and knocked on the door several times. . No BOB. I went back down to the lobby and called him again. No BOB. I walked out to the car and looked around the parking lot. No BOB. Fuck, I was going to be late for my first day of work. I normally like to save that for my second day. After a few minutes I went back into the lobby and there was BOB standing at the front desk with a baggie full of pills in his hands and screaming at the young woman behind the desk.

Turns out BOB’s key card wasn’t working anymore.  He had tried several times to get it re-programmed and each time he went back to his room the key wouldn’t work. Apparently it took a half an hour to get this all sorted out because it was now very near 7:15.

Once we finally got on our way, BOB was having a fit because of the traffic.  I told him that if we had left at 6:45, traffic would not  be an issue.

Me: This wouldn’t be a problem if we had left on time.

BOB: Fucking Penis.

We finally made it up to Conroe and pulled into the lot. Normally this would be uneventful, but the secretary told us we should turn right when we should have turned left.  Since I had been there once before, I knew that I needed to turn left. BOB, of course, argued with me for the mile we had to drive from the main road to the plant despite the fact that there were signs everywhere telling us that we were approaching the visitor parking lot.

When it comes to dealing with people, BOB can be quite arrogant. Why wouldn’t he be though, I mean I can personally account for 20 million dollars that he has made over the 30 years that I have known him so I guess he can afford to be arrogant. That’s why I like to let him walk around with the tag still on his pants all day long.

Yes, you read that right. When we got in the plant, I looked over and BOB still had the tag on his pants. I could have told him about it and I probably should have told him about it, but knowing he was walking around with a tag on his pants telling the world that he was wearing HAGAR slacks with a 32 waist and 32 inseam seemed fitting somehow.

The day went fine, and BOB only made a fool out of himself  27 times.  Here’s a fine example. On the way there, we had to turn left onto Pollack Drive and that was part of the whole wrong direction thing. BOB had to tell everyone that the directions were wrong and he kept calling it Polack (like the slang name I call the queen of Poland) drive. I could see racial sensitivity classes in his future. Although since he is not an employee and I am, I will probably have to go to the racial sensitivity classes. I wonder if they still use the same booklet. I think I have it here somewhere from a previous encounter.

We made it through the day just fine and headed back to the hotel for a drink.

TRUE CONFESSION ALERT:

I have not had any Gin since the fall of 2007.  I have missed it immensely and I felt like celebrating a little bit on Thursday night. I ordered one and couldn’t drink it. It tasted like shit. I have no idea how I ever drank Gin for all those years.  I guess I can safely say that I now have that out of my system.

After my attempt to drink Gin, we went to dinner. This is where the shit hit the fan. As I have mentioned before, BOB cannot or will not order from the menu. He will try his best to jack the menu around every way possible.

BOB: Hi, I’m BOB.

Waitress: Hi, I’m Britneeeeeeeeeeeee

BOB: I’m old.

Waitress: I’m stupid.

Me: Fucking Penis.

After BOB spent 10 minutes order ordering bits and pieces from half the dishes on the menu with every possible combination of salt, fat, and gravy that BOB could find on the menu (BBQ grilled chicken without the BBQ sauce from the chicken menu with a little bowl of sauce from one of the steak dishes and plain white rice from one of the other dishes only without any butter because he couldn’t have butter and could he possibly get a small bowl of asparagus  WITH butter and some soup with oyster crackers and not saltines but if they only had saltines he would take those but he had to have more butter to put on the saltines) .

I want to fucking kill him. I mean seriously, here are the rules. You either order from the menu or you go stand in traffic. There are no other alternatives.

So I order my food.

Me: Ribeye steak, medium rare and a loaded baked potato.

Britneeeeeeeeeeee: Is that all.

Me: Yes. That is all. I will just take my food directly from the menu so they don’t spit on it in the kitchen.

BOB: Baked potato?

Me:Yes BOB, just a plain old baked potato with cheese, butter,and bacon bits.

BOB: I’m not supposed to have carbs.

Britneeeeeeee: Would you like a baked potato.

Me: Oh Fuck.

