Give the pug its due

The most tragically underused mascot in all of athletics has got to be "Pugs," and this has long vexed me. Pugs are noble creatures who will bring honor to any team they represent. Pugs are fearsome when provoked, capable of literally running circles around their competition. Pugs are a handsome breed, and the pug visage would certainly look sharp on any uniform. Yet no major American sports team has chosen this proud mascot. Instead, we have the NFL's Cleveland franchise, named after the color brown. We have the NBA's Indiana Pacers, named for one of the auto industry's less-than-shining moments. We have not one but two Major League Baseball teams named after smelly footwear. Pugs are equally absent from the college ranks. Not a single Division I-A team calls itself the Pugs, yet countless schools would benefit from making the switch. How many Wildcats and Tigers do we really need?

The only team I have found that carries the proud Pug moniker is from a small high school in Oklahoma. But look at the symbol of the Paoli Pugs above -- that is not even a pug! It is clearly a bulldog. So I am launching a petition drive today to right this wrong. It is time for Indiana's NBA franchise to stop paying homage to the most underwhelming design of the American Motor Co. I propose that the next time Ron Artest brawls with a fan, he does so as a member of the Indianapolis Rampaging Pugs. Your comment below will serve as your signature. Through this grass-roots effort, we will properly recognize the pug breed's many contributions to mankind.

The war on Christmas?

There has been much ado in recent weeks about the "war on Christmas." Bill O’Reilly, the Rev. Jerry Falwell and others have done their best to persuade us that this nefarious plot threatens the American way of life, that ACLU storm troopers will descend upon anyone who dares to utter the phrase "Merry Christmas." As a leading religious scholar, I feel that it is my duty to tell you the truth: It is all hogwash.

If a store chooses to wish you "Happy Holidays" or "Season’s Greetings," how can you possibly interpret it as an attack on Christmas? There are several perfectly legitimate reasons why a store might choose to use these generic holiday greetings. For one, not everyone celebrates Christmas. Why would a retailer want to risk offending its Hindu or atheist or canine Muslim customers? I am not suggesting that retailers should avoid saying "Merry Christmas" – in fact, a cashier at Wal-Mart wished me a Merry Christmas on Sunday, and I returned the greeting. But "Happy Holidays" is an inclusive greeting, and it is perfectly understandable if businesses prefer to use it. Another reason stores may prefer "Happy Holidays" is that this is truly a season of holidays -- plural. It begins around Thanksgiving, runs through Hanukkah and Christmas and Kwanzaa and Festivus, and concludes with New Year’s. And the bowl games. One of the rallying cries of this "Save Christmas" movement is that "It’s OK to say Merry Christmas." I think we can all decide for ourselves what we would like to say, thank you very much. To presume to put words into the mouths of others is arrogance, pure and simple. And as regular readers of this blog know, arrogance is not tolerated here.

I read on another fine blog the story of a shopper who was so offended when a Lowe’s employee wished her "Happy Holidays" that she lectured the store manager on the true meaning of Christmas and returned all of her merchandise. Even President Bush has been assailed because his holiday greeting cards do not explicitly mention Christmas (though they do contain a verse from the Old Testament book of Psalms). "I threw out my White House card as soon as I got it," Joseph Farah, editor of the conservative Web site WorldNetDaily.com, told the Washington Post.

What would Jesus do? Throw a temper tantrum because people were trying to be respectful of one another? I think not. Wasn't it just a few years ago that the big complaint was that Christmas was too commercialized? And now these busy-bodies want to marry Christmas and commerce? Methinks somebody is just out to stir up trouble.

If Falwell, O'Reilly and the other organizers of this nonsense were really interested in doing something positive (rather than fomenting conflict and lining their wallets), they could urge their fans and followers to tackle any number of real problems. Feed a hungry child. Help a poor family stay warm this winter. Adopt a dog from a shelter. Tithe 10 percent of your earnings to Pug Life Ministries. (It's really quite easy, you know. There is a PayPal button to your right. Or I can help you arrange an automatic deduction from your paycheck. That way, you won't even notice the money is gone. And through the power of compound interest, it will grow and grow in the Pug Life coffers. Did you know that Albert Einstein once called compound interest the greatest mathematical discovery of all time?)

