Tuesday, December 06, 2005

QUEEFY McBUTTCHEEKS

Sullivan and I continue our nightly rides to the store and he has learned cues beyond the putting on of the cap and the handling of keys to signal his impending ride. For instance, that annoying fiddler at the end credits of NYPD Blue ( my 5 to 6 pm guilty pleasure ) and seeing scratch tickets.
Tonights ride was different, because Sully was, uh, gassy. We hadn't made it out of the driveway when the rodeo was filled with an aroma vaguely reminiscent of hashish.
I don't have any hash...and after the initial bouquet, I realized what was happening. It continued all the way to the store, growing in strength until I was flooded with memories of an old cheech and chong routine involving burning eyes and rosarita refries.
I let out a noxious cloud when I opened the door and hoped the smell wouldn't follow me into the store.
I don't know what he ate...maybe it was the banana he stole out of the turtle pen...

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