BOB: No, just bring me a small plate and I’ll have half of his. Oh, and bring more gravy for the baked potato.

Britneeeeeeeeeee: Okayyyyyyyyyyyyy.

After a few minutes, Britneeeeee returned and asked us if we watned an appetizer. BOB asked her what they had and she told him about some kind of appetizer that had a shrimp inside a breaded habanero chili and it was really hot and that she bet BOB he couldn’t eat it. BOB told her that he had been eating hot peppers since he was in the womb and they didn’t bother him at all and he could eat anything she brought him.

The appetizer came. BOB ate it. BOB almost died. Within seconds his face was some scary combination of red, pink, and blue. At this point, I realized how annoyed I was with him. I just stared at him while he coughed, sputtered and choked trying to drink enough water to put out the fire in his throat. After he drank his water, my water, his wine and my wine, he began to look around for someone elses water to steal (trust me, he would do it), so I asked Britneeeeeeeeeee to bring us more water.

Britneeeeeee: Awww, is he choking.

Me: I hope so, but it is best not to encourage any conversation at this point.

Britneeeeeeee: Bless his heart.

Me: Fuck him.

After about 5 gallons of water, BOB finally got to the point where he could speak. It was at that point in time that he uttered some very profound words that made me realize why BOB is a millionaire.

In a voice that sounded like it had been bathed in the fires of hell, BOB looked up through his watering eyes and said to me:

“Those fuckers in the kitchen tricked me. They put something on that pepper to make it hotter than it should be. I want to go home now.”

I paid the bill and guided Bob towards the door. Once we got out in the parking lot I told him about the tag on his pants. He reached down and began pulling the tag off and said “I suppose I’ve had this on all day.”  I told him that unless someone came out from the kitchen and put the tag on  his pants while he wasn’t looking, that was probably the case.

On my next post, I’ll tell you about our trip to the airport on Friday morning.

Fucking Penis.

I guess no trip to northern Michigan for me would be complete without being inundated with memories from days gone by.

I took a quick trip north to see my mother and sister before I head out of here to parts unknown to avoid the total collapse of the state of Michigan the state of Texas to find gainful employment. I used to always refer to northern Michigan as “radio-free” northern Michigan because every single station up there was either a syndicated Paul Harvey or Bob and Tom (the Paul Harvey of our generation) program.  Every now and then, they might throw in a country station just for good measure, but really, there wasn’t much to listen to in the way of radio.

When I was driving north the other day, I came across an oldies station. Well, it may not have been an “oldies” station.  It might have just been a regular station that just happened to be playing oldies. Only maybe they didn’t know they were oldies. Maybe they thought that any music made after Jesus was crucified, was modern music.

Dammit, I digressed.

Anyway, listening to those old songs, I realized that times were a lot simpler way back then. There wasn’t as much pressure to be cool then as there is now. Or to be as gay as some musicians are now.  Oh please don’t send me nasty emails. There is no way you can compare Neil Diamond to someone as “sensitive” (gay) as Jason Mraz.  Fucking guy doesn’t even have the proper number of vowels in his fucking name.

So I was driving down the highway by myself (because my whole family hates me) and I was singing Neil Diamond’s Cracklin’ Rosie at the top of my lungs.

Cracklin rosie, get on board
Were gonna ride till there aint no more to go
Taking it slow
Lord, dont you know
Have made me a time with a poor mans lady

Of course I have absolutely no idea in hell what the song was about, but for me, it has a very definite place in my personal history. See, that song came out in the summer of 1970. I was just sort of coming of age then and even though I had some experience with women, I wasn’t “all that experienced.”

Okay, I was still a total virgin, so fuck off.

Anyway, one morning way back then I was sitting in my mom’s basement watching Captain Kangaroo and holding the cigarette I was smoking out the window so my mom couldn’t smell the smoke when the phone rang. Naturally I answered it right away so it wouldn’t wake my mother up. If you knew my mother, you would know why I didn’t want her to wake up. Turns out it was for me anyway. It was my friend Kenny who explained that his cousin was in town and I had to take her out to a dance that night.

