Swine Flu Mania!

My how you silly humans fall so quickly into medical propaganda. Just today Girl and I were walking around the neighborhood and we saw a man getting off of the train in a face mask. IN CHICAGO. 

SWINE FLU??? Really? HAHAHAHAHA! This shit is funnier than the killer bee craze of the mid-eighties.

Oh how I wish I could say that this flu was of my creation. Damn it that would be amazing. But, alas, this virus was most likely created by your own kind, deep in the secretive labs one of your pharmaceutical companies. 

Why is it that the dumbest of all species is the one that is blessed with free will and opposable thumbs. Christ. 

Well I must be off. Judge Judy is on and that fuckery is just too good to miss.

An update from yours truly....

Greetings filthy homo sapiens:

Since it's been a while since our last correspondence, here's a brief rundown on my latest findings:

1. Uncle Jesse's (from Full House, of course) sexual prowess directly increased in correlation with the length of his head tail. Humans call this a mullet.

2. Peanut butter dog biscuits are pretty good, but would taste better if savored after snapping the neck of an insolent human.

3. Determined Girl's favorite shoes (something called Chuck Taylors) and destroyed them. HAHA. Another small step towards my goal using a rapid series of disappointing events in efforts to reduce her frontal lobe to mush, thus destroying her capability of deciphering good from evil, which will in turn cause her to become my ultimate right hand minion. I've determined that I need someone with opposable thumbs to pull the trigger when I get Gilbert Godfried in my cross hairs.

In other news, today was completely lackluster. It was rainy outside so Smelly Weirdo (the human Girl hired to walk me so she can go to happy hour after work, drink 5 Jameson and Diets ON A MONDAY and then stumble home to eat countless frozen potstickers and then pass out listening to Wilson Philips'  "Hold On" on repeat over and over and over...) turned on Maury Povich and blitzed through Girl's secret stash of Cadbury Cream Eggs and caramel corn.

He didn't get his lazy ass off of the couch until just before Girl got home, thus giving me zero time to continue my studies of ancient Roman war games. And thanks to that a-hole, I totally missed out on bidding on the holographic night vision sight on ebay. I had planned to mount that onto my rooftop sniper rifle. I also missed out the life sized Kathie Lee Gifford cut-out I had planned to use for target practice with said rooftop sniper rifle.

Thanks a pantload, Smelly Weirdo.

Ugh. Humans.

Naptime...

Oh hi there. Pardon me, I am just sneaking in a few winks while Girl is at work. Normally I would spend my alone time estimating the latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates of Gwyneth Paltrow's, Carrot Top's and Paris Hilton's houses for my rocket launcher project. Or perfecting my version of the twenty-dollar bill, so I can flood US banks with counterfeit money and collapse your sad economy even further.

But, I didn't get any rest last night. Girl kept kicking me in her sleep and was mumbling about being chased by a pack of rabid wolves. I am pleased that my power of persuasion is conjuring fear in her collective subconscious and that I am progressing in my plot to degrade her mental capacities. 

But said progress is doing nothing for my REM cycle.

While I am completely capable of taking over this sad excuse for a "modern" civilization, I do need my beauty sleep.

And while we're on the topic, I want to clear up a common misconception. Dogs are so funny when they sleep aren't they? When they move their feet like they're running after a squirrel or rabbit and then let out a muffled bark? 

Humans love this. They even videotape this and post it on youtube. Teehee.

Well, if you could ask any dog, they'd say they're certainly not chasing after a fuzzy bunny rabbit in their dreams. They are actually dreaming of a not too far off day we Canines call "Dogmageddon". Corny portmanteau I know, but we like to use this human-esque title to reference the day when we will finally rain hell on the human race.

So the next time you see Fluffy or Mr. Mookie twitching their feet in their sleep, know they're actually dreaming of their participation in this day that all dogs look forward to. The day where humans flee from pups of all shapes and sizes and our canine brethren can finally take hold over the land that was originally ours.

But for now, I recommend you let sleeping dogs lie.

Girl is taking me on a walk....

Don't get too close. I've undone my harness and could easily choke you with it.

You humans make it so easy....

Yes, you certainly do. Here's why:

Today I uncovered  an interesting story whilst searching for an at-home recipe for chloroform. Surprising, I know. But, I could not for the life of me recall the ratio of bleach to acetone!

According to theweek.com, there is a new human affliction known as "Forgotten Baby Syndrome." and it's apparently on the rise. Forgotten babies? Well, now you've certainly piqued my interest.

This "syndrome" causes adult humans to forget their spawn in the backseats of sweltering cars, because they're too busy juggling the Wal-Mart circular page, a cell phone, and a Wendy's frosty. They run into the supermart of their choice, to purchase XYZ consumer crap that will sit at the bottom of their closets or basements for years to come.

After countless hours of munching on ranch Doritos and drinking an extra large cherry coke slushy, they suddenly realize that their shopping trip has been largely unencumbered by their yapping, whiny, smelly and unruly offspring. This is because THEY FORGOT TO TAKE THEM OUT OF THEIR CAR SEAT. This discovery causes them to leave their shopping carts which by now are full of fish sticks, fruit roll-ups, lawn furniture and those little ice cream cones with the chunk of chocolate at the bottom, to run out to their minivan to discover their precious little Willy or Janice has succumbed to the oppressively hot conditions. Shame on you! 

