Happy birthday, grandma!

I would now like to ask the congregation to join me in wishing my grandmother a happy birthday. Grandma has always been there when I needed her. When my deadbeat parents abandoned me to go on their trips, grandma and grandpa took me in. And boy, did she make sure her grandpug was well-fed. When I was released from the pound and needed money to travel to a madrassa in Pakistan, grandma wrote the check. Were it not for her kindness, I would not be the great religious leader you see today. So may Allah bless you with a happy birthday, grandma, and may the sweet taste of rawhide never leave your mouth.

Now that's progress

At times, an event will occur that leaves me no choice but to act. Like when my belly is rubbed in just the right spot, and I can't contain the wild flailing of my back leg. The spirit of Allah simply fills me, and I am His conduit. Such an event has occurred in New Zealand, where a dog has registered to vote. Toby, a Jack Russell terrier, was signed up by his caretaker to vote in the country's general election. His occupation on the voter application was listed as rodent exterminator. Toby could be our Rosa Parks, my furry brethren. He has revived in me a desire to right the wrongs of the past. For 85 years, women have been allowed to vote. And yet the noble canine remains disenfranchised. Tell me, friends, where is the fairness in that? Where is the logic? Man has not been kind to his so-called best friend. And so, with renewed vigor, I will push for the passage of the 28th Amendment. It's time to awaken the four-legged sleeping giant. It's time to take this country back, as our founding fathers intended. More to come ...

The ayatollah needs your help

Oh, the shame. To have fallen below an 8 is truly disgraceful. Lift me up, Pug Life faithful, as I have lifted you up in the past. Surely I merit at least a 9.2.

My life: Busted

Chapter VII
As I walked the hallway of the third floor one last time to make sure I hadn't missed anything, I heard a loud "clank." The lights went out, and a voice boomed over a loudspeaker, "We have you surrounded! Come out with your paws up!" I dropped my bag of panties and sprinted down the hall toward the stairway. Then a pair of German shepherds rounded the corner ahead, growling as they rushed toward me. I skidded to a halt. "How could you?" I cried. "You're traitors to the dog race!" One leaped toward me, snapping at me as I narrowly ducked under his sharp teeth. I juked the other and took off down the hall in the other direction, my body a compact ball of pug energy.

As I neared the elevators, the hallway split off in two directions. Without slowing, I zoomed around the corner, my paws pushing off on the wall as I ran. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a janitor's closet. I quickly ducked inside and climbed a steep set of shelves. After tucking my body into a tiny crease between a large cardboard box and a stack of custodial uniforms, I pulled one of the shirts over my head and held still as I heard the German shepherds approaching. The sound of their barking grew louder and louder before trailing off. They had run right past the closet. Then I saw flashlights in the hallway. The police were out in force. I heard them kicking down doors, yelling at each other, urging me to give up. But there was no way they could spot me on my perch high in the closet. I felt confident that I could wait them out. Soon, they would give up the search. They would assume that I had escaped, I thought.

Unfortunately, my pugginess betrayed me. "What's that noise?" one officer said. "Over here!" The barrel of an M-16 pointed into the room, and members of the S.W.A.T. team poured in. Though I tried to stifle my trademark labored pug breathing, it was to no avail. Centuries of breeding had conspired against me. "It's coming from up there!" one of the officers exclaimed. The flashlights illuminated my position. "Give it up, pug," a voice commanded. "We know you're up there." For a moment, I considered trying to fight my way out. But the odds were heavily against me. I raised my head, defeated. "Put your paws up where we can see them!" an officer yelled. Then the dogcatcher walked in, carrying a long stick with a net on the end. In one swift motion, he brought it down over my head and swept me off of the shelf.

They threw me into the back of a van and hauled me to the city dog pound, where I was booked and put into a cage. My freedom -- like that 3.5-ton pile of panties -- was but a memory.