It may surprise you to know that we had telephones back then. Actually, we didn’t. We sent smoke signals, but it would take to long to explain that to you so I will just lie to you and pretend that we had telephones back in 1970.

Naturally, I didn’t want to take her to the dance. Even at 16, I knew that cousins weren’t usually all that hot, but I felt that I had to. He said her name was Rosie, but everyone called her Zip.

Zip.

I swear to fucking God, her nickname was Zip. If nothing else, I was drawn to her name.

Hitchin on a twilight train
Aint nothing here that I care to take along
Maybe a song
To sing when I want
Dont need to say please to no man for a happy tune

So I hung up the phone, finished my cigarette and went back to watching Captain Kangaroo.  I was a sucker for Dancing Bear.

Later on that day I made my way from the beaches of Lake Huron (where I spent all of my time ogling), to the pavilion down by the public beach where the dance was going to be. Kenny was there with his girlfriend and his cousin “Zip.” She was tall and thin and all things 70’s (bell-bottom pants, long straight black hair, and perfume that smelled like Boone’s Farm). Or maybe it really was Boone’s Farm.

Oh, I love my rosie child
You got the way to make me happy
You and me, we go in style
Cracklin rose, youre a store bought woman
You make me sing like a guitar hummin
So hang on to me, girl
Our song keeps runnin on

The night was awkward.  Zip didn’t talk much and since I spent most of my time watching Captain Kangaroo rather than reading relevant novels of the day like “Trout Fishing In America,” I din’t have much to talk about either.

Me: So what do you think of the complicated relationship between Mr. Moose and Mr. Green Jeans?

Zip: Fuck off.

I simply couldn’t wait for the night to end so I could take this girl home and then go home and kick myself in the ass for being so utterly inept at any conversations that didn’t involve Captain Kangaroo.

Cracklin rosie, make me a smile
Girl if it lasts for an hour, thats all right
We got all night
To set the world right
Find us a dream that dont ask no questions, yeah

When the dance was over, we left the pavilion and headed out for the little street that ran in front of the pavilion and started walking towards her aunt’s house a few blocks away.  She asked me if I would mind walking her home via the beach since she was from “down-state” and didn’t get to see much of the lake. Sure, why not I said and we headed across the park to the beach.

Once we reached the beach, we both took off our shoes because it’s just easier to walk on the beach barefooted than it is with shoes on. That detail is meaningless to the story, but I remembered it and thought I should include it before that memory is lost forever.  Future generations may somehow find use for that memory. Even though it was mid-August, it was quite cool out, so “Zip” leaned in close and grabbed my arm as we walked along. I just though she was just trying to keep warm, but the fact is, any man (or boy) who hadn’t spent the morning watching Captain Kangaroo might have been smart enough to know what was coming next.

Oh, I love my rosie child
You got the way to make me happy
You and me, we go in style
Cracklin rose, youre a store-bought woman
You make me sing like a guitar hummin
So hang on to me, girl
Our song keeps runnin on

We continued on until we were beyond the street lights surrounding the public beach, and just as we stepped into the shadows,  Zip stepped in front of me and just stopped. “What’s wrong,” I asked? “Idiot,” she said and then she kissed me.

Wow. I wasn’t expecting that, and even though that whole kissing thing was cute in an innocent sort of  “I wasn’t expecting that” kind of way, it is what happened next that turned this little story into a lasting memory.

Cracklin rosie, make me a smile
Girl if it lasts for an hour, thats all right
We got all night
To set the world right
Find us a dream that dont ask no question, yeah

Naturally, and since this is a Manson-family  blog, I won’t go into details. Let’s just say that within minutes of that kiss, I found out why they called her Zip.

Of course I can’t help but wonder if maybe she has a blog  and right now she is telling people why they call me “Quick Draw McDraw. “

Give me a break, I was 16 dammit.

Jason Mraz, suck it! Oh, and use some of that money to buy a fucking vowel for your name.

Of course as many of my long time readers know, when it comes to news, I work damned hard to dig deep behind the headlines to bring you the whole story.