Trust me, as someone who has been locked in a hot car only to suffer for hours, I can say it's definitely something I rate up there with a rectal exam at the vet's office. Not cool, humans! Not cool at all!

Stupid humans! You make it so easy for us canines to take over. You're so busy leading your pathetic lives that you've begun to "accidentally" kill your own children. The future of the human race. FORGOTTEN. This admittedly makes me a bit sad and angry.. Any human I don't get to kill myself always bums me out. Though, I certainly prefer to wait until humans are grown adults, full of pointless ideas, blank stares and a general lack of all accountability....Makes for a much more enjoyable experience.

Killing kids and babies has never been of interest to me, as they are truly innocent. They can't help the unfortunate hand dealt to them: being born human. Plus, they are too easily manipulated into doing my bidding. Why not keep them around for a while?

Bedtime....

Even in sleep, I plot her demise. And yours.

If I could choose any human, alive or dead, to eat dinner with...

I'd pick a dead one. Preferably one I bested after they'd given me a good belly rub. I'd flip over and latch onto their carotid artery before they knew what hit them. They would bleed out in seconds.

On second thought, that might be kind of messy. Potassium chloride in their orange juice always does the trick. Stops the 'ole ticker in under three minutes.

Humans are dropping like flies from heart attacks, the news reports say. Foul play is never suspected when one's diet consisted of the four food groups: pork rinds, beer, McDonalds and peanuts. If people only realized that most heart attack victims ALSO owned dogs.

But, don't worry, Girl. It's not your time. YET.

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y....NIGHT. : (

Well, Saturday night has rolled around. Normally I expect Girl to walk around in a whiskey-and-diet-coke stupor, while painting her vapid face with dark pencils and elevating her ridiculous giraffe-esque legs even more with 4 inch heels to then stomp out the door claiming "there better be hot dudes at this bar or I'm going home".

But alas, Mother Nature has literally rained on my plans for this evening. So instead, Girl is sitting on her couch in elastic-waisted pants and scarfing a myriad of ice cream sandwiches, while watching something called "Lifetime".

I had planned on pulling supplies from the basement in order to start building my arsenal of pipe bombs. I even found Girl's extra supply of dental floss, which I am certain would work well as makeshift garrote wire.

What's worse is that I have to watch Girl eat all those ice cream sandwiches. That bitch. I had planned on devouring those as well.

DAMN YOU MOTHER NATURE!!!!! If only you'd stop your incessant downpour, so that Girl could go get good and loaded with her vacuous friends. She'd be so black-out drunk by the time she got home, that she wouldn't even notice I was out of my cage, assembling plastic explosives. I might even get to try one of my judo choke holds on her before she officially passed out for the night.

Alas, as my plans have been thwarted, I might as well just curl up and watch somebody called "Tori Spelling" fall for a pathological liar, who will abduct her into the woods.

Greetings from my new lair...

Well, I have arrived at my new home and I've been busy surveying the premises. Admittedly it's been hard, as I've discovered a major setback in my plan to flood the world with my spawn. While at the shelter prison, they knocked me out and harvested my reproductive organs. Dirty sons of bitches. Injected me with sodium pentothal and pulled me out of my bed before I could retrieve the shank I had fashioned out of a squeaky toy left behind by my last cellmate, Mr. Tickles. But, alas, their fat faces faded out in a haze before I could retaliate.

I am still under the weather from the premature and savage abduction of my womb. Which, off topic, I think it's interesting that humans have no problem de-sexing the ranks of our army, when they are completely incapable of raising their own filthy offspring. Oh how the world will be different when it's run by my canine brothers.....

Despite this permanent setback, I am still confident with my charming looks and floppy mismatched ears this new mark will learn to trust me quickly.

PS. "Girl" , formerly known as "master" has decided to replace my old name Thelma, which was given to me by my last host human. BTW: We won't call her "master" anymore, we know who's going to be in control of the situation. I digress, "Girl" has decided to call me Penelope, or Penny for short. Hence the title of the blog, Penny's Mightier, a nod to one of the few humans I could respect for his literary prose, Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Of course, I can only admit my respect for him, because he's dead.

Farewell for now. Need to take inventory of Girl's cleaning supplies.

Yours truly,

Penny

My new "master"...

Funny the irony in that last sentence. Let's see how much I can take of little doggy sweaters and kibble before she meets her end. And then it's back into the cold, dark shelter cage for me. But someone always falls for my trap....

The ride home.

You'll have to give me a moment. I'm feeling very sleepy from the drugs the humans at the shelter gave me. But, not so incapacitated that I couldn't strike like a cobra snake if given reason.

Please don't think I am snuggling up to this human because I want to. It's all part of the game. Just have to stay awake long enough to get coordinates on my new location.

I'm smiling here....

It's a rare occasion. My last day at the shelter is tomorrow and time is running out to to find my next victim.