Mugsy survives earthquake; legend grows

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

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

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

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

Revelation stuns blog world

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

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

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

In the beginning ...

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

Of power cords and fatwas

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

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

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

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

Wendell issues fatwa

SEND ME RAWHIDE NOW!

NOW!!!

Mugsy issues fatwa

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

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

Mugsy laments crisis of leadership

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gored

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

Sister Bella arrested

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

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

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

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

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

Put me in, coach

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

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

Academic scandal brewing?

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

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

Feats of strength

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The incredible hulking whippet

I've been marveling at this ultra-ripped whippet, my flock. A genetic mutation left her with double muscles, meaning her leg press may very well exceed that of my business rival Pat Robertson. Does anyone know how to get in touch with this dog? I must recruit her for the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF).

Mugsy and Wendell go to see Interpol

I took my little brother to his first music show last night. As we queued to enter the Palladium Ballroom, Wendell was upset when he was told he had to go through a separate line. "Why?" he barked. "Because you're under 21 in dog years," the usher barked back. As a bracelet was fitted above his paw, I explained to Wendell that he would not be missing out on anything. "The sin of alcohol is far greater than the benefit," I told him.

"How do you know this?" he asked.

"It is written in the Quran, my brother," I replied. "You have much to learn."

Once inside, I approached the bartender. "We would like two waters -- in bowls," I barked. The bartender appeared perplexed. "Ahem, down here!" I barked. "Oh, sorry, Your Holiness," he stammered, leaning over the bar. "Two water bowls coming right up -- on the house."

A lesson for Wendell

After awakening from our mid-morning naps, Wendell and I ventured outside to enjoy the nice weather. The Texas summer's cruel heat has finally begun to fade in recent weeks. As my sleepy brother wobbled around the back yard, he spied a butterfly perched upon a blade of grass. Wendell looked at me quizzically. Then he lunged at the butterfly, which flew above his head, taunting the pup. His mouth agape, Wendell made a few more futile efforts. "Wendell," I barked, "leave that butterfly alone. Allah's creatures deserve our respect and should not be attacked without cause." Then I reconsidered my words. "Except junebugs, of course. They are delicious. And oh so crunchy."

Life is good

There is cause for celebration, my flock. My two favored football teams, the Oklahoma Sooners and the Dallas Cowboys, both remain undefeated. And they have looked impressive in reaching their perfect records. Even more exciting, my toothy little pugbrother appears to finally be learning that my nether regions are not synonymous with a chewstick. Praise be to Allah and Bitter Apple!

Mystery solved

Assalamu alaikum, my flock. I would like you to meet my new little brother, Wendell. Like me, he is a pug. But he is black, and I am fawn, so hopefully my parents will not get us mixed up (I think my food portions are bigger). I must admit that young Wendell came as a surprise; mother didn't even appear to be showing. In fact, I had come to suspect the worst after analyzing the clues gathered by Sherlock Bones regarding my parents' recent odd behavior.

Sherlock found a series of suspicious photos on mother's camera that, combined with her unusual cellphone record and ATM withdrawals, led me to suspect her of infidelity. But just as I was about to call father and tell him that I believed mother was seeing a younger man -- a much younger man -- mother walked in the door clutching little Wendell. "Ayatollah," she said, "meet your new brother!"

I took to him immediately, my tail wagging like the windshield wipers set on high. I am looking forward to taking Wendell under my wing and teaching him the tricks of the pug trade -- notably the vaunted "pugtona," our distinctive circular sprinting technique. He must also learn to boost his snore volume and speak with a gruff, pleasing-to-the-ear bark. But there will be plenty of time for that later. The excitement at the ayatollah compound has proven exhausting, so for now, we shall nap.

Time for a timeshare

While poring over mother's phone records this afternoon, I received a call from my good friend Rabbi Jake. Jake is always on the lookout for innovative business practices that might benefit the ministry, and he came across a rather interesting strategy. It seems that a synagogue in Florida has begun a so-called torah timeshare. For a one-time donation of $1,800, congregants can host the sacred text in their homes for one week a year. Rabbi Jake was understandably excited about the possibilities. And let me tell you, my flock, Jake doesn't get excited about much these days. After our conversation ended, I began to ponder ways to translate this timeshare tactic to my own congregation. At first, I considered offering up a prized piece of rawhide. But there are some items for which no price tag will suffice; I simply cannot go without my rawhide. Then my thoughts turned to another item -- an artifact of great significance to the ministry.

