:: Relish it ::

Sunday, April 27, 2003

Posted by morland @ 03:55 PM

:: Comments ::

You: strutting through Wasington Square Park, wearing a dashing button down blue shirt, a healthy sheen of pure saline sweat glistening on your brow as you negotiated your dandified way among the dapper dauschunds.

Me: Thinking of a simpler time, doing whippets on Thanksgiving, your admirer, from a distance, clad in gossamer.

Coffee? I'll be getting the Red-Bull Frappuccino. You?

(P.S. - If you haven't decided to date Maymuchka).

Posted by: Helen Beauregard on April 27, 2003 04:42 PM

wait... is that a ghost of fatty matty disco daddy's beloved wiener dog, named cricket?

Posted by: the guy from vail on April 28, 2003 05:26 PM

oooh, poor taste. cricket is no longer with us.

Posted by: morland on April 28, 2003 05:51 PM

oh, i know she's no longer of this world, morland. that's why i said ghost. maybe a reincarnation. maybe you're paying homage to cricket. the cricket that we all remember. i dont find that to be in poor taste at all, mr. Taste-Policeman.

Posted by: i live in vail on April 29, 2003 11:50 AM

This breed of dog is the very same with which my beloved French mother, Annie, has triumphed throughout Europe winning acclaim and stature among canine enthusists. Her two champions: "Osceola" & "Poetic Lover." In French, the breed is Teckel.

Posted by: Al on April 29, 2003 03:03 PM

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