I fear that I have already devoted far too much space to this silly manufactured controversy, this feeble attempt to embrace victimhood. But if anyone would care to take issue with my teachings or boycott Pug Life, I would welcome your comments. And if you'd care to protest, well, you bring the picketers and I'll supply the blank signs and markers. Merry Christmas, all.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Winter has finally arrived in North Texas -- with a vengeance. The temperature has fallen below 20 degrees, and it has been sleeting on and off since Wednesday afternoon. It is times like these when I envy you humans and your indoor restrooms. I had important Pug Life business to attend to in downtown Dallas yesterday, and I did not begin my drive home until after 11 p.m. At this point, the roads were a slippery mess. I believe it would be safe to call the journey back to my suburban compound a white-knuckle ride, though I cannot be certain of this. My fur prevents me from discerning the true color of my knuckle skin at any given time. In any event, it took about twice as long as usual to make the trip, because I didn't exceed 40 mph on the highway.

Upon my return to the ayatollah estate, I heard a strange clicking noise coming from the back yard. I crept around the side of the house for a closer look, and what did I see? A team of inspectors from the International Atomic Energy Agency, scanning the frozen ground with a Geiger counter. Curse that Mohamed ElBaradei! But it was I who would have the last laugh -- thank Allah for my in-ground sprinkler system.

Jockeying for the next Nobel prize

A human researcher has discovered that dogs laugh when playing together. Of course, this comes as no surprise to me. What's next? Will humans discover that we canines like to sniff each other's behinds? The researcher also found that when a recording of canine laughter was played in a kennel full of barking dogs, it caused the dogs to go silent within a minute and then seem completely at peace. This makes sense. It is the equivalent of letting human prison inmates watch Chappelle's Show on their cable TV.

In another breakthrough, humans have developed a cell phone for dogs. I'll pass; the last thing I need is another way for telemarketers to reach me.

Mugosaurus update

Thanks to Friends of McDougal, the great question has been answered. As this mysterious, faceless character said: "That is clearly a salamander." Specifically, I believe, it is the barred tiger salamander, the official state amphibian of Kansas. Friends of McDougal, I thank you for your service to the ministry. If you would like to receive an autographed photo of me as a token of my gratitude, simply send an e-mail to ayatollahmugsy@gmail.com with your contact information.

Mugsy issues fatwa

It is time to right one of the great wrongs of modern society. For the betterment of all man- and pugkind, I must issue a fatwa! I hereby declare that it is impermissible for anyone to take a baby with a propensity for crying to a theater for a grown-up movie. Last night, I went to see Pride and Prejudice, and the movie was repeatedly interrupted by a crying baby in the front. (I know what you must be thinking: Mugsy must have really liked that little beagle he met at the dog park to let her drag him to such a chick flick. But the movie was all right.) Pug Life faithful, there is no chance that a baby will enjoy such a movie. Leave the child with a babysitter, or stay home and rent a DVD. Do not subject the rest of us to the dangers of this ticking baby timebomb. A few weeks ago, I witnessed a similar transgression. While engrossed in the R-rated Marine movie Jarhead (no, I am not making this up), I was repeatedly distracted by a baby's wailing. Clearly, the parent of the year was at the AMC Stonebriar 24.

Those impudent enough to defy this fatwa shall face consequences most severe. Violators are to have their heads dunked repeatedly in a vat of the semi-viscous liquid that serves as movie-popcorn butter. The dunkings shall stop only after the offender's head has turned bloated and jaundiced. At this point, the offender shall be placed in the stocks in a public square, and I personally shall lick all of the movie-popcorn butter from his or her pores. And make no mistake; this will be a harsh licking. God willing, I will see my next movie in peace.

Let the pug take you away

Throughout recorded history, few phrases have evoked more groans than, "Let me show you my vacation photos." Nonetheless, I have created a blog of travel photos. It's something that I've been wanting to do for a while, because I've enjoyed looking at similar Web sites as I plot future vacations and military conquests. I've been on two vacations this year -- one to Las Vegas and one to Europe. I didn't bother posting any photos from Las Vegas, because it was more of a working vacation. Rather than sight-seeing, I spent most of my time prudently investing mosque funds at various casinos. But I saw many a sight in London and Paris, and through it all, I had my camera in my paws.