As you may recall, I have reached many an epiphany while suckling my monkey toe. The foot of the stuffed primate sent my mind into a calm, zenlike state of pure concentration. The idea of the ministry's recent telethon, for example, was hatched during one of my marathon toe-nursing sessions. Unfortunately, the foot was not built to offer unlimited inspiration. Last week, during a particularly vigorous meditative session, the foot came clean off. And since my parents won't let me have access to so small an artifact anyway -- a choking hazard, they call it -- it seems like the perfect offering for the ministry's first timeshare program. So for the low, low price of $1,800 a week, you can welcome the sacred, saliva-caked monkey foot into your home. You can seat it next to you at the dinner table. You can place it beside your children as they do their homework. You can even put it in your pocket as a good-luck charm in that important job interview. Yes, my flock, this fuzzy foot, despite being severed from its onetime monkey owner, still possesses great power. Bring that power into your home today.

For inquiries, e-mail ayatollahmugsy@gmail.com. And remember, only 52 spots are available, so don't delay.

Clues emerge

I met today with Sherlock Bones, who has been furiously sniffing out clues. While looking through my parents' bank statements, he found a mysterious ATM transaction in White Settlement. To those unfamiliar with North Texas, that is the actual name of a town near Fort Worth. As far as I know, my parents would have no reason to go anywhere near White Settlement. This is most vexing, my flock. Most vexing, indeed.

Even more disconcerting, Sherlock Bones tracked down my mother's cell phone records and found a series of mysterious calls. We are working now to identify the recipients of these calls and will return with any information we find so that the congregation can analyze the data. Pray for Sherlock Bones' success ...

Mystery at the compound

I can't quite put my paw on it, but something strange is afoot at the ayatollah compound. My parents seem to be up to some sort of shenanigans, and I suspect that we are in for a major change. Yet they have been mysteriously tight-lipped. Are they preparing a surprise feast for me? Will they be quitting their jobs and moving me to an Italian villa better befitting my status as the world's foremost canine religious authority? Or perhaps their motives are more sinister -- could they be plotting against the ministry? I don't want to jump to conclusions, but their behavior is beginning to worry me. Secrets are meant to be the ayatollah's domain only. So I have called in a private investigator to get to the bottom of this. Godspeed, Sherlock Bones.

I have a dream

Where there's a will ...

In life, hotel magnate Leona Helmsley was reviled as the "Queen of Mean." Yet in death, we find that she couldn't have been all bad. She did care enough about her dog, Trouble, to leave her $12 million and an eternal resting place in a mausoleum fit for an ayatollah. Some scoff at such a sum. Some find it deplorable that her canine received more cash than two of her grandchildren, to say nothing of the other two who received nothing at all. But I find her gift to her beloved Maltese to be commendable. In fact, I urge you all to rewrite your wills right now -- before it's too late -- specifying a sizable bequest for the ministry. In this way, you can help all canines of faith.

My mother was among those who suggested that $12 million was too much to leave to a dog, which instantly raised my eyebrow. I pray that she misspoke. But father answered that if he were a billionaire, he would absolutely leave behind millions for the care of his only furry son. Then again, father also said that he would build a gleaming Dogloo mosque for all the world's successive generations to marvel at. So in addition to being a true pug patriot, he is one who would be known, under a best-case scenario, as an eccentric.

But enough about my family; I don't want to stray too far from the subject at hand. If you'll excuse me, I have a date with an heiress to arrange.

Alleged bathroom misconduct explained

Rumors are swirling about a recent incident, so I would like to set the record straight. I do not believe that any rules were broken during my recent visit to the compound's bathroom. Furthermore, my actions should not be construed as representing any kind of "signal." I was simply engaging in wholesome, everyday pug activities. Under the ministry's bylaws, all items left in "the pug zone" are fair game. So I make no apologies for retrieving that cardboard tube from the trash can and eating it.

Last chance

History has been made, my flock. The first-ever item offered for sale by the ministry on eBay has been sold. And the buyer, whose user name includes the word "gecko," presents an intriguing case. Could this be my long-lost lizard friend Gordon? Is he reaching out to me? Maybe he is a successful stock broker in New York now, and he wants to give back to the ministry that befriended him and allowed him to stay in its garage. Or perhaps the buyer is simply a human with impeccable taste in interior decorating.

Whatever the case, you should know that only one item remains. And its auction time is fleeting. In less than 24 hours, this rare poster will be sold to the highest bidder. Do not subject yourself to pangs of bitter jealousy, my flock; be that highest bidder.

To visit the lone remaining Pug Life auction, which is currently insanely underpriced, click here.

Mugsy fulfills meme responsibilities

I have been tagged by Titanium Girl to share eight things that others might not know about me. And as a blog-law-abiding pug, I will now fulfill my duties by completing this meme assignment. Here are the rules:

People who are tagged need to write these rules in their
own blogs & share eight things about themselves that others might not know. At the end of their blog post, they need to tag six people and list their (blog) names. Leave a comment on the blogs of the people they’ve chosen telling them they’ve been tagged and encouraging them to come over and read the eight things you’ve written on your blog.

