Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Fudge

This has nothing at all to do with fudge. Well, not in the spiritual sense. That trance-like state of fudge induced trancism... that is not what I am referring to. Nope, this has nothing to do with fudge.

Midgets melting in the 116 degree Arizona sun, now THAT'S blogworthy. Poor lil' guys.. waddling along minding their own midgety business, and then suddenly they are puddles on the sidewalk. Then some dog comes and laps them up.. OH, the plight of the Arizona midget!

In a month and a half I shall be free of this place of eternal sunshine. The weather is the same EVERY DAMN DAY, except for the temperature, which gets progressively more like wading into a pool of lava in your Stewie Griffon shorts with every new dawn. I'm not the only one with Stewie Griffons, am I? I am? You classless turds, get some Stewie Griffon on you!! Man, that sounds wrong.. good! Turds!

The word turd has nothing to do with fudge either, not that a dog would know the difference. They lick their butts people, their tongues are their toilet paper! EVERYTHING tastes like turds to a dog!

Thank you and enjoy your enemas.