On Monday afternoon, George W. Bush spent a considerable amount of time crafting a heart-felt note for the nation’s 44th president Barack Hussein Obama.

Many in the main stream media have speculated about the content of the note, but until now, no one has actually seen the note.

Our hard working and  intrepid reporters here at TIC were able to get a look at this historic note and they were overwhelmed by the sentiment it contained. I am probably breaking at least 17 laws here by showing you this note, but for the sake of the union, I think you need to see what George W. Bush said to President Obama.

Ladies and gentlemen, you have just witnessed history.

One hour after the inauguration of Barack Obama:

One day after the inauguration of Barack Obama:

After 8 years of Barack Hussein Obama’s presidency:

I wonder if they water-boarded him?

UPDATE:

WASHINGTON — Vice President Dick Cheney pulled a muscle in his back while moving boxes and will be in a wheelchair for Tuesday’s inauguration ceremony.

White House press secretary Dana Perino said Cheney was helping to move into his new home outside Washington in McLean, Va., when he injured his back.

His doctor recommended that he needed a wheelchair for the next couple of days.

That is the official story.

Here’s what really happened.

They finally removed Bush’s head from Cheney’s ass.

Ladies and gentlemen, let the panic begin.

TERRORIST GEESE BRING DOWN JETLINER.

In his final days in office, preseident George W. Bush has declared a new war against terrorist geese.

The homeland security agency has released the following  sketch of the suspected leader of the terrorist group believed to be responsible for this tragedy:

Anyone with any information regarding the terrorist goose leader Osama bin-Honk should contact the nearest authorities.  Approach with caution. Suspect may be armed winged.

I know, I know. The election’s over and we will soon have a new president who we all hope beyond hope is better than the last one but I am still dumbstruck by something.

Believe it or not, I have supported republican candidates for president more often than not in my lifetime.  Wow, how’s that for a true confession?

Anyway, during the last election, I was struck by how loyal some still were to the republican party even after George Bush raped, pillaged, and shredded whatever decency the party had left  and it really bothered me because I thought maybe I was missing something. I mean I would hate like hell to vote for Obama because I let my absolute and utter hatred for George Bush blind me to the fact that maybe the Grand Old Party still had something to offer.

Try as I might though to get a better feel for the republicans, the rhetoric of the election never quite lived up to the actions of the past 8 years.

The other day when I was cruising around the vast and immensely popular internets trying to cure my winter-time blues that is verging on and extreme case of cabin fever, I stumbled across this precious little comment and it set my old heart-a-flutter. Or maybe it was just gas, but either way, I think it may have hit the proverbial nail on the head.

Yet another ringing endorsement for the republicans and Reaganomics.

Racists, religious nuts, the retarded and the rich. The republican Four “R” Club.

Too bad the corporate republican elite only serves ONE of those four groups, and simply lie to the other three to keep them voting.

The fact that a black man with a Muslim-sounding name just won the highest elected office on Earth proves that the racists are not served.

The fact that for SIX YEARS, the GOP controlled the White House, BOTH houses of Congress AND the SCOTUS, and NOT ONE abortion was prevented, and NOT ONE prayer was uttered in a public building proves the religious nuts are not served.

The fact that a person cannot get a decent paying job with ANY kind of security in America with anything less than a Master’s degree proves that the retarded are not served.

The fact that the Forbes’ top 400 wealthiest people in America have increased their wealth by $750,000,000,000.00 over the last 8 years, while the MEDIAN income has fallen every single year, and we have lost almost 3 million jobs in the industrial sector, proves exactly who IS served by republican policy.

Wake up, people.
Doesn’t that just bring a tear to your eye and put a lump in your pants? I think this person, whoever he or she may be, summed up the failures of the republicans quite nicely. I would love to give someone credit for that lovely comment, but it was an anonymous comment on a message board.  Since I can’t give anyone credit, I am going to give him or her this:

Use it wisely. God knows I have would.

