Mugsy survives earthquake; legend grows

Greetings, my flock. I am coming to you from not-so-sunny San Francisco, where I have been visiting the last several days. I had hoped to detail my travel plans and leave you with a terrifying Halloween tale before I left, but time would not allow it. I was hurried and harried right up until my plane lifted off; such is the life of the world's foremost canine religious authority. But I have happened upon an Internet cafe and have a few more minutes on the ministry credit card, so please allow me to tell you a bit about my trip so far.

I will begin with my most recent adventure: the Great Quake of '07. It hit an hour or so ago as I was meditating in my sixth-floor hotel room. The local TV newshumans say it was a 5.6 on the Richter scale, a moderate but attention-grabbing quake. Was I scared when the walls began to shake -- and shake some more for a good 10 seconds? No, my flock. The ayatollah knows no fear. And any small stains on the hotel carpeting are purely coincidental. Thankfully, there are no reports of injuries or serious damage from the quake.

But the trip has featured more than just Allah's rumbling wrath. Yesterday, I sailed to Alcatraz and took a fascinating tour. I learned many techniques that will surely benefit the fledgling nation of Pugistan as we launch our revolution and detain the inevitable dissenters and assorted troublemakers. I learned about some of the island prison's many escape attempts, and I was reminded of my own escape from the pound, where I found Allah lo those many moons ago. My published autobiography has not yet reached that point, but I assure you, it was a harrowing and ingenious escape.

Of all the sights I have seen, the most awe-inspiring might surprise you. It is not the Golden Gate Bridge, or the mighty, churning Pacific Ocean. No, it was Pier 39 at Fisherman's Wharf. There, I stumbled upon a sea of sea lions, all barking in a dialect not far removed from my own native canine language. They swam and they slid, they played and they pushed. And much like a pug, they relaxed in the sun. Before the day was over, I had won them all over to the Pug Life way. Like me, they now bark in the word of Allah. And they stand ready to join us as we embark on our revolutionary path. My time is nearly up, my flock. Let us pray that there were no typos. Allahu Akbar!

Revelation stuns blog world

DALLAS (AP) -- Blog readers around the world were shocked Thursday to learn that the Sorcerer of Prague, who played a key role earlier this year in Ayatollah Mugsy's smiting of Blue Bull, is a gay puppet.

Many said they were poring over old blog posts in search of clues they might have missed in earlier readings.

The revelation came as the enigmatic ayatollah was reading from the Quran to a group of Ayatollah Mugsy Scouts. Responding to a question from the audience, Mugsy reportedly replied, "Though it may surprise you to learn this, the wizard is not as he appears. His piercing stare and stern countenance may have you believe otherwise, but he is, in fact, quite gay."

In the beginning ...

Some congregants have clamored for more photos of my brother, so here he is on the first day my mother went to visit him. (Wendell's the hungry one.)

Of power cords and fatwas

Thanks to some cajoling, some jiggling and some praying, my computer is now working. It is receiving just enough electricity through its shoddily made power cord to function. The fraying cord itself is not that old, having replaced another similarly balky piece of equipment in February.

My flock, there is nothing more tragic than a power cord dying young. Nothing, that is, except its replacement being available only via mail order and only at the exorbitant cost of $80. Had Dell stock not contributed to the Capitalist Pug portfolio over the years, I would surely be issuing an angry fatwa at this moment.

Speaking of fatwas, you may have noticed that my little brother, Wendell, recently took it upon himself to issue a demand for rawhide on this blog. Perhaps I should have seen this coming. Whatever I do, it seems, young Wendell is right behind. When I patrol the fence line to sniff out any infidels or ne'er-do-well bunnies, Wendell patrols right along with me. When I go to get a drink of water, Wendell quenches his thirst as well. He would essentially be my one-sixth-size shadow -- if shadows occasionally bit tails. Thank Allah they do not.

So it comes as no surprise that Wendell studied my movements on the computer, stole my password and issued a fatwa of his own. As a pug who has not graduated from puppy class at PetSmart, let alone a high-level madrassa, Wendell is not yet qualified to issue such religious edicts. However, given the important nature of his fatwa, I am willing to let this one stand.

Wendell issues fatwa

SEND ME RAWHIDE NOW!

NOW!!!

Mugsy issues fatwa

For too long, consumers have been senselessly befuddled at checkout lines and bemused at ATMs. We are given an unthinkable task -- told to deny the laws of nature, of physics, of Allah Himself! I am left with no choice but to issue a fatwa!

Henceforth, it is strictly forbidden under canine Islam for machines to demand that we "insert and remove card quickly in one motion." As even infidels and felines know, this is physically impossible.

Mugsy laments crisis of leadership

Something weighs heavy on my mind, my flock. It seems that every day, I find a new example of America's so-called leaders shirking their duties in favor of pointless pursuits. True, this is something of a tradition. But it seems to have reached epidemic proportions in recent weeks.

The latest craze sweeping the nation is a crackdown on sagging pants. City councils across the land are taking steps to enact fines or even jail time for people caught with their pants hanging low. Droopy drawers have become a hot-button issue in Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Maryland and other states. In Dallas, just down the tollway from the ayatollah compound, City Council member Dwaine Caraway vowed to pass an ordinance against sagging pants. "This issue is just as important as crime," he said. Perhaps I am biased on this issue, having been one of the forerunners of the saggy-pants trend in my days as a gangsta rapper, but I believe Mr. Caraway's priorities are severely out of whack. Dallas annually has one of the highest big-city crime rates in America. This means loss of property, loss of peace of mind and, all too often, loss of life. My advice to the City Council: Focus on stopping this years-long crime wave or solving a host of other actual problems facing the city and leave the fashion-police role to those insufferable reality TV shows.

