Abu Ghraib's shining star

An Army dog handler was sentenced Wednesday to six months behind bars for his role in the Abu Ghraib prison scandal in Iraq. Prosecutors say Sgt. Michael J. Smith used his snarling Belgian shepherd to frighten prisoners. While the liberal media elites and the vast right-wing conspiracy have made much ado about Sgt. Smith's case, little mention has been made of the canine at the center of this scandal. I have just returned from the court-martial of this brave canine, where he was declared innocent on all charges. As his defense attorney, I argued that Killer the Belgian shepherd was just following orders. And with the evidence and Allah on our side, Killer was vindicated. He will now receive an honorable discharge and plans to join the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF).

While Killer's military training will undoubtedly benefit the ARF, he will not be called upon to guard or intimidate any more prisoners. Why? BECAUSE THE ARF TAKES NO PRISONERS! (If we did, you see, we'd have to share our food with them.)

It was asking for it

I just gave my mother's shoe a thorough and well-deserved thrashing. Do you think she would accept 'roid rage as an excuse?

Vet visit

I visited the prestigious Pepper Square Pet Clinic on Monday, where the veterinarian gave me a thorough looking-over. At issue was a reddish spot that has popped up at the side of my face, below my lower lip. The vet suspects that it is a certain type of benign tumor that is common in canines like me who like to go rooting around in the grass. Experts aren't sure what causes it, but they think it might be the result of a bug bite. I was told that it may go away after a few weeks, or it may need to be surgically removed. Naturally, I am hoping for the former. But the important thing for you to remember is that this in no way diminishes my ability to lead this congregation. I am still the same brilliant, energetic pug I have always been. In fact, we must look on the bright side. I am now taking steroids as part of my treatment, and I'm preparing an assault on the baseball record books. Look out, Barry Bonds. I might even make a cameo appearance with Team Pugforce.

Those who serve

It is easy to take our liberties for granted, but we must always remember the brave canines who fight so that we can be free. Brody the Bulldog has posted on his blog a harrowing tale of his exploits as supreme commander of the Armed Revolutionary Forces. I urge you to read this historic account and to support our troops in every way possible. And by every way possible, I of course mean that you should have a yellow-ribbon magnet on the back of your SUV.

Mugsy issues fatwa

Last night, I attended an excellent concert in Grand Prairie. It was a double bill of two of my favorite Islamic rock bands, the Strokes and the Eagles of Death Metal. The Strokes were outstanding, and the Eagles, while not exactly virtuosos (their moonlighting drummer’s guitar playing notwithstanding), were every bit as much fun live as I expected. In their finale, the gospel song "Speak in Tongues," they played musical chairs with three drummers and drum sets. (They used two drummers for most of the set but apparently needed a little extra oomph for the closer.)

As enjoyable as this musical celebration of Islam was, it reminded me of one of my pet peeves (no pun intended). It seems that every time I go to a show, I am surrounded by humans who are more interested in taking blurry photos with their cellphones than in enjoying the music.

This unholy behavior must be stopped, so I feel it is my duty to issue a fatwa! When you go to a concert, you are to watch the show, enjoy the music and put your cellphone camera away. Dancing is optional. I am willing to allow one photo as a memento of the event. But to spend the whole evening holding up your cellphone and trying to take a masterpiece picture is simply going too far. I see the fruits of your annoying efforts on your tiny screens; they’re no better than what you’ll find in the newspaper the next morning. Think about it for a moment: You have one of the biggest Islamic rock bands in the world performing just a few dozen feet away from you, and you’re watching it through a 1-square-inch video screen on your phone. What an utter waste of time, not to mention an annoyance for any pug who may happen to be standing behind you with your phone glowing in his face. Those infidels who dare to violate this fatwa face loss of cellphone privileges.

My life: A fateful meeting

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

Chapter XIII
He rose slowly from his doggy bed, his body creaking like an old staircase as he stretched. His fur was silver, almost translucent. The black in his face had long since faded to the color of a snowfield at dusk. And his facial hair -- a silvery beard that draped over his collar -- was unlike that of any pug I had ever seen. "You must be Mugsy," he said. "Welcome. My name is Hakeem. It is almost time for my prayers; would you care to join me?" He nodded toward an extra prayer mat in the corner. "No thanks," I said. "Religion ain’t my thing. I’m more into gangsta rap and panty raids."