If you're interested in visiting The Ayatollah's Travels, you can click here. There's also a link in the right-hand rail. You can enlarge the photos on the travel blog by clicking on them.

What is it?

Does anyone know what this lizard/amphibian/dinosaur is? I spotted it in my grandparents' driveway in Oklahoma City a few days ago. I tried to minister to the roughly 8-inch-long creature, but it adopted a rather menacing pose when I approached it, its tail arching upward. Needless to say, my hackles shot skyward. It didn't look like the typical Oklahoma City wildlife, so I surmised that perhaps it was an escaped or abandoned pet. Surely one of the amateur herpetologists of the congregation can identify this monster.

My life: A vision of vengeance

Previous installments of this autobiographical series are available in the right-hand rail, under the heading "Mugsy's Biography."

Chapter X
The trap had been set hours earlier. I had my girlfriend at the time, pop singer Mariah Carey, call Galvez. "I'll be lonely when they send my pug-man away to prison," she told him. "You wanna get together tonight?" Galvez was always interested in taking what was mine, and he'd had his eye on Mariah for months. It was an offer he couldn't refuse. Mariah's cell phone rang while they were at dinner, and she told Galvez that it was her uncle. He had asked her to pick something up at his auto salvage yard nearby. "It'll only take five minutes," she told Galvez playfully.

And now they were here. The black Mercedes slowly crept up to the salvage yard's main office. Mariah jumped out of the convertible and skipped toward the door. "I'll be back in a sec, baby," she said, looking over her shoulder as she spoke. Then she disappeared into the office. I sprang into action, using the salvage yard's crane to position a massive container over Galvez's car. He looked up, startled. But it was too late for Galvez. I pulled back on a cable, causing the contents of the container to spill out. Hundreds of gallons rained down on Galvez, filling his car and pooling on the ground around it. Then I manipulated the crane's controls some more, causing my second ghastly ingredient to fall down on Galvez.

After descending from the crane, I strode toward my old nemesis. He was coughing violently. Feathers flew forth from his mouth as he struggled for breath. Finally, he cleared his throat, but he remained dazed. The warm tar coated his entire body. The feathers clung to him. Vengeance was sweet! But I wasn't finished yet. "Mugsy? Is that you?" he said, straining to turn his head. "I'm sorry, man. I never meant to betray you." I put on thick gloves and boots as I walked up behind him, not wanting to get any tar on my fur. I clamped my paws around his neck, ready to deliver the coup de grace. "Mugsy, please ..." he whimpered. But I wasn't in the mood for mercy. A loud "SNAP!" echoed throughout the salvage yard, letting all within earshot know that pug justice had just been delivered -- with extreme prejudice.

Then my cell phone rang. It was Johnnie Cochran, delivering urgent news about my trial. After hanging up, I walked around to the front of the Mercedes to admire my handiwork. There was Galvez, tarred and feathered, straining to see over the cone that I had snapped around his neck moments earlier. "Galvez," I said gruffly, "now you know what happens when you mess with the pug."

After giving Mariah the all-clear to leave the office, we were on our way to the courthouse. We had 20 minutes to get there. The verdict was in.

To be continued

When the acting roles dry up

Dick Van Patten eats dog food. I believe that nothing more needs to be said.

My life: Interlude for revenge

Previous installments of this autobiographical series are available in the right-hand rail, under the heading "Mugsy's Biography."

Chapter IX
As I waited at the run-down auto salvage yard, I thought back to the events that had led me there. Earlier that evening, I had been nervously pacing in my living room. The jury was deliberating my fate, and my defense team, friends and relatives were all nearby. As I paced, one thought kept gnawing at me. If I were to get a life sentence in the pound – a distinct possibility given the serious panty-larceny charges against me – I would have one great regret: I had never avenged my betrayal at the hands of Juan Carlos Galvez. His treachery a year earlier had left my knee shattered, my head imprisoned for weeks in that damn cone. As I left the house that evening, my attorney Johnnie Cochran ran after me. "It’s too risky, Mugsy!" he cried. "You can’t do this!" "Sorry, Johnnie," I replied. "It’s payback time."