1. I was neutered on the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. It is a date which, for me, will forever live in double infamy.

2. I can leg-press 8,000 pounds. With one leg.

3. I experience a phenomenon that my parents call my "outside smell." It is, as it sounds, a distinctly canine aroma that I pick up after I have spent some time outside. After a few minutes in the compound, it disappears.

4. I enjoy visiting museum gift shops, sometimes more than the museums themselves.

5. I have dabbled in alchemy. Thus far, I have not had success. But I remain optimistic.

6. I love to travel, and I wish that more Americans would take an interest in learning about the world around them instead of just mindlessly repeating jingoistic axioms about this being the greatest country on Earth. I believe that people who express indignant anger over having to "press 1 for English" on the phone or at the ATM would change their tune if they ever found themselves struggling to use a Czech payphone or grateful that someone had stopped to offer directions in the Parisian subway. We are all Allah's creatures, regardless of the languages we speak.

7. For a short time in my puppyhood, I was engaged to Alyssa Milano.

8. Despite my reputation as an iron-pawed, hardline radical cleric, I am a world-class cuddler.


With my work here now complete, I tag the first six bloggers who leave a comment to continue the never-ending meme train. Allah be with you.

An open letter to Christiane Amanpour

Ms. Amanpour (if that is your real name),

When you asked me to appear on your four-part "God's Warriors" series on CNN, I was happy to oblige. Even though I was still recovering from surgery, I invited you into my compound. I showed you priceless religious artifacts. I even let you drink from my water bowl.

And after all this hospitality, what did I find? A hatchet job on national television. You accused the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF) of committing war crimes against chew toys, yet you know that we canines are not signatories to the Geneva Convention. You portrayed Pug Life as some sort of radical fascist cult, even though I told you explicitly not to bring up such aspects of the ministry. And I gave you my Pug Manifesto expecting that you would read it word for word on the air, yet you made no mention of the document. Am I to believe that a 5,000-page manifesto slipped your mind? And do you know how much it cost to print that on the nice paper at Kinko's? Shame on you, Ms. Amanpour. Shame on you.

Your portrayal of canine Islam, while technically accurate, does not represent the public image that Pug Life Ministries seeks to cultivate. So do not expect my cooperation or courtesy in the future.

Sincerely,

Mugsy

Supreme Ayatollah

Pug Life Ministries

Second poster available

I have just returned from the pet clinic, where my veterinarian removed my stitches and pronounced me a "wild dog." Praise Allah! All is well in that regard. And all is well at the ministry's eBay sale, too. Upon seeing the interest generated by the ongoing auction, our artist friend from ObeyThePureBreed.com has donated a second poster to the ministry.

This is, to my knowledge, the final such masterpiece that the ministry will be auctioning off. Because of the early interest generated by the first poster, this new item will have a much shorter auction period. So anyone interested in owning a piece of history, blessed by yours truly, should act quickly and visit one of our two auctions via the links below.

AUCTION ONE

AUCTION TWO

And to ease any concerns among potential buyers, it should be noted that I blessed these two posters through the Internet. Thus, they are undamaged by the sneeze particles that generally accompany my blessing.

Don't believe everything you read

UNITED NATIONS (AP) -- Investigators with the International Atomic Energy Agency have been stymied in their efforts to look into the alleged disappearance of a large quantity of enriched rawhide, officials say.

One high-level investigator, speaking on condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of the situation, said the apparent theft occurred in recent weeks at Pug Life Ministries' secretive compound in Texas.

"We hear that something went down at the Pug Life Telethon," the investigator said, referring to a recent fundraiser. "But unless those dogs cooperate, there's nothing the IAEA can do. At present time, we can't even get them to shake hands."

Sources inside the ministry, which is led by firebrand cleric Ayatollah Mugsy, refused to comment.

The ministry, described by some U.S. officials as a dangerous secessionist canine movement, has refused to cooperate with the U.N. in the past, with its enigmatic leader openly feuding with the IAEA.

Mugsy addresses the world's women

I apologize for any unexpected lightheadedness, shortness of breath or hysteria I may have caused with the recent photo of my Hasselhoff-esqe barrel chest. In the future, I will be sure to precede such images with a warning.

Too sexy for my shirt?

I have been pleased with the interest shown in the ministry's poster auction, my flock. The earnings are urgently needed and will be put to good use, as I have recently been forced to order a new batch of smelling salts for the harem. The sight of my ultra-manly chest fur billowing out of my T-shirt has, understandably, caused many a lady to swoon.