I wasn’t interested in discussing it any further, but Hakeem had a way of making me open up to him. At his urging, I proceeded to tell him about my brief forays into religion. How I’d attended a Catholic church for a while, only to realize that the only thing I was getting out of it was the snack during Communion. I told him about my lone trip to an Episcopal church, where I had been told that animals had no souls. "No souls?" Hakeem said. "That is ludicrous." I went on to detail my short Hindu experiment. "The thought of being reincarnated as a cat was too much to bear," I said. Baptist? Methodist? Not for me. "And I thought the Pentecostal church was OK until they started speaking in tongues," I told him. "That really freaked me out -- worse than the vacuum cleaner."

"Mugsy," he said, slowly and deliberately. "I sense in you something special. I foresee great things for you, young pug. Great things. But you must realize that God has a plan for you. Your immense natural charisma is not enough; you must learn that there is a higher purpose for you than chewing on women’s underwear."

"Sure thing, old-timer," I said, dismissively. "I’ll tell you what; it’s been a long day, so I think I’m gonna take a nap."

And with that, Hakeem nodded and knelt down on his prayer mat.

To be continued

A+ work

I commend the small but studious fraction of you who took the time to do your homework assignments. It was a job well done. Unfortunately, I don't have enough material to fill even the first page of my Nobel Prize campaign brochure. Perhaps it was not meant to be.

Mandatory participation

Good day, class. As you know, I usually use this blog space to deliver lectures on a wide range of topics -- religion, current events, canine suffrage, etc. I am a renaissance pug, after all. But today's lesson will be a little different. Today, I have a homework assignment for you. Yes, you! Stop slouching in your desk trying to hide, averting your eyes so you won't get called on. This assignment is required for everyone.

In this creative writing exercise, you are to post a comment detailing a completely fictional memory of me rescuing you. It can be a physical rescue (from piranhas, for example). Or it can be a spiritual rescue. Or any other kind of rescue you can think of; let your creativity know no bounds. My bravery is limited only by your imagination.

After grading this assignment, I may use the top submissions in a promotional brochure to be sent to the Nobel Prize selection committee.

Spacing out

In an outreach effort for the ministry, I have created a page on MySpace. Recent media reports indicate that MySpace is a good place to reach young people, and I have also found numerous canines there. This Blogspot site will remain the primary repository of my teachings, and I have no plans to produce any original content for MySpace. But if you'd like to add me to your friends list or leave me a comment, the address is www.myspace.com/ayatollahmugsy. There is also a link in the right-hand rail.

Oh, the indignity

My mother pulled that Revolution trick on me again today. I hate that. Why must I fall for it every single month? And then, to add insult to injury, she spent what seemed like an eternity cleaning out my wrinkle. Is that any way to treat a world-renowned religious icon? I'll bet nobody goes digging in Billy Graham's wrinkles.

On guard

Because of the ongoing Austrian crisis, the collective hackles of Pug Life Ministries have been raised to DEFCON 3.

Forget the patch ...

Want to quit smoking? Get a dog. A company in England has employed a canine to help its staff kick the habit. Workers at Relay Recruitment in Bradford have been told to take the heroic cocker spaniel Rupert for a walk instead of having a cigarette break. So while smokers in the office are still less productive, at least they're getting some exercise instead of a lung full of tar. Says company boss Steven Street: "He's an important team member. He also helps lower stress levels, and I can't imagine work without him." Yet another tale of dogs improving the workplace and saving lives. Isn't it time to give canines full voting rights?

While the civilized world is harnessing canine power to combat smoking, the repressive anti-dog regime in Austria is stooping to new lows. Wolfgang Treitler has been feeding his 22-year-old dachshund 10 cigarettes a day for the last 17 years. When I was a puppy growing up in the Dallas ghetto, I used to pick up cigarette butts around my tenement building. And although it was a hilarious sight, my parents had the sense to take them away from me. Poor General Edi, the dachshund, has lived 22 years in spite of his tobacco intake, not because of it. We must consider the possibility that our boycott may not be enough to topple the vile Austrian government. We must leave all options -- including ARF intervention -- on the table. The fate of the canine world depends on our strength.

Public service message

Fellow bloggers, if you have not done so already, I recommend saving a backup copy of your template. My HTML ran amok recently, with a large portion of it simply vanishing. Fortunately I had saved a copy several months ago, so I did not have to start completely from scratch. But it is still a pain to restore all the links. Because the world is full of puppies and children who need to dream, I made it a priority to first restore the links to my autobiography. I believe I now have all chapters up and running again. And regardless of what you may hear on Oprah, every word of my memoirs is true.