I was soon at a farm in Wylie, the town of my birth, where I met with an old family friend. I handed him a wad of cash, and he handed me the keys to a pickup truck. The attached trailer was filled to the brim with wooden crates. My second stop was an industrial park in East Dallas. The sky was pitch black as a crew of nervous workers loaded my pickup with the second ingredient in my vengeful brew. Their boss, a shady character with darting eyes, opened the briefcase and began to count the unmarked bills inside. "Five-hundred, six-hundred …" he muttered as he examined each bill under the blue glow of a bug zapper. "All right, Mugs, it’s all here," he said. "You sure you wanna do this?" I simply nodded.

That brought me to this grimy auto yard in Oak Cliff. The trap was set; now I could only wait for my prey. It wouldn't be long. The rumble of the gate inching open roused me from my reflection. A black Mercedes convertible entered the salvage yard. It was time for Galvez to meet his gruesome fate.

To be continued

News we can use

Fox News claims to offer "fair and balanced" coverage. But do you ever hear about the burgeoning fundamentalist Islamic canine movement on Fox? Does Fox News report on the plight of disenfranchised dogs? No. There is no balance. And make no mistake; Fox is not alone. You will not hear CNN reporting on the many charitable activities of Pug Life Ministries. Nor will you see a story on MSNBC or ABC News about a charismatic pug ayatollah's mystical healing abilities. The New York Times has never called to request an interview with me, and even the local media outlets have ignored the meteoric rise of pug nationalism. Clearly, these news organizations are not serving the interests of their customers. They are instead letting their anti-dog biases shine through. "If we ignore this growing canine movement," they reason, "it will fizzle out." But let me tell you, my faithful flock, Pug Life is like a snowball roaring down a mountain. We are gaining followers with each passing day. And we must turn to media outlets that recognize this sea change in the American way of life. So I would like to direct you to the news page on ObeyThePureBreed.com. Scroll down a bit, and you'll see what I'm talking about. This news truly is fair and balanced.

7 things

Pug Life follower Leslee at Fresh-Cut Flowers has tagged me to do this. As pyramid schemes go, it seemed harmless enough, so I'll play along.

Seven things I want to do before I die:

• Gain enormous wealth
• Use it to build the Dogloo compound
• See the world
• Write a book
• Establish an autonomous pug homeland under my authoritarian rule
• Erect giant monuments to myself in every city of the pug empire
• Retire to my harem

Seven things I cannot do:

• Vote
• Dunk a basketball
• Turn a door knob
• Understand advanced calculus
• Understand cats
• Bench press (my legs don't bend that way)
• Resist the temptation of rawhide

Seven things that attract me to the ladies of my harem:

• Their silky-smooth fur
• Their sexy barks
• Those puppy dog eyes
• Their compassion
• The aroma of their hindquarters
• Their cooking ability
• Their undying devotion to me

Seven things I say most often:

• God willing
• Peace be upon you
• Rawhide
• Milkbone
• Donate
• Harem
• Ruff

Seven books or authors I love:

• The Quran
• Mark Twain
• The Satanic Verses (favorite for burning)
• Mario Puzo
• Bootlegger's Boy by Barry Switzer
• Our Dumb Century by The Onion
• George Orwell

Seven movies I watch over and over again:

• The Adventures of Milo and Otis
• Airplane!
• Training Day
• Ocean's Eleven
• Full Metal Jacket
• Spies Like Us
• That movie with Jay Leno and Mr. Miyagi

Seven people or dogs I want to join in, too:

• The first seven who read this and haven't already made a list

What I am thankful for

On this Thanksgiving Day, I would like to share with you some of the blessings for which I am most thankful:

