Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Come Through For Me Google

God bless the internet. The sweet sweet internet that allows me to fool people into thinking I have a memory at all. The internet that answers all of the burning questions that pop into my head at least a dozen times a day. Who carries that Nivea deodorant I like? Who won the batting title in 1991? Should I panic if my shit is BLACK? (Total side note: but I remember being assigned a paper in high school that had to have one internet source in the bibliography, but it could only be from ENCARTA--for whippersnappers out there this was a stupid, out-of-date online encyclopedia--access to the internet to collect information from the seventies! PROGRESS IN EDUCATION).

But the internet is failing me. Because I have a very important question.

Can you hide something in the sale of your house? Like that people who purchase your home HAVE TO KEEP YOUR DOGS?

Because mine? Are totally available? You need a belly warmer, some one to part uselessly and incessantly? Just want to throw them into a pot with noodles?

They can be YOURS.

I was up in the middle of the night with stomach cramps that made me want to cut my intestines out with a knife. And my dogs swore on their surely innocent little souls that they HAD TO PEE AND WOULD BURST IF THEY WERE NOT ALLOWED OUT RIGHT THIS SECOND.

I took them out and they bolted for play time in the designated open space behind our house. This means that I had to find pants, find shoes and go out with a fucking flashlight to find them. And then Darla tried to steal my spot in the bed.

Maybe I will try the google phrase "dog abandonment--you too can pawn of your worthless dogs."

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