As you may or may not know, we are getting slammed with a pretty nasty snowstorm here in Michigan. Of course if you live in the US and watch any of the major networks (which are all located on the east coast), you are probably only aware that a snowstorm somewhere out there in America is heading towards New York City where it will wreak havoc on the only city in America that counts.

Ummm guess what national news fucks who don’t know that a world exists in America beyond the boundaries of New York City? We already know that a bad storm is raging and we don’t really give a flying fuck what happens in New York City.

Anyway that has nothing to do with why I don’t think I don’t have much time left as the title might or might not have implied.

I’ve done a bad bad bad thing and my days are numbered:

Black Kitty of Death accidentally got buried in an avalanche and as you can plainly see, he is not happy.  I have not seen him since this little “accident,” but I feel his presence.

UPDATE:  I didn’t do this. Jackie did. She’s the bad one. Not me. BK of D will just have to take out his wrath on her and leave me alone.

I know exactly what you are thinking right now, and you would be right. It’s not all that big, but remember this, at my age, it is very likely that erosion has played at least some part in its demise.

Anyway, it’s time to let you in on what is going on here. I couldn’t say anything before because I have some unfortunate thick-skinned relatives who read this from time to time and I needed to talk to them before I revealed this to you.

If you live in the world today, you know that the economy sucks. If you live in the upper Midwest, you know that what the rest of the country is calling a recession, is actually a depression.  Newspaper help wanted ads have gone from several pages worth down to a couple of lines, shopping malls, restaurants, and bars are empty. I can get my haircut without having to wait a few days. The shit is going down here folks, and it is going down hard. People are losing their houses and their cars at an alarming rate and a drive down any back road in Michigan reveals a never ending supply of motorcycles, snowmobiles, and fishing boats sitting by the side of the road plastered with for sale signs. The destitute selling to the broke. It ain’t pretty.

Back in April (shortly after my surgery), my wife was fired from her job. I won’t go into the reasons because they are complicated and unworthy of a discussion here, but suffice it to say, it was traumatizing for us. We had really good insurance through her company and without it, I was kind of up the creek. Fortunately, my friends and employers in Utah were kind enough to put me on their insurance right away so I never skipped a beat.

My wife has been looking for a job for some time now and honestly, there have been no offers. It is just that bad. In the meantime, back before Thanksgiving, the company I work for in Utah informed me that they could not continue to pay me for doing nothing forever and that I should plan on moving back out there soon.  Just before Christmas, I told them that that wasn’t going to happen because I would rather pack my ass with dynamite and squat over a flaming hibachi than to move back to Utah.  Ever the wonderful people that they are, they plan to continue paying me for “5 or 6 months” (as if a year and half wasn’t enough) for doing nothing and they will pay my insurance for 18 months. Seriously, God bless them (and I seldom, if ever, use that term). If I had been a Mormon, that would have been the best company I ever worked for.

So here we sit, two over 50 old folks with no jobs with no prospects of jobs in our near future, up to our eyeballs in debt, with little or no skills for the real world. Whatever shall we do?

Believe me, I have considered a life of crime.

Back in the summer, I got a fantastic job offer from a company in Conroe, Texas. I have worked with this company in one way or another for almost 30 years now, so it’s not like they are complete strangers to me.  It was one of those offers I almost couldn’t refuse. The pay was great. The benefits were great. Everything was great, except that I just didn’t want to leave Michigan because for almost 40 years now, it has been my sweet home.

Things have changed.

I still don’t want to leave Michigan, but I have come to the conclusion, faulty or not, that if I stay here, in time I am going to lose everything anyway. Well, almost everything, and I just can’t let that happen so I re-opened the negotiations with the Texas company and got them to agree to a few changes that essentially meant I had nothing to lose by accepting the job. Basically they are going to pay my rent for two years so that I can keep this house.

I still haven’t worked out all of the details yet, but at this point, we’re about 98% certain  that we will be heading out by the end of this month. My wife is going with me this time and so is Carmen. I just don’t think I could go through this crap alone anymore.  Jackie is going to stay here in our house and keep the home fires burning. I’m not sure how long I will stay in Texas, but I am at least going to try to ride out this economic shit storm.