• I am thankful for the 60 seconds a day -- 30 in the morning and 30 in the evening -- when I can savor my daily meals. I enjoy the texture of each individual piece of Eukanuba, the sublime sensations of flavor escaping every last morsel.
• I am thankful for the readers of this blog who take the time to share their comments. And I am also thankful for those who stop by to soak up the pug knowledge but never let their presence be known. Perhaps at some point, Allah will move them to join in the discussion.
• I am thankful that Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson have split up, opening the doggy door for the first human female to join my harem. Resistance is futile, Jessie.
• I am thankful for those delectable yet dangerous turkeys. Americans are expected to eat 525 million pounds of turkey on this holiday. And yet I worry about the threat of avian flu. By eating all this turkey, are the humans exposing themselves to the virus? My offer still stands: You may send me your poultry. God willing, I will single-pawedly eliminate this menace.
• And finally, I am thankful that the enemies of Pug Life Ministries are being systematically vanquished. These threats to the pug way of life must fall in line or face the consequences, like Blue Bull. Remember: If you're not with us, you're against us. Take that to heart, Mohamed ElBaradei. I would hate to have to leave you hanging from a banana hook.

May you all have a safe and happy Thanksgiving.

You say you want a revolution?

I was lying on the floor near our window overlooking the creek, soaking up the sun. It was a rare moment of calm in the busy life of an international canine religious icon. I stretched out slowly, my legs shaking with satisfaction as I let out a big yawn. My gaze turned to the yard outside. I felt such contentment that I didn't even bother to bark at the passing ducks. As my eyelids grew heavy and I laid my head back on the soft rug once again, I heard something from the other room.

"Mugsy!" my mother exclaimed. "It's time for revolution!" I sprang to my feet and ran a quick circle before bounding toward the living room, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Yes!" I thought. "Today is the day for revolution! We shall overthrow this human-dominated government. We shall install pugs and terriers and bulldogs in positions of power. We shall make the humans wear leashes for a change." I rounded the corner, running in place for a moment as my paws sought traction on the tile floor. "Yes, Mother," I barked, "it is time for revolution! Summon my followers. We shall convene at the mosque in 15 minutes." But then she grabbed me by the collar and held a small bottle between my shoulder blades. "There you go, Mugsy," she said." There's your Revolution. Now you won't have any fleas."

I was left with nothing but a tuft of spiky fur on my back. Why must I fall for this ruse every single month?

Sam: 1990-2005

Sam, the champion of ugliest dog contests who was featured on this blog in July, has died. The Chinese crested became an international celebrity after winning the ugliest animal contest at the 2003 Sonoma-Marin Fair in California -- a victory he twice repeated. Our prayers are with Sam's caretaker and his siblings. As they undoubtedly know, there is more to a beloved dog than a pretty face.

Just in time for the holidays

Pug Row Records has released a digitally remastered deluxe edition of my landmark gangsta rap classic Tha Doggfather. In addition to its astounding nine No. 1 hits, this deluxe edition includes three previously unreleased bonus tracks: Mo' Rawhide, Mo' Problems; Lick the Police; and Get Panties or Die Tryin'. This album would make an excellent stocking stuffer for your significant other or your young children. As you may know, I got out of the rap game while incarcerated in the pound. After trading in the violence and misogyny of gangsta rap for the peace and gender equality of Islam, I vowed never to take my hip-hop bark to the stage again. But I have consented to this re-release because it is for a good cause. One dollar from every album sale will go toward Sister Bella's Children's Charities. The charity, in the Catholic wing of Pug Life Ministries, is in dire need of Milkbones and Snausages to feed the puppies and human children of the congregation during the holiday season. Tha Doggfather is available at record stores everywhere.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

As you may have noticed, this blog has undergone some changes over the last week. I pray that they don't turn any of you off, for it is the Pug Life faithful whom I am blogging for. First, I turned on word verification. I hated to make it more difficult for you to comment, and I hope it won't deter anyone from posting. I greatly enjoy reading what you have to say. But I felt that the spam was getting out of hand, and it was too much of a hassle to delete it all. However, even though the spammers had been warned, I began to feel a twinge of guilt. One of the biggest offenders no longer has this site as a forum to advertise his services. "What if I am taking rawhide off of this man's table?" I thought to myself. "What if he will now have to live under a bridge? What if he will have to sell his children?" These thoughts began to gnaw at me. And so I would like to offer him one last advertisement, for the sake of my conscience and his children:

Are you looking for Dallas/Allen/Frisco/Plano carpet cleaning? Are you willing to let a quasi-illiterate spammer who writes in gibberish sentences into your home? Do you want to "compleatly elimate" pet odor? Do you want to be able to meet all of your home cleaning and online gambling needs on the same Web site? Then visit Sterling Carpet Cleaning on the Web, or call 214-348-3438. Check out the "competors," then call Sterling Myers.