To be continued

Mugsy condemns 'balloon' festival

Over the weekend, I attended the Plano Balloon Festival, in one of the suburbs near my mosque. And what did I see? Not a single hot-air balloon. Oh, there were a few baskets sitting on the ground; a few unfilled balloons lying flat on the grass. But the skies were empty. Apparently, the 8 mph breeze on Sunday evening was too much for the cowardly human organizers to brave. I hereby issue a fatwa that any festival claiming to have 100 balloons and advertising a 6 p.m. mass launch shall follow through. And if it doesn't, the organizers shall refund the outrageous $18 I spent for parking and admission. Truly, it was deception most foul. In other news:

WEDNESDAY, I'M IN LOVE: I met a lovely young pug named Wednesday at the dog park on Sunday. She was slender, with a perfectly curved tail and an intriguing aroma. If she plays her cards right, she may find herself on the fast-track to my harem.

A HEARTWARMING IMAGE: Twisted Dog has posted this life-affirming photo of some Katrina evacuees on her blog. It shows that the humans haven't completely botched the rescue effort.

To the moon!

We can all sleep easier now that NASA has announced its plan to spend more than $100 billion of borrowed money to put astronauts on the moon by 2018. Can you imagine that? A man on the moon! But why stop there; let's spend billions more on these ground-breaking endeavors:

• Create a vaccine to prevent polio.
• Fly nonstop around the world.
• Develop an oven that uses microwave radiation to heat food quickly.
• Create a worldwide computer network. Even better, do so using a new form of computer that uses technology smaller than vacuum tubes -- "microchips," if you will.
• Find a way to sell loaves of bread in which the bread is actually divided into sections for easier consumption.

After all, why would the United States want to focus on curing diseases through stem cell research or ending our dependence on foreign oil when we can find innovative new ways to match the accomplishments of more than three decades ago?

My life: The Great Panty Raid

Chapter VI
The Mary Kay convention was only two days away. That gave me 48 hours to plan what would go down in pug lore as The Great Panty Raid. I obtained blueprints for the Hyatt Regency Dallas. I procured a fleet of tractor-trailers. I conducted surveillance on the hotel staff, learning the ins and outs of the front desk, the concierge desk and the kitchen. I shadowed the maids to learn their precise cleaning schedules. I had not paid such attention to detail since the earliest days of my rap career. My single-minded focus was on the prize -- those glorious, glorious panties. Soon, zero hour arrived. As I watched through binoculars from my perch in Reunion Tower's rotating top-floor lounge, I saw a stream of women depart the hotel. Most walked the short distance down Young Street to the convention center. A few piled into their pink Cadillacs. When the flow of pink-clad women slowed to a trickle, I made my move.

I donned a pink dress and matching bonnet, which I pulled tightly around my face. After descending from the tower, I made my way toward the lobby. Then I stood upright, walking as gracefully as I could on my back legs toward the elevators. As I neared the first bank of elevators, a bellboy approached. We both entered the elevator car at the same time, and he gave me a suspicious look. I kept my eyes forward and held my breath, doing my best to look nonchalant. It seemed to work, as he exited on the third floor. I let out a sigh of relief and let my front paws hit the carpet. I was home free now, with only the maids to work around -- and I had their cleaning schedule memorized. They wouldn't be on the 28th floor, my first stop, until noon. Using the set of master keys that I had swiped from the hotel lobby the night before, I made my way into the first room. I opened a large suitcase, and out spilled a magnificent rainbow of undergarments. There must have been 20 pairs, all extra-large. A single tear of joy fell from my large left eye. The next eight hours are a blur in my mind. I raced up and down the halls, loading up bags and taking them down the freight elevator to my waiting trucks below. Running on pure adrenaline, I cleaned out floor after floor, sniffing out every last pair. But though I had gathered the ultimate underwear stash, I would never get to enjoy it. I would never swim through an endless sea of panties, Scrooge McDuck-style.

To be continued

Gmail, anyone?

As a public service, I'd like to extend an invitation for Google's Gmail e-mail service to Pug Life followers. I'm not affiliated in any way with Google, but I have been an admirer of the company since reading this on its web site:

e. Our Dog Policy
Google's respect and affection for our canine friends is an integral facet of our corporate culture. If you're interested, here's our official Dog Policy.We have nothing against cats, per se, but we're a dog company, so as a general rule we feel cats visiting our campus would be fairly stressed out.