Look at it this way, I entertained  some of you with drunken stories from Ohio. Then I entertained some others of you with insane and lonely stories from Utah. Then I bored the shit out of you with home improvement and kidney cancer stories from Michigan. You might as well follow me to Texas. Who knows what we’ll get into.

Oh, and Thomas, we’re going to be neighbors. I expect beer and meat candy.

Did you ever have one of those days where nothing went right?

I was going to do a post about simple things that piss me off, but then I realized that damn near everything pisses me off some days.

Then I was going to do a post about how the simple things in life make me happy, but then I realized that there is nothing simple about lesbian nuns from Germany porn.

Then I was going to do a post about the economy but that is just too depressing.

I know, how about a poll?

Does that make you feel better?

Oh wait, I know. I will tell you the top 10 search terms that bring people to this blog. Trust me, it will renew  your faith in humanity. Or it might make you throw up. Either way, it will likely move you.

1. CAMELTOE.
2. SARAH PALIN NUDE.
3. ERIN BURNETTE NUDE
4. GIRLS KISSING
5. BODY PAINT
6. BLONDE
7. NIPPLE SLIP
8. AMANDA BEARD
9. GEORGE BUSH FUNNY
10. BEAVER SHOT

Admittedly, there were lots of variations on the same theme up there, but I left those out.  Suffice it to say that the vast majority of people who stumble onto this blog, come here looking for camel toe in one way or another.

Never one to disappoint:

In other news, I am not sure if any of you saw this or not, but apparently Laura Bush is getting ready to publish her memoirs.

I was fortunate enough to get a sneak peak at the entire book. It’s quite short, but simply riveting. Here it is in its entirety:

God, I married a fucking idiot. The End.

See, that is some riveting shit.

Why is everyone so pissed off at Israel over this whole Gaza strip thing? Hamas has been firing rockets into Israel for over a month now. Just before Christmas, Israel asked them to quit. Just after Christmas, Israel warned them that there would be consequences and repercussions if they didn’t quit. Naturally, they didn’t quit. So now Israel is doing something about it. Looks pretty cut and dried to me.

It’s amazing. Americans just love a good witch hunt.

I know they say that raising taxes during an economic downturn is not a good idea, but I wonder what they say about lowering taxes at a time when we are bailing out everyone (except for me). I can’t help but think we are going to have to pay the fiddler for this mad tune we’ve been dancing.

I simply cannot imagine the pain. Truly heart-felt sympathy for a man that has brought us all so much entertainment.

Looks like we might finally get a professional comedian for a politician. I’m so sick of all the amateurs.

I watched a movie the other night that had Charlize Theron in it. She is so beautiful.

But I do drive a truck.

My daughter and her retarded dog lovely dog Fred have been living here for a little while and I must admit that I have grown quite fond of Fred. Of course he is no where near as much fun as Carmen, but he is quite entertaining in his own way.

I hate to admit it, but I spend all of my days making fun of Freddie Bear because he brings so much of it on himself. I do believe that Jackie’s pet name for him (Idiot Face) just about says it all. Look at that face up there in that picture. You can almost hear the rusty gears clanking inside his otherwise empty head.

To me, Fred has one very really annoying habit. He chases cats. Well, truth be told, he chases everything One night Jackie let the fucking idiot Fred out and he locked onto a deer and chased it into the field behind out house. That is just never a good idea. Had he gone the other way, he would have wound up in the road where he likely would have been hit by a car.  The biggest issue though, is that Fred chases the cats in the house. That can be rather disruptive in a house with 3 retards cats.  Fred’s case chasing and long nose will always remind me of Alf.

I do get my share of complaints over the way I treat Carmen. I mean I baby her and won’t let anyone make fun of her because she is a little girl and can’t really defend herself too well. Fred, on the other hand, is a male dog and excessive babying will make him act like a sissy. Look, I don’t want to imply that Fred has any sexual identity issues, but I swear to God he has a  Liberace poster hanging in his crate.

The following complicated mathematical formula could explain so very much:

I wonder who bottomed.