There. I feel better now. The second change involves some attempts to generate revenue in hopes of building the Dogloo compound more quickly. I'm not entirely pleased with the results so far, so I will continue to tinker with it. My hope is that the new ads and Google toolbar will not be too obtrusive and that some of you will find them useful.

Larger than life

I delivered my first sermon behind the white sheet, and I must say, this is something I could get used to. By moving some audio-visual equipment and a crate of rawhide backstage, we were able to boost my silhouette projection to 45 feet high. However, I missed being able to look out and see the sense of awe on the faces of the faithful. An ideal balance will be struck when Pug Life Ministries makes the move to the Dogloo Mosque. Then, I will have unobstructed sight-lines to all 65,000 in attendance, and they will be able to watch me on a pair of 90-foot-high Jumbotrons. I salivate just thinking about it. With your financial help, God willing, we will make the Dogloo dream a reality. Remember the words of the Quran: "And whatsoever you spend in Allah's cause, He will replace it."

Heel, then heal

A new study has proven that canines are imbued by Allah with mystical healing powers. At last, the humans have discovered what I have known all along. The findings indicate that humans with severe heart disease showed marked improvement after the mere presence of a dog in their hospital room. Their anxiety levels decreased 24 percent. Given this indisputable evidence of the healing power of dogs, a question naturally arises: When will you humans end this chauvinistic, self-defeating process of denying canines admission to medical school? Honestly now, who would you rather have holding the scalpel as you're wheeled in for emergency surgery: a well-trained pug or that goofball Patch Adams?

I recommend this article to those interested in learning more about canine healing.

My life: Trial of the century

Previous installments of this autobiographical series are available in the right-hand rail, under the heading "Mugsy's Biography."

Chapter VIII
After being booked and having my mug shot taken, I was locked in a cage. With my one phone call, I had commanded my agent to put together a legal dream team the likes of which this country had never seen. Having been caught red-pawed, I knew I would need it. Within an hour, they began to arrive from around the country: F. Lee Bailey, Harriet Miers, Alan Dershowitz, Jackie Chiles, Robert Shapiro and Johnnie Cochran. If these legal masterminds couldn't help me, no one could. Johnnie Cochran took the lead, going over every last detail of the Great Panty Raid with me. He spent countless hours running through different courtroom scenarios, preparing to poke holes in the prosecution's case. Johnnie interviewed witnesses and took a team of forensics experts to the Hyatt Regency Dallas, the scene of my arrest. After months of preparation, the trial began.

To say it was a media circus would be an understatement. Reporters and camera crews from around the world converged on the Old Red Courthouse, the landmark building where my trial took place. Johnnie's strategy was to use what he called the cross-dressing defense. I remember well the day that he famously told the jury, "If the panties don't fit, you must acquit." Then he had me try to squeeze into some of the tinier pieces of evidence. I, of course, made a show of my curly tail getting hung up on the waistbands. But the prosecutor, no legal slouch himself, argued that I was stealing the panties to chew, not to wear. He brought in a slew of witnesses -- roadies, club promoters, fellow rappers -- to document my panty habit.

The prosecution had made a compelling case, showing that DNA evidence connected me to fur and saliva found at the hotel. The city of Dallas -- clearly embarrassed by the Mary Kay scandal -- was pulling out all the stops, eager for a conviction. After shooting down my suggestion to bribe the jurors, Johnnie said that our only chance was for me to take the witness stand. With the star-struck jury hanging on my every word, I did as Johnnie had instructed: I let my innate charisma shine through. I stayed cool under the prosecutor's relentless questioning, offering an explanation for every piece of evidence, a well-thought-out answer for every question. But would it be enough? The defense rested. My fate was in the hands of the 12 human jurors.

