I've been marveling at this ultra-ripped whippet, my flock. A genetic mutation left her with double muscles, meaning her leg press may very well exceed that of my business rival Pat Robertson. Does anyone know how to get in touch with this dog? I must recruit her for the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF).
I took my little brother to his first music show last night. As we queued to enter the Palladium Ballroom, Wendell was upset when he was told he had to go through a separate line. "Why?" he barked. "Because you're under 21 in dog years," the usher barked back. As a bracelet was fitted above his paw, I explained to Wendell that he would not be missing out on anything. "The sin of alcohol is far greater than the benefit," I told him. "How do you know this?" he asked. "It is written in the Quran, my brother," I replied. "You have much to learn."Once inside, I approached the bartender. "We would like two waters -- in bowls," I barked. The bartender appeared perplexed. "Ahem, down here!" I barked. "Oh, sorry, Your Holiness," he stammered, leaning over the bar. "Two water bowls coming right up -- on the house."
After awakening from our mid-morning naps, Wendell and I ventured outside to enjoy the nice weather. The Texas summer's cruel heat has finally begun to fade in recent weeks. As my sleepy brother wobbled around the back yard, he spied a butterfly perched upon a blade of grass. Wendell looked at me quizzically. Then he lunged at the butterfly, which flew above his head, taunting the pup. His mouth agape, Wendell made a few more futile efforts. "Wendell," I barked, "leave that butterfly alone. Allah's creatures deserve our respect and should not be attacked without cause." Then I reconsidered my words. "Except junebugs, of course. They are delicious. And oh so crunchy."
There is cause for celebration, my flock. My two favored football teams, the Oklahoma Sooners and the Dallas Cowboys, both remain undefeated. And they have looked impressive in reaching their perfect records. Even more exciting, my toothy little pugbrother appears to finally be learning that my nether regions are not synonymous with a chewstick. Praise be to Allah and Bitter Apple!
Assalamu alaikum, my flock. I would like you to meet my new little brother, Wendell. Like me, he is a pug. But he is black, and I am fawn, so hopefully my parents will not get us mixed up (I think my food portions are bigger). I must admit that young Wendell came as a surprise; mother didn't even appear to be showing. In fact, I had come to suspect the worst after analyzing the clues gathered by Sherlock Bones regarding my parents' recent odd behavior. Sherlock found a series of suspicious photos on mother's camera that, combined with her unusual cellphone record and ATM withdrawals, led me to suspect her of infidelity. But just as I was about to call father and tell him that I believed mother was seeing a younger man -- a much younger man -- mother walked in the door clutching little Wendell. "Ayatollah," she said, "meet your new brother!" I took to him immediately, my tail wagging like the windshield wipers set on high. I am looking forward to taking Wendell under my wing and teaching him the tricks of the pug trade -- notably the vaunted "pugtona," our distinctive circular sprinting technique. He must also learn to boost his snore volume and speak with a gruff, pleasing-to-the-ear bark. But there will be plenty of time for that later. The excitement at the ayatollah compound has proven exhausting, so for now, we shall nap.
While poring over mother's phone records this afternoon, I received a call from my good friend Rabbi Jake. Jake is always on the lookout for innovative business practices that might benefit the ministry, and he came across a rather interesting strategy. It seems that a synagogue in Florida has begun a so-called torah timeshare. For a one-time donation of $1,800, congregants can host the sacred text in their homes for one week a year. Rabbi Jake was understandably excited about the possibilities. And let me tell you, my flock, Jake doesn't get excited about much these days. After our conversation ended, I began to ponder ways to translate this timeshare tactic to my own congregation. At first, I considered offering up a prized piece of rawhide. But there are some items for which no price tag will suffice; I simply cannot go without my rawhide. Then my thoughts turned to another item -- an artifact of great significance to the ministry. As you may recall, I have reached many an epiphany while suckling my monkey toe. The foot of the stuffed primate sent my mind into a calm, zenlike state of pure concentration. The idea of the ministry's recent telethon, for example, was hatched during one of my marathon toe-nursing sessions. Unfortunately, the foot was not built to offer unlimited inspiration. Last week, during a particularly vigorous meditative session, the foot came clean off. And since my parents won't let me have access to so small an artifact anyway -- a choking hazard, they call it -- it seems like the perfect offering for the ministry's first timeshare program. So for the low, low price of $1,800 a week, you can welcome the sacred, saliva-caked monkey foot into your home. You can seat it next to you at the dinner table. You can place it beside your children as they do their homework. You can even put it in your pocket as a good-luck charm in that important job interview. Yes, my flock, this fuzzy foot, despite being severed from its onetime monkey owner, still possesses great power. Bring that power into your home today. For inquiries, e-mail ayatollahmugsy@gmail.com. And remember, only 52 spots are available, so don't delay.
I met today with Sherlock Bones, who has been furiously sniffing out clues. While looking through my parents' bank statements, he found a mysterious ATM transaction in White Settlement. To those unfamiliar with North Texas, that is the actual name of a town near Fort Worth. As far as I know, my parents would have no reason to go anywhere near White Settlement. This is most vexing, my flock. Most vexing, indeed. Even more disconcerting, Sherlock Bones tracked down my mother's cell phone records and found a series of mysterious calls. We are working now to identify the recipients of these calls and will return with any information we find so that the congregation can analyze the data. Pray for Sherlock Bones' success ...
I can't quite put my paw on it, but something strange is afoot at the ayatollah compound. My parents seem to be up to some sort of shenanigans, and I suspect that we are in for a major change. Yet they have been mysteriously tight-lipped. Are they preparing a surprise feast for me? Will they be quitting their jobs and moving me to an Italian villa better befitting my status as the world's foremost canine religious authority? Or perhaps their motives are more sinister -- could they be plotting against the ministry? I don't want to jump to conclusions, but their behavior is beginning to worry me. Secrets are meant to be the ayatollah's domain only. So I have called in a private investigator to get to the bottom of this. Godspeed, Sherlock Bones.
