Today is as good a day as any to write stupid crap that no one, including yourself, will read. Today is as good a day as the next for the quality of a dog named clipper.

Anti seemed to have some confusion as to whether keith and joe have only one ear each. I can assure you that alfred’s ears are totally and completely intact, if not a mite damaged from e-tarding out next to rave speakers back in the pre h-town era, but still for all intents and purposes fully functional.

The thing is that this web site, page, blog, whatever you feel comfortable calling it, is the complete & total property of a certain dog living in Glendale California named Clipper. Thus the name. Clipper is a dog who was named clipper because one of his ears had been clipped apparently by a drunken ice fiend before somehow ending up in the pound before my good friend found him. Clipper demonstrates the tactility and unwavering dedication to good vibes of a select group of canines across the globe by not letting these harsh old experiences affect his current status as on OG playboy. Yeah one ear is clipped in half, but shit, he ain’t gonna let a little thing like that stop him from riches and bitches.

Compared to a dog named clipper, I and probably you are useless whiners who need to do a serious inventory of our priorities and attitudes. Here is a dog with half and ear yet 3 times the soul of James Brown. A dog with every excuse to lead a jaded existence but with the wherewithal and forebearance to rise above his difficult past and triumph in the face of desperation. There is no sign of bitterness and/or betrayal in those trusting eyes. Only love and acceptance for all. Except those that would threaten the master and his wife and their unborn child. Those shall inherit the wind of Clipper’s teeth through their jugular veins and reap what they hath sown, a legacy of bloodspattered curtains and severe pain.

That is what I’m talking about when I explain a dog named clipper. And don’t even get me started on how he talks to me in both my sleeping & waking hours. That’s a WHOLE nother story, which I went through in the first post ever. I went through it already & I won’t elaborate on it further except to indicate that Clipper is NOT Sam and I am not his son, I am no murderer, I don’t even own a .44, but otherwise it’s kind of similar. He tells me stuff, but it doesn’t drive me crazy. Clipper has none of the arrogance and hatred for humanity that tainted Sam’s symbiotic relationship with David Berkowitz. Plus I’m not a raving freakin’ lunatic. Seriously though.

Whut, you can’t have a telepathic relationship with a dog 3,000 miles away without people calling you deranged? Has society fallen so far? Are we that judgmental? Cuz if we are then I might just have to go back to gnome-land and live with the alternate universe saskatchwanese bacon-eaters again. At least they’re straight up about shit.