Operation Deep Cover

The international uproar over Bella's liberation from Mexican authorities shows no sign of abating. So rather than continuing to feign ignorance of this operation, I believe it is time for Pug Life Ministries to embrace its role. Yes, it was the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF) that liberated Bella. And thanks to their fighting prowess and professionalism, we were able to keep collateral damage to a minimum. I will make no apologies for our incursion onto Mexican soil. Bella is a longtime member of Pug Life, and it is our sacred duty to oversee her rehabilitation. Although the Mexican government continues to protest, this mission was a noble action. We should celebrate its success and our ARF troops' continued excellence under Supreme Commander Brody.

But this operation would not have been possible without the contributions of one Pug Lifer in particular. Given the proper intelligence, ARF is capable of succeeding in any mission. But finding a tiny Chihuahua in the vast Mexican countryside, well, that's no small feat. That is why I would like to present the Medal of Valor to Momo the Pug. Momo single-pawedly tracked down Bella. She went undercover, blending in with the Mexican population to gather intelligence and conduct surveillance. Momo was able to sniff out Bella's hideout and infiltrate the gang, allowing her to arrange the sting operation that led to Bella's capture. Neither a vicious gang nor the threat of Montezuma's revenge could stand in this courageous pug's way.

Momo's bravery will go down in Pug Life lore. Puppies will marvel at her exploits; obedience schools will bear her name. Let us all salute Momo, the undercover pug.

Capitalist Pug update

Greetings, my financially responsible flock. It has been about six months since I issued my first Capitalist Pug's Stock Pick, so it seems like a fine time for an update. On Aug. 26, I recommended breaking open the puggy bank to buy shares of PetSmart (PETM), which had been beaten down to a 52-week low by a disappointing earnings report. I cautioned that it could be a bumpy ride in the short term, but I made it clear that I felt this was an excellent long-term holding. The stock did, indeed, go lower over the next couple of months, creating even more attractive buying opportunities. But PetSmart, a leading purveyor of halaal rawhide, has since shown strong signs of recovery. The company last week reported solid fourth-quarter results, with operating profit increasing nearly 15 percent and solid same-store sales growth. The closing price on the day of my recommendation was $24.65. On Friday, the stock closed at $27.83. For those of you smart enough to heed the advice of your furry investment guru, this amounts to a better-than 25 percent annual percentage increase. To put it simply, if you had purchased 315,000 shares of PetSmart on the day of my recommendation, you would now be over $1 million richer. Is there anyone out there who could not use an extra $1 million? If so, please note the PayPal virtual offering plate to your right.

Full disclosure -- the ayatollah owns shares of PetSmart.

Release the hounds

Saturday's trip to the local dog park was among the best ever. It was wall-to-wall canines, including three other pugs and a slender pug mix of some sort. A never-ending stream of canines poured into the park, taking advantage of the beautiful weather that Allah has blessed us with. But this trip was not purely for pleasure; I was there on business. The Basset Hound Liberation Organization invited me to be the guest barker at its rally. You can see several of the BHLO members in the photo above. I delivered a fiery sermon to my canine brothers, urging them to accept nothing less than complete autonomy. Though these docile hounds showed little emotion, it was clear that my remarks sparked something deep within them. Their calm demeanor belied their intense fervor for jihad.

A feline interloper

In recent days, a cat has been lurking around my abode. It seems that every time I open the door, I see a flash of scurrying fur. He may have even infiltrated my garage a couple of days ago while I was trimming our monstrous bushes. I suspect this feline is an agent of the Mexican government, sent to recapture Bella. But I must urge the Mexicans not to go down this path. Perhaps we would have signed that extradition treaty if you had met our foreign aid requests in the past. But you have done nothing to aid the canine cause -- those taco and enchilada shipments never arrived. Hundreds of hungry puppies were forced to eat Alpo instead. We are under no obligation to extradite Bella to Mexico, and we will consider any attempt to abduct her to be an act of war.

As a show of force, I have just finished shredding a copy of Rolling Stone magazine. A small strip of paper hangs from my teeth as I type this. I would post photos of the carnage, but they are quite graphic, and I don't feel they are appropriate for a family blog such as this one. But consider yourself warned.

Let the redemption begin

We can all breathe easier now; Bella has been returned to the Pug Life fold. She showed up at my doorstep last night after many weeks of pillaging the Mexican countryside. Although the 10-million peso reward was tempting, my loyalty to the Pug Life faithful is unwavering. And the Mexicans believe I am responsible for her abduction, so they wouldn't have paid, anyway. Now, God willing, we must turn Bella's life around. We must halt her criminal tendencies and show her that there is a better way.