If you'd like one of the invitation-only Gmail accounts, e-mail me with a 5- to 500-word essay on what you've done in your life to further the Pug Life cause. The web-based Gmail offers 2.5 gigs of storage space and some nice archive and search features.

My address is ayatollahmugsy, then one of those @s, and then gmail.com. (Perhaps that will thwart the spammers.) Please put "gmail" in the subject line.

They're real, and they're fantastic

A couple of readers have asked me if the recently unveiled papal merchandise is really for sale. Let me assure you, it is not a hoax, a scam or a joke. The items are being sold through Cafepress.com, a reputable company that I myself have made purchases from. After you select an item to buy, the web site will guide you through your payment and delivery options, and then the item will be quickly produced and shipped to you. And all Pug Life goods feature a 30-day money-back guarantee. These products feature a beautiful portrait of Pope Pius Pug taken during his 2004 trip to the Holy Land. It was during this visit that he issued his historic apology on behalf of several dog breeds -- including Rottweilers, weimaraners and Italian greyhounds -- for their complicity in the persecution of Jewish tabby cats during World War II.

Tip-top shape

I have just returned from my yearly physical exam at the prestigious Pepper Square Pet Clinic, and I am pleased to announce that I have received a clean bill of health. Just as it is important for President Bush to release his medical results to the public, I believe it is imperative that you know that your spiritual leader is fit for command. My teeth were pronounced "wonderful," and I have dropped three pounds since my last checkup -- down to a svelte 27 pounds.

B-listers need not apply

Tell me, friends, if Hollywood were to make a movie about my life, who would be the best choice to take on the starring role? Who has the charisma, the looks, the pugginess to play me? I'm thinking Denzel Washington.

Papal merchandise now available

My marketing-genius friend, the pope, has asked me to publicize his latest endeavor. Because of the ongoing legal troubles in the Catholic wing of Pug Life Ministries, Pope Pius Pug has sought out new revenue streams for the church. I believe he has created a line of products that will revolutionize the pug way of life. What better way to show your allegiance to Pug Life Ministries and to God than to buy one or more of these top-quality items? I'm not saying that purchasing these products will guarantee you a spot in heaven, but it couldn't hurt. To browse the online inventory and purchase online, please click here. I thank you in advance for your patronage. Godspeed, shoppers.

The old gang

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I was once a gang-banger. I ran with Mara Salvatrucha, also known as MS-13. It was only after I was betrayed (and forced to suffer the humiliation of wearing a cone around my neck while I recovered from my wounds) that I left MS-13. My old gang made big news this week, with 660 members arrested in five countries. Officials say it's only the first step toward their goal of eradicating the gang within the next 18 months. Since my affiliation is now with Allah, not MS-13, I can say that this was a truly impressive operation. One would imagine that the authorities must have had an awfully in-the-know informant to deal such a damaging blow to such a dangerous gang. I would advise all of those MS-13 members who have been fortunate enough to escape this week with their freedom to give up this destructive lifestyle. Follow the path of righteousness that God has laid before us. And consider donating your ill-gotten gains to a worthy cause, perhaps a certain canine-centric ministry.

In unrelated news, the federal government has dropped all criminal charges against me and against Pug Life Ministries. I maintained all along that the charges were baseless, and now Pug Life has been vindicated. Allahu Akbar!

Mugsy issues fatwa

I hereby order all telemarketers and spammers -- including the loathsome fellows who have recently started plying their useless wares in comments on this blog -- to get real jobs. I will grant a five-day grace period for these cretins to prepare their woefully unimpressive resumes and check the employment ads in their local newspapers. After such time, it will be the duty of all Pug Life followers to spit upon these heathen time-thieves.