This crisis of leadership is not merely a city or state issue. In Washington, lawmakers have been debating a measure to label the Armenian genocide a genocide. And for what purpose? I am sure a handful of interest groups are pleased, but this does nothing to help the country these lawmakers were elected to lead. On the contrary, Turkey yesterday recalled its ambassador over the flap. Ladies and gentlemen of the U.S. House, America doesn't have many allies left. Do you really want to anger Turkey over something that happened nearly 100 years ago? Modern-day Turkey, the country we are pointlessly antagonizing, did not even exist until 1923, a few years after the killings. While our lawmakers twiddle their allegedly superior opposable thumbs and debate the history of the Ottoman Empire, a modern-day genocide is occurring in Darfur. You tell me which is more important. And let us not forget the old adage about throwing stones in glass Dogloos -- America certainly has its share of skeletons in the closet.

This time-wasting Armenian debate comes just weeks after Congress voted to condemn a paid newspaper ad criticizing Gen. David Petraeus' handling of the war in Iraq. We are mired in a war with no end in sight, and seemingly with nothing to do but choose from a series of unattractive options. But instead, our elected leaders continued to make no decisions at all and instead voted to officially condemn an anti-war group for exercising its rights to free speech. Is it wrong to dream of a country where the leadership would stay above the fray in such petty matters?

Congress could find a solution in Iraq. It could find a way to improve our health-care system -- America spends more on health care than any other nation on the planet, yet our results are middle-of-the-pack at best among industrialized nations. Congress could take action to fight climate change. It could rein in its out-of-control deficit spending. It could take steps to address the plunge of the dollar, which has been sinking steadily for several years now. Believe it or not, the once-mighty dollar is now worth no more than a Canadian dollar. Anyone who visited our neighbors to the north a few years ago knows what a turnaround this is. The last time I was in Toronto, several years ago, I could have actually bought the CN Tower with a week's salary. Now? I would be lucky to be able to afford a hotel room. But does Congress address any of these real concerns that affect people's lives? No.

My flock, I fear that we can only draw one conclusion: America is a nation led by boneheads. And not the tasty, rawhide kind of bones. No, these are the metaphorical, do-nothing kind of bones. This nation needs a change, my flock. We need a new direction. Now, more than ever, we need a canine-led theocracy.

Gored

Another year, another disappointment. What does a pug have to do to win the Nobel Peace Prize?

Sister Bella arrested

QUANTICO, Va. (AP) -- Notorious alleged criminal mastermind Bella the Chihuahua was taken into custody after an early-morning raid in which 18 FBI agents were wounded, authorities said Thursday.

The Chihuahua, wanted in a series of felonies in Mexico, is being held in a maximum-security cell while officials decide whether to extradite her or try her in the U.S. legal system.

"It's tricky," said FBI Senior Agent Mike Grammel. "By all witness accounts, this little dog is guilty in the slaying of rock star Tom Petty. And yet, Mr. Petty is alive and well -- I've spoken to him myself. This is truly a bizarre case."

The dog had been on the run since her Aug. 3 attack on Petty at a charity event near Dallas.

In an e-mailed message, the singer said he owed his life to the enigmatic Ayatollah Mugsy of Pug Life Ministries. "The pug dog resurrected me," he wrote. "No further comment. Praise be to the wrinkly imam."

Put me in, coach

They call me AD, because I can eat All Day.

May the forces of good and righteousness overcome the Great Burnt Orange Satan.

Academic scandal brewing?

I have noticed that Wendell's collar has "Lil' Dog University" written on it.

I am not one to cast aspersions, but after consulting with several national and regional accreditation bodies, I have come to suspect that this is a puppy diploma mill.

Feats of strength

I clenched the rope between my powerful jaws, as I had so many times before. But now, it was different. After vanquishing the hapless, puny humans untold hundreds of times, would this contest finally bring a worthy competitor?

At the other end of the rope, young Wendell took hold. He was inexperienced, to be sure, but eager. Eager to test his mettle, eager to take on this ancient pug rite of passage. He nodded and squeaked to signal his readiness.

With that, I smoothly pulled my head back. Every muscle in my chiseled, sinewy body worked in unison. My legs straightened; my claws gripped the carpet. Wendell attempted to follow suit but instead went airborne and landed mere inches from my face. We exchanged growls, and then I moved away from him, quickly taking up the rope's newfound slack. Again, he lurched forward as I tugged on the rope. This young pug was experiencing a veritable baptism by fire. But one cannot hope to be the best unless one competes against the best. And that would be me, my flock. After pausing for a moment to let the initial shock wear off for young Wendell, I again jerked on the rope. He lost his footing and careened into a nearby chew toy, growling all the way.

I urged him on, combining encouragement with insult for maximum motivational effect. "Dig deep my brother," I implored. "You tug like an unveiled woman!"

After another 20 seconds of swinging my three-and-a-half-pound brother around like a ragdoll, I jumped onto the couch. Surely this would provide the motivation he needed.

"Wendell," I barked, "this is what you have always wanted. The couch -- my tail's lone refuge from your chew-happy teeth. Hang onto the rope, and you shall finally be able to scale this mountain."

But, alas, his jaws were not yet strong enough, and the rope was soon in my sole possession. Wendell's first journey to the couchtop would have to come another day.