After giving Bella a nice lukewarm shower, we locked her up in one of the Pug Life holding cells. Though I have high hopes for Bella, I harbor no illusions. I realize it would be insane to let her roam freely in her current maniacal state. This will be a slow, grueling process. But I will leave no puppy behind -- Bella will find redemption.

End of an era

Farewell, my not-so-trusty steed. Hello, $150.

Great expectations

I've been spotting this campaign sign around town lately. Perhaps we should give this justice of the peace candidate some credit for keeping his campaign goals realistic, but I just don't think local voters will go for his message of drugs and truancy in our schools.

Aye, Chihuahua!

CHIHUAHUA, Mexico (AP) -- Mexican authorities were scrambling for answers Saturday after a squad of black-clad bulldogs made off with the suspected El Terror Minúsculo, who had been captured only hours earlier.

The daring daylight raid dealt a major blow to the Mexican law enforcement community, which had been celebrating its most high-profile arrest in years. Bella, the Chihuahua accused of terrorizing the Mexican countryside for the last several weeks, had been captured early Saturday in a sting operation outside of Villa Matamoras. Authorities said they were certain that Bella was the gang leader known as El Terror Minúsculo.

But joy over the canine's capture quickly turned to frustration. As Bella was being transferred to a maximum-security holding cell in Chihuahua, her convoy was ambushed by the bulldog attack squad. Details are sketchy, but officials believe the bulldogs were hiding out in the back of a semi-truck that was driving in front of the convoy.

"The truck slammed on its brakes and blocked both lanes of the highway," said one high-ranking U.S. intelligence official, who spoke on the condition of anonymity. "Then the bulldog assault team came streaming out like a pack of stocky ninjas. They incapacitated the guards and absconded with the prisoner. We have reason to believe it was an inside job."

He also said the attack bore the hallmarks of the Armed Revolutionary Forces, a fundamentalist canine fringe group linked to Pug Life Ministries.

Mexican troops were combing the area for signs of Bella or the bulldogs, but one official said they were having no luck.

"It's like they vanished into thin air," said Pedro Almodar, a prosecutor in Chihuahua.

Mexican authorities are offering a 10-million peso reward to anyone with information leading to Bella's recapture.

The long-eared menace

An urgent message for our sled-dog brethren: Watch out for giant, aggressive rabbits.

Dog power

Do canines hold the key to solving our energy problems? San Francisco seems to think so. The city is teaming with Norcal Waste to harness the power of dog poo, making my back yard a potential energy goldmine. I whole-heartedly endorse this effort. If successful, it will prove once again how important dogs are to American society. And it will add fuel to the growing canine suffrage movement.

I am rather alarmed, however, by another apparent effort to harness canine power. Judging from this headline, it appears that a French automaker is planning to mix diesel fuel and live pugs in the gas tank of its new hybrid car. I must strongly condemn this outrageous plan.

Oral persuasion

Today, friends, I want to share with you a family story. Years ago, before I was born, my human great-grandparents inherited some money. Such events are documented at the local county offices, where a certain mass-media evangelist had his operatives posted. Shortly after receiving the inheritance, my great-grandmother got a package in the mail. It contained a vial of holy water and a note from Oral Roberts, urging her to share her new windfall with his ministry. This was years before his famed 1987 announcement that if he didn't raise $8 million, God would "call him home." My great-grandmother wasn't happy about this package. Roberts had never been in contact with her before, so it seemed unlikely that this vial of holy water was sent out of the goodness of his heart. As time passed, more packages arrived, including one that contained a small piece of fabric. A letter instructed my great-grandmother to put the fabric in the heel of her shoe to help her "stamp out the devil." Fed up, she called the evangelist's offices to demand that she be taken off his mailing list.

I tell you this story to illustrate a point about my leadership style. You see, my tactics differ greatly from those of Oral Roberts and the other mass-media evangelists of his ilk. Unlike those opportunistic money-grubbers, I will never send you anything.

My life: Introduction to the joint

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

Chapter XII
As the guards led me down that dark, dank hallway, it was really beginning to set in: These walls were the only ones I'd see for the next three and a half dog years. The other inmates stared as I walked by, keenly aware that a celebrity was in their midst. But here, in the pound, my gold records and Grammy statuette meant nothing. After fumbling with his keys, the guard slid open my cell door, took off my leash and shoved me inside. This was my new home. It was tiny, with barely enough room for me to do my daily circular pug-sprint exercises. One wall was covered with hundreds of little marks, each with four vertical lines and then a diagonal slash. Someone had been counting the days -- for a long time.