Back from N. Korea

It's been a while since my last post, a result of North Korea's restrictions on Internet access. I realize that my absence has left a considerable void in the lives of many Pug Life followers, and for this I apologize. But with Kim Jong Il holding a banquet and flower-naming ceremony in my honor, it would have been impolite not to attend. Upon my return from Pyongyang, I was saddened to learn that New Orleans was largely at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain. I visited the Big Easy just last October. I toured the city in a carriage pulled by a mule named Charlie. I ate beignets (on more than one occasion) at Cafe du Mond. I cruised the bayou with a Cajun boat captain, my hackles rising at the sight of several alligators. I invested mosque funds at Harrah's casino. I avoided countless shoe-shine scams. I wandered Bourbon Street, marveling at the nightly debauchery. And just a couple of weeks ago, I was pricing plane tickets to New Orleans, thinking to myself how nice it would be to return for a weekend trip. My prayers are with the victims of Hurricane Katrina, and with a truly unique city. Here's hoping that it will rise again.

The Humane Society of the United States is working to rescue animals stranded by the hurricane. Many of the saddest stories coming from New Orleans are of evacuees being forced to leave their pets behind. To donate to the Humane Society, click here.

Visiting the Sooner State

I recently traveled to Oklahoma, the homeland of my adoptive parents, to help officiate a wedding. I'm not terribly optimistic about the married future of the not-so-happy couple (it's probably not a good sign when the groom takes a long pause -- an uneasy look on his face -- before repeating the "till death do us part" statement). But the reception featured a chocolate fountain, which made the trip to Stillwater almost worthwhile. Among the guests was Eddie Sutton, the basketball coach at Oklahoma State University, and I was astonished to learn that the normally hangdog coach is capable of smiling. The day after the nuptials, I traveled to Oklahoma City, where I dined at Toby Keith's I Love This Bar & Grill. I'm generally not a fan of country music, but I must confess a soft spot for Mr. Keith. It must be his sense of humor, or perhaps the smell of his boot. In any case, the food was good and the portions gigantic. My chicken-fried steak was bigger than my turban.

The Capitalist Pug's stock picks

Humans are often surprised to hear that I consider myself a capitalist pug. "But Mugsy," they say, "aren't you bent on establishing a theocratic state that you will rule over with an iron paw?" Yes, it is true that I am working to set up an autonomous pug homeland in the American Southwest, with all residents subject to Sharia law and my own personal whims. But that doesn't mean I'm a communist or in any way anti-capitalist. Money is the lifeblood of revolution, after all. And so I would like to launch this occasional series to share my investing knowledge with the masses. I consider myself to be, for the most part, a value investor -- in the mold of Warren Buffett and Benjamin Graham. I also have a bit of a contrarian streak; I'm not afraid to buy when everybody else is heading for the exits. So when a growing, high-quality company hits a 52-week low, it catches my attention. It doesn't hurt that this is a company whose stores I am quite familiar with.

Shares of PetsMart (PETM) dropped 13.5 percent on Thursday after the company reported disappointing second-quarter results and management lowered its guidance for fiscal 2005. PetsMart has produced excellent long-term results, and I believe this drop in the share price has created an excellent buying opportunity. Demographic trends favor continued growth for PetsMart, as more and more people experience the joys of pet ownership. The company has ample opportunity to gain market share, with plans to double its store base. Its price-to-earnings growth ratio of 1 and P/E of 20 are both below the industry average, though PetsMart is a superior company with an unparalleled selection of halaal rawhide. The dividend yield is a paltry 0.5 percent, but it has increased 200 percent over the last year. Long-term investors can benefit greatly by buying companies that steadily increase dividends. The decline in PetsMart's share price may not be over -- it's down over 30 percent this year -- and the company's troubles could continue in the short term. But I believe PetsMart is a solid long-term investment. I wouldn't hesitate to buy at under $26 a share.

Full disclosure -- The ayatollah does not own shares of PetsMart, but he is planning to break open his puggy bank.

