Here’s what happens when you put the dog in charge of holiday greetings–
Holiday Greetings from Occupation Leonard Street. In the interest of full disclosure, please note that these words spring from the heart and mind of me, Girdie the wonder puggle, and not Norm the master as he was too damn lazy to write his own holiday letter. “Sit, Girdie,” he says. “Stay! Roll over! Don’t eat that diaper! Write the holiday letter!” Christ, you think life’s a bitch? Try being a bitch; that’s the real bitch. Anyhow, let’s get on with the annual update of the Leonard Dynasty.
Though the economy be bad, the Leonard clan enjoys a life of plenty. At least I assume as much given how many times they’ve sprung for my “procedure.” For Pete’s sake, you scoot one time on the down comforter and you get stuck with quarterly visits to a groomer who knows not the meaning of gentle, if you get my drift.
As far as I can tell, the marriage appears to be going well. Master Norm and Mistress Becky kiss and hug and utter “I love you” often enough, and they seem to be sincere. That said, they haven’t sniffed each other’s butts once in the last year. Just sayin’. Mistress Becky has taken on a new challenge this year, working as a doula and a lactation educator. I’m not exactly sure what it all entails. All I can tell you is that she returns home smelling of adrenaline, estrogen, afterbirth, and vernix, so you’ll hear no complaints from me. Master Norm is still teaching, still writing, and still looking for every opportunity to capitalize on inappropriate humor. On that note, I’ve been instructed to remind everyone of the 2007 Leonard Dynasty Holiday Letter when Master Norm jested that Mistress Becky, then nursing their first born child, was planning to open an internet company at the following web address: www.beckysboobjuice.com. Here we are, four years later, and Mistress Becky (along with her business partner, Michelle Roberts) has opened www.nourish-baby.com, which is a similar – albeit much classier – version of Master Norm’s original inappropriate conjecture.
Moving on now to the pups. Charlee Marie has had a big year. The big girl bed. Graduation to “big girl” panties. Pre-school. Milestone after milestone, all of which she celebrates with seventy-nine verses of whichever Disney Princess movie she happened to watch that week. In November alone, she sang “Beauty and the Beast” 347 times. That’s about full day of singing, a week in dog years. That’s an entire week of my life. If I haven’t already mentioned it, I’m putting myself up for adoption (Hint, hint Grandma Sally…)
And then there’s Sam “Sammers” Cash. He’s walking; he’s talking. Putting words together, making sentences. He can say mama, dada, mine, me too, mine, love you, mine, hell yeah, mine, peanuts (his version of penis), mine, quotidian, mine, and other multi-syllabic words. Not that it’s all that impressive. I’ve been speaking as long as I can remember. Granted, my oral vocabulary is fairly one-dimensional – Arf, Woof, Bark, and so on – but what do you expect? They fit me for a bark collar, robbed me of my voice. Where’s my canine suffrage? Can I get some equal rights up in this mother grabber?!
As for me, my year has been status quo. My only highlight is forthcoming. I’m posing for canine porn, a new offshoot of Aunt Norma’s already flourishing porn empire. Look for me. I’ll be Miss January of “BILF” magazine (that’s like MILF but with a B, figure it out). Sadly, my dreams of posing for “Bitches in Heat” were dashed long ago, a contractual obligation of my adoption… it’s a long, depressing story.
Happy Holidays! ARF-er-ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-arrrrrrrr…….. (god damn bark collar!)