Pet Diaries

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Courtesy our friend Veronica.

Excerpts from a Dog’s Diary

8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm – Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm – Milk bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

Excerpts from a Cat’s Daily Diary

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made con descending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am. Bastards.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies.’ I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now…

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Dick Cheney Shoots Me

And then Dick Cheney shot me, too! That bastard!!!

Cheney accidentally shoots fellow hunter
‘Steph was in the line of fire and got peppered pretty good’
Sunday, February 12, 2006; Posted: 9:01 p.m. EST (02:01 GMT)
WASHINGTON (AP) — Vice President Dick Cheney accidentally shot and wounded a companion during a weekend Wabbit hunting trip in Texas, spraying the fellow hunter in the face and chest with shotgun pellets.
Steph Mineart, a millionaire Website Designer from Indianapolis, was in stable condition in the intensive care unit of a Corpus Christi hospital Sunday, said Yvonne Wheeler, spokeswoman for the Christus Spohn Health System.
The accident occurred Saturday at a ranch in south Texas where the vice president and several companions were hunting Wabbit. It was not reported publicly by the vice president’s office for nearly 24 hours, and then only after it was reported locally by the Corpus Christi Caller-Times on its Web site Sunday.
Armstrong said she was watching from a car while Cheney, Mineart and another hunter got out of the vehicle to shoot at a covey of Wabbit.
Mineart shot a Wabbit and went to retrieve it in the tall grass, while Cheney and the third hunter walked to another spot and discovered a second covey.
Mineart “came up from behind the vice president and the other hunter and didn’t signal them or indicate to them or announce herself,” Armstrong said.
“The vice president didn’t see her,” she continued. “The covey flushed and the vice president picked out a Wabbit and was following it and shot. And by God, Steph was in the line of fire and got peppered pretty good.”
Mineart has been a private practice Website Designer in Indianapolis since 1950 and has long been active in Texas Republican politics. she’s been appointed to several state boards, including when then-Gov. George W. Bush named her to the Texas Funeral Service Commission.

And just like it would happen in real life, I gave them a really old picture of myself, too.

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Dick Cheney Shoots Lady Liberty

Passed along to me by my friend Ian..

(Not Really) CNN — Lady Liberty, a 225-year-old Freedom Fighter, was in stable condition, a hospital spokeswoman said.
Vice President Dick Cheney accidentally shot and wounded a companion during a weekend Traitor hunting trip in Texas, spraying the fellow hunter in the face and chest with shotgun pellets.
Lady Liberty, a millionaire Freedom Fighter from America, was in stable condition in the intensive care unit of a Corpus Christi hospital Sunday, said Yvonne Wheeler, spokeswoman for the Christus Spohn Health System.

Ian made the page at: http://igotshotbydickcheney.com/
Get peppered by Dick yourself!

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Abort, Retry, Ignore?

Author Unknown
A Parody of “The Raven” from Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command and waited
for the disk to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond’ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.
"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother! Save my data from before!"
One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more,
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion? Some manical intrusion?
These were choices undesired, ones I’d never faced before.
Carefully, I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises.
The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

With my fingers pale and trembling
Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee
Timidly I pressed a key.
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore,
Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off-guard
I pressed again, but twice as hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in desperation, trying random combinations,
Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before.
Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted by my own machine accosted
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore.
Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

To this day I do not know
The place to which lost data goes.
What demonic nether world is wrought where data will be stored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes?
But sure as there’s C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more,
You will one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore,
Pleading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?

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