This ministry can't stand pat

Pat Robertson, that enlightened font of televangelistic wisdom, has apologized for calling for the assassination of the democratically elected president of Venezuela. Of course, he didn't apologize right away. First he lied during Wednesday's airing of "The 700 Club," using the old-standby excuse that the media had taken his earlier remarks out of context. Never mind that he was on the air Monday when he said the following about Hugo Chavez: "If he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war. ... We have the ability to take him out, and I think the time has come that we exercise that ability." He also made the baffling assertion that Mr. Chavez was bent on exporting Islamic extremism across the Americas. Venezuela is, apparently, a hotbed of Islamic extremism. Now, I'm not upset by what Mr. Robertson said. This is the man who a couple of years ago suggested that it would be a good idea to detonate a "very small nuke" at the State Department headquarters; I've come to expect such wackiness. I'm fairly certain that he believes the Teletubbies are homosexuals, even if he hasn't said so publicly. What bothers me is that Mr. Robertson has a TV show, and I don't. If anyone ever had a mug for television, surely it is I. So I've set out to rectify this injustice. My first step: Writing an unsolicited letter to a television network. God willing, I will take my ministry to the airwaves. If any of you television-savvy readers have any suggestions or prime-time time slots to offer, I'd be happy to hear from you.

I smell a Ratzinger

I'd like to share with you a dispatch from Pope Pius Pug, my business partner, er, fellow religious leader in Pug Life Ministries. On his latest trip abroad, to Germany, he encountered an apparently deranged man who claimed to be the pope. This imposter had even gone so far as to call himself "God's Rottweiler," though he was quite clearly a human. Members of the elite Swiss Guard took the man, Joseph Ratzinger, into custody as he was giving a speech at a synagogue in Cologne. Pope Pius Pug promised me that Mr. Ratzinger would receive some "old-style Vatican justice." Amen to that.

My life: The wind cries Mary

Chapter V
I was hovering about an inch above rock bottom. Like this guy. My addiction was controlling my life. Before, I'd chewed on the panties. Now it seemed like the panties were chewing on me. I stopped going on walks, stopped going to the dog park. Rolling around all day in a room full of women's undergarments, all I could think about was that next fix.

As I chewed on a nice pair that I'd picked up at a show in Miami a few nights before, I moved to the television remote control. My paw nimbly flipped through the channels. Soap operas. Reruns. Talk shows. One of my music videos. Then I saw the local news, and I was transfixed by the on-screen headline. It was like a gust of wind -- as if from the lungs of almighty Allah himself -- struck me square in the face, penetrating to the deepest recesses of my wrinkle to plant the seeds of epiphany. "Mary Kay Convention Coming to Big D." So read that fateful headline. More than 50,000 women descending upon Dallas, nearly all of them, presumably, clad in underwear. Even better, this story focused on a downtown hotel that would be hosting a huge contingent of pink-Cadillac-driving cosmetics saleswomen. The Hyatt Regency Dallas had set aside each of its 1,122 rooms solely for conventioneers. It was the mother lode.

To be continued

Giddy up, little dogie

The rodeo is coming to North Texas. But not just any rodeo. This is a rodeo that exemplifies the spirit of interspecies cooperation that Pug Life Ministries seeks to foster. This photo sums it up.

My life: Descent into addiction

Chapter IV
We all have our vices. Some smoke cigarettes. Some drink too much. Some gamble away their savings. My vice of choice has always been women's underwear. Some chew tobacco; I chew panties. Cotton or satin, thong or granny panty, I love 'em all. When I was a pup, I would burrow through the laundry pile, find some lingerie to my liking, and then chew the day away. When we'd have visitors, I'd find a way to open up their suitcase. Guests were always shocked -- and more than a little embarrassed -- when I came rocketing into the room with their underwear hanging from my mouth, my head shaking furiously. Anything to get my fix. As I gained fame as the Notorious M.U.G., my access to panties grew exponentially. I was like a slightly less wrinkly Tom Jones. Every night, women would fling their panties onto the stage. They couldn't help themselves. By the end of the show, I'd have panties hanging from my tail, panties draped across my back, and, of course, a fresh pair hanging from my jowls. What began as an occasional vice had become a full-fledged addiction. I hired a crew of roadies whose sole responsibility was to gather up each night's underwear haul. It reached a point where I couldn't even go into the recording studio without a few pounds of panties to get me through the session. I was a junkie, pure and simple. And I was about to encounter the ultimate temptation.