Then I was startled by a loud noise, a cross between a snore and a groan. I wheeled about. There, on one of the cell's two doggy beds, was the oldest pug I had ever seen.

To be continued

Mugsy's chariot awaits

Fellow Pug Lifers, our weeklong national nightmare is over. I have purchased a new car. This will, of course, require renewed vigilance from the congregation on the donation front. Pugmobiles don't come cheap.

Send me your young daughters

While trying to devise an insurance scam to extract some small bit of cash from the 4,000-pound paperweight that sits in my driveway, I was struck with an idea. But this will require some background information, so bear with me. As most of you probably know, there is nothing more obnoxious than a car salesman. They call you at home, even though they don't have what you're looking for. They hide your keys. They literally chase your vehicle as you circle the lot (this is the lone instance when you can have some fun at the salesman's expense). In short, nobody wants to do business with a car salesman. It is simply a necessity that some of us must endure. So, on to my stroke of genius.

On a recent trip to the local supermarket to purchase some matches and lighter fluid, I was approached by a young girl. "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" she asked, in her sweet, lilting voice. Like nearly everyone else at the grocery store, I could not resist. "Oh, that's the first box I've sold all day!" she exclaimed excitedly, for probably the 100th time that afternoon. The Girl Scouts' adorable sales tactics, the polar opposite of the accursed car salesman, roped me in.

This experience led to a capitalist-pug epiphany. So I am here today to ask for your help in an exciting new endeavor. You see, I am in need of an adorable juvenile salesforce for the newly formed Ayatollah Mugsy Scouts. We will sell the same types of cookies as the Girl Scouts; in fact, they will even come in the same packaging. But we will charge $6.50 a box, a full $3 more than the Girl Scouts. And because our salesgirls will be so darn cute in their little turbans and their Mugsy Merit Badges, you will not be able to resist. God willing, we will make millions. And then I will be able to pay someone to do my car shopping for me.

To my many Valentines

It's Valentine's Day, and love is in the air. And nobody has more love to give than me -- just ask the beautiful ladies of my harem. So I would like to take this opportunity to express my feelings for these very special women. There is not enough hard-drive space at Blogger.com for me to list each of them by name, so I must bark in generalities.

This poem's for you,

my sweet concubines,

I love your soft barks,

your puppy dog eyes

I love your tail,
or lack thereof,
the treats you feed me,
the belly rubs

The way you cared for me,
when my head was in a cone,
the way you're gone,
when I'd rather be alone

The way you chase your tail,
before I do the same,
the way you keep coming back,
to lose another board game

I love you all,

my many soul mates,

if the ad revenue picked up,

I'd even pay on dates

A letter to Dick Cheney

Dick Cheney

Undisclosed Location

Washington, D.C. 20500

Dear Mr. Vice President,

It is with great regret that I must cancel the quail-hunting engagement we had planned for this weekend. Unfortunately, some unexpected mosque business has come up that I must attend to. But do not cancel your plans on my account; I have arranged for our mutual friend Mohamed ElBaradei to take my place. Please give the hunting dogs my best regards, and tell them that I am praying for their safety.

Sincerely,
Mugsy
Supreme Ayatollah
Pug Life Ministries

R.I.P.

We knew this day would come. We knew you could not last forever. But it still pains us, knowing that this is most likely the end. We can see in that smoke pouring from the crankcase that you are probably destined for the great parking lot in the sky. You joined the family a few months before I was born, five years ago this month. Then, you were a shiny, hard-charging Buick. You were in the prime of life, having just ticked over 40,000 miles on the odometer. Your combination of full-size comfort and respectable fuel economy served us well over the years. We went on countless trips together -- to the dog park, the mosque, PetSmart. You took us to Chicago in style; it was your kind of town. You helped us see New Orleans before the floods came. You took us to Colorado twice, scaling the highest heights of Rocky Mountain National Park. If anything, your mighty V6 seemed to grow stronger in the thin mountain air. Your responsive brakes never overheated.

But now, after more than 100,000 miles together, it seems that you are able to run no more. I had a bad feeling when I saw that big cloud of smoke in the rearview mirror. It was your lifeforce, quickly draining away. Though you struggled mightily, your cylinders missing and your "check engine" light flashing, you brought me home safely one last time, reaching that familiar oil stain on the driveway. If it is truly God's will that this is the end, then I wish you well, Buick. Go onward to that great parking lot in the sky. And know that with that ever-present layer of pug fur on the passenger seat, you take a piece of me along with you.