To be continued

No hiding

I went today to be fitted for a prosthetic wrinkle. I felt that my newly Botoxed face might frighten worshippers at this weekend's services, so I was looking for a way to disguise the temporary damage. But as I browsed the selection of ready-made wrinkle masks, I realized that this would be yet another act of vanity. So I left the prosthetics store, empty-pawed. I will wear this look of toxin-induced surprise as a reminder of my moment of weakness. And to avoid scaring the Pug Life congregation, I will simply preach behind a large white sheet, with my silhouette projected 40 feet high.

Oh, the vanity

Today's lesson, dear Pug Life faithful, is about vanity. And I am ashamed to say that the subject of this sermon is none other than your faithful leader. Foolishly, I put my personal vanity before my obedience to God. I disregarded the wise words of the Prophet, peace be upon him, who said, "Verily, God instructs me to be humble and lowly and not proud." You see, in a moment of weakness, I used Botox. I began to feel self-conscious about my appearance several weeks ago, when I received a less-than-impressive rating on a hot-or-not Web site. My self-image deteriorated further when I failed to receive even a third-place ribbon at Pug-O-Ween, despite an obviously superior costume. Add to those two events the fact that my beard is showing a little more gray lately, and perhaps you can understand why I would undertake this rather drastic cosmetic procedure. I sought the fountain of youth in a bottle of botulinum toxin, and let me tell you, friends, Allah has made it clear to me that my act of vanity was a mistake. I now see that a pug has wrinkles for a reason. Without them, I carry a look of perpetual surprise and astonishment on my face.

I traveled to the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth on Sunday to view an exhibition of works by the acclaimed photographer Richard Avedon. His "In the American West" features photos of oilfield workers, miners, drifters, carnies and other decidedly unglamorous humans. Their piercing eyes and haunting stares held the rapt attention of all in attendance -- until I entered the room. My taut brow instantly drew stares. My large eyes, usually minimized somewhat by the folds of loose skin surrounding them, stood out like saucers. As I rounded a corner into the exhibit, a young girl actually screamed in terror. This was my punishment. For the next three to six months, I will pay my penance. Every time I venture out in public. Every time I look in a mirror. Fortunately, this toxin that was injected into my head will wear off, and my rugged yet handsome features will be restored. I just thank Allah I didn't opt for the laser hair removal.

A dream come true?

Forget about the recall; does anybody know where I can get some of these?

WASHINGTON, Nov 1 (Reuters) - Quaker Maid Meats Inc. on Tuesday said it would voluntarily recall 94,400 pounds of frozen ground beef panties that may be contaminated with E. coli.

The full story is here.

Thanks a mill, Rick

Please write your Congresshumans and ask them to support Pennsylvania Sen. Rick Santorum's effort to crack down on high-volume puppy mills. If pugs controlled the Senate, these overcrowded, filthy breeding centers would have been shut down years ago.

The boycott is working

Shares of Comcast (CMCSA) hit a new 52-week low on Tuesday, proof that our boycott is working. The share price tumbled after the company's earnings report last week, falling over 5 percent in a day. The pug-induced death spiral will surely continue until this overcharging criminal syndicate has either repented or is out of business. Among the information the company reported (and we should remember that Comcast is prone to lying, so its situation could be far worse):

• Free cash flow is down 35 percent in 2005.
• Expected capital spending will rise 20 percent, in an apparent effort to combat the effects of the pug boycott.
• The company lost a whopping 46,000 customers during the quarter. Analysts had expected a small increase in the customer base; these analysts were obviously not aware of the Pug Life boycott.

Time is running out for Comcast and its corrupt leadership. If you own any shares, I urge you to sell them before it is too late. Don't be fooled by any hiccups on the path to Enrondom.

INCOMPETENCE UPDATE: I officially switched my phone service to SBC on Oct. 25. Two days ago, I received a bill from Comcast for the period of Nov. 1 to Nov. 30. And not only was Comcast attempting to charge a noncustomer; the corporate buffoon also overcharged, yet again. The correct monthly bill, were I still a customer, would have been $22.54. This latest bill was for $37.09. A month ago, I spent over an hour on the phone with a Comcast employee, going over every bill I had received since April. She assured me that the company had made repeated mistakes, that I owed no money, and that the problem would be taken care of. It was yet another Comcastic lie.