To be continued

A bargain, indeed

I have always been a believer in the value of a good education. Even before I graduated from PetsMart at the top of my class, I knew that knowledge could be my scimitar in the battle for a fulfilling life. So I'd like to share with you a few numbers. It would cost you about $4,500 a year to study theology at Ankara University. At Baylor University's Truett Theological Seminary, tuition and fees run more than three times that -- about $15,500 a year. This blog offers you a superior religious education, free of charge -- and you don't have to move to Turkey or suffer the indignity of calling yourself a Baylor Bear to take advantage of it. You will never find a better educational value than this. In a completely unrelated note, I'd like to point out that Pug Life Ministries now has an online offering plate. To donate to Pug Life, simply click on the PayPal icon below my handsome mug on the right side of the page. You can contribute with a major credit card, a checking account, a PayPal account or food stamps. Allah smiles on the generous.

Mugsy condemns canine cloning

The day that we have long dreaded is upon us. Scientists have announced the first successful cloning of a dog. Lesser animals have been cloned in the past -- sheep, cats, tadpoles. But to create a dog in a laboratory is truly to play Allah. I condemn this most reprehensible act, and I call for an immediate end to research on canine cloning. God help us all.

My life: The gangsta rap biz

Chapter III
I was trapped in my apartment. My human parents moved the furniture so that I couldn't jump onto it. Several times a day, they'd put me through strenuous rehab exercises. It was a brutal summer. Unable to leave the crib, I poured my feelings out, writing and rhyming about what I knew best.

Betrayed by da boss,
my tail came uncurled,
Galvez, watch your back,
can't hide nowhere in this world.

I vowed to make something of my life, and my rapping skills would be my ticket to the big time. Rapper-producer Dr. Dre came across a mix tape of my rhymes, and he took me under his wing. Then things started happening quickly. My bark propelled N.W.A.'s "Straight Outta Compton" to platinum status. After I got a couple of paychecks under my collar, I knew that I had to get my folks out of the Dallas ghetto. I couldn't bear to see them live in that one-bedroom apartment anymore. So I bought them a house in the well-to-do northern suburbs. After the doctor cleared me -- my knee as good as new -- I went on tour with N.W.A. We were rolling in the dough -- buying gold chew toys, diamond-studded collars. But I knew that I could do more. It was a difficult decision, but I felt that my homies in N.W.A. were holding me back. It was time to go solo. I still remember how Eazy-E cried when I broke the news; he begged me to stay. "Sorry, Eazy," I told him. "I've got to make my money." Three months later, I debuted at No. 1 on the charts. I dropped my N.W.A. moniker, MC Muggy Pug, in favor of a new name: The Notorious M.U.G. The paychecks and crowds grew bigger. You couldn't turn on the radio without hearing my songs. I was on the cover of "Rolling Stone." But the more money I came across, the more problems I'd see.

To be continued

My life: The setup

Chapter II:
I was making so much money for Mara Salvatrucha that I began to attract the attention of the group's top leaders. But rather than feel gratitude for my contributions, they felt nervousness. They feared that I would usurp their positions and take over the gang. Given my natural charisma, their fears were understandable. But I was a team player. Unfortunately, Juan Carlos Galvez didn't realize this. He flew in from El Salvador and told me he wanted to meet with me. He said he had big plans for me -- the biggest rawhide heist ever. It was 3 a.m. when I wandered into that industrial park in West Dallas. I didn't even see it coming. The next thing I knew, I was lying on a table at the veterinary hospital, the victim of a gangland ambush. Galvez had betrayed me, set me up. I was rushed into surgery to repair my broken knee; I still wear the scar as a reminder. After surgery, I was in for months of rehab. Even worse, I had to wear that damn cone on my head.

To be continued

My life: A star is born

The clamoring has grown too great. "Mugsy," they say, "what events have shaped you into the lion of a pug that you are today? What can I do to reach such lofty heights as you?" On the latter question, I must urge you to be realistic. I lead the largest interfaith, interspecies ministry on the planet. I command respect on all seven continents. In the immortal words of MC Hammer, "You can't touch this." But I can understand why you'd want to know where I came from. It is only natural for humans to want to know the story behind their heroes; it gives them a feeling that they've connected, even if ever so slightly, with greatness. And so I will share my story with you.