Full house

What an exciting weekend it's been. Civil unrest has gripped France, and a cruise ship was attacked by real-life pirates. But at the ayatollah household, most of the excitement stemmed from another phenomenon: houseguests. Several humans stayed over, using up my hot water and mooching my Milkbones, as usual. But this time, they brought a dog. Ditto, a Boston Terrier, came to me Saturday with wide-eyed excitement. "Ayatollah Mugsy," he said, "I have come to learn from you. Please show me the path to righteousness." After sniffing young Ditto intensely to gauge his sincerity, I said to him: "I will teach you, my son. What better time to learn about Islam than during Eid ul-Fitr?" For the next 32 hours, we studied. Ditto had a voracious appetite for knowledge. And for Snausages. And so we had much in common. Ditto, my friend, you're welcome to come back anytime.

I'd like to wish Bobby and Gracie a lasting, happy marriage. Some would say that the odds are against them, having married so young. But I think these two crazy kids just may pull it off, God willing.

An open letter to Mohamed ElBaradei

Mohamed ElBaradei
Director General
International Atomic Energy Agency
P.O. Box 100
Wagramer Strasse 5, A-1400
Vienna, Austria

Mr. ElBaradei,

When I accepted your recent invitation for lunch, I assumed that it would be a cordial meeting. I thought that you would want to tell me privately what you have refused to say publicly -- that the Nobel committee had made a huge mistake in selecting you and your inept inspectors over me for this year's peace prize. So imagine my surprise when you made no mention of your undeserved award and instead insisted that I reveal to you classified pug information.

As you know, it is a long-standing pug policy to neither confirm nor deny the existence of a nuclear program. This policy of strategic ambiguity has served us well over the years, and I do not intend to change it. Furthermore, you demanded that I open up pug facilities to inspectors from the International Atomic Energy Agency. Against my better judgment, I had already allowed your inspectors to tour the foyer, dog run and restrooms of my headquarters. But now you ask me to grant your inspectors full access to sensitive areas including my blogging station, my inner sanctum, my harem and my hall of centrifuges. Rest assured, Mr. ElBaradei, this will never happen. It is my sacred duty to defend pug sovereignty, and defend it I will.

I suggest you put an immediate halt to your futile demands and cease making empty threats about U.N. sanctions. Your actions are the height of arrogance and an affront to the pug nation, and we will tolerate no more.

Sincerely,

Mugsy

Supreme Ayatollah

Pug Life Ministries

Send me your poultry

The news media have been abuzz with talk of a potential avian flu pandemic. Although the much-feared influenza strain has not proven capable of easy human-to-human transmission, scientists fear that it will mutate and wreak havoc on a population with no built-up immunity. The scientists will say that you have nothing to fear from eating poultry, provided it is well-cooked. But is that a chance you really want to take? Do you really want to play chicken with such a frightening virus? As a compassionate religious leader, I feel it is my duty to do whatever I can to protect my loyal human followers. And so I offer you the opportunity to send me your poultry. Whether it be chicken, turkey or quail, I will eat it, thereby removing any threat to the human population. The H5N1 virus is not believed to be a threat to the canine population, so I can safely dispose of this tainted meat. It is the least I can do.

One last hurrah

In recent weeks, I have increasingly found myself chewing on paper -- primarily magazines, newspapers and book jackets. Perhaps some of you readers in the medical field could tell me: Is it possible that this is a symptom of a pulp deficiency in my diet? Speaking of diet, I helped many of my neighborhood's youths avoid starvation last night by plying them with candy. The children also had the opportunity to see me in my Batpug garb, as I got into the Halloween spirit by donning the costume one last time. My ministry now plans to retire the legendary jersey and hang it from the rafters of the Dogloo Mosque. This seems like a good time to remind the Pug Life faithful that donations are accepted via the PayPal icon at the right side of the page. Masterpieces of pug/Inuit architecture don't build themselves, you know.