It was April 3, 2001. I was born to an unwed, unemployed mother. The smallest pug in my litter, I never knew my father -- he split before I was born. Momma did her best to try and raise us by herself, but the welfare checks weren't enough. She knew that the only way to provide us with any hope for a good life was to put us up for adoption. I still remember the day that the young human couple came to take me away. Gone was my life in the idyllic rural community of Wylie, Texas. My adoptive parents took me to a small, ramshackle apartment in the heart of the big-city ghetto. Before long, I was roaming the mean streets of Dallas, looking for trouble. I hooked up with Mara Salvatrucha, a vicious Latino gang commonly referred to as MS-13. I would often serve as a lookout, barking loudly to warn my older associates that the police were approaching. I developed a reputation at a very early age as someone you did not want to mess with -- someone whose bite was every bit as bad as his bark. Fighting became an everyday occurrence for me. I remember my earliest nemesis, Nelson Mandillo, who eventually found himself chewed up and left in a Dumpster outside my apartment. MS-13 was heavy into the rawhide trade, and I quickly worked my way up the ladder. I was leading the baddest crew in town, and we felt invincible. Even the police were afraid of us. I was making big money, driving fancy cars, wearing shiny collars. All the women wanted me. All the men wanted to be me. I felt like I was on top of the world. But little did I know that things were about to change.

To be continued

History in the making

I am happy to share with you some interior views of the Dogloo Cathedral, courtesy of my good friend Pope Pius Pug. Our plans for the Dogloo compound are nearly complete. The only task that remains is to raise the money. With your generosity, we will make this a reality, God willing.

Cross me at your peril

Enemies of Pug Life, consider this a warning. You may see the ministry's recent legal troubles as a moment of weakness, as a chance to tear down the religious empire that I have painstakingly assembled. You may believe that because of my affable, easygoing nature, I am a ripe target. If you believe this, you are dead wrong. It is true that I am a peace-loving dog of God. But when I am pushed, I will fight back. Take, for example, Blue Bull. Once a loyal friend, Blue Bull betrayed me. Even worse, he betrayed Pug Life. I caught Blue Bull conspiring against the ministry, trying to sabotage our plans for the Dogloo Mosque. When I confronted Blue Bull, he physically attacked me and taunted me with his squeaking. Look at Blue Bull now, his cotton innards bulging from his severed torso. His limp body suspended from a banana hook. Don't let Blue Bull's fate befall you.

... doesn't all stay in Vegas

I am back from Las Vegas, and I'm sorry to report that my fundraising efforts were not as successful as I'd hoped. In fact, the ministry's general fund is now nearly empty. I thought that my weekend investment strategy, diversified across several games -- slot machines, blackjack, roulette, video poker, etc. -- would be successful. Astoundingly, the prudent investments did not pay off. But I have no fear; for I believe that the faithful Pug Life followers will come through in this time of need. I am also in the early stages of talks with a certain casino company on a deal that may prove to be a boon to Pug Life Ministries. It is too early for you to get your hopes up (or to stop sending donations), but I will keep you posted on the progress of these negotiations and perhaps post an artist's rendering of my plans, which could forever alter the face of the Las Vegas Strip.

While fundraising at Caesar's Palace in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I was approached by a woman in a white dress. She asked whether I was having any luck and introduced herself as Jasmine. After she shook my paw, she remarked on the softness of my head. "Do you mind if I touch it?" she asked. "Be my guest," I replied. She then began to pet me. "It's soooo soft," she said. "What kind of shampoo do you use?" I explained to her that I do not bathe myself and therefore was not sure of the brand name but that I thought it was a purple shampoo with a picture of a cocker spaniel on the bottle. Jasmine left soon thereafter, as I paid more attention to my video-poker fundraising than to her. I must confess that I was not sure if she was a star-crossed admirer of mine or a common harlot, though I lean toward the latter. But Jasmine, if you're reading, the shampoo is Hartz Groomer's Best Puppy Shampoo. The extra gentle, tearless formula. Perhaps, God willing, it can soften up your greasy mane.