YSaC, Vol. 1084: Dog Days are Overrated.
I’m hungry. You know what I could go for right now? Some bread. But not just any bread. I’d like some bread in the shape of a dog. Fortunately, today’s poster can oblige:
best pest ever – $300
I have two amazing dogs for sale I have every thin you could ever imgane. there is every thin included for your stater kit. I have a pure bread min pin as well as I have a pure bread pug. They are both hose broke and they both love people and kids of all ages. The Min pin is 2yrs old and the pug is 1 yr old. i have all the thins you need to strat your new pet out. hit me up at ###-###-####
mmm… pure bread pug.
Also, I could use some thins for strating my pet out. She’s just not stratted out enough yet, and when we take her to the local housecat dream cruise, I can just hear the other cat owners snickering. “You could really strat that cat out more,” they would say. “You could drop the suspension, overtax the manifold, broke the hoses, reframbulate the diffraction housing, and add a turbo. (Everything’s better with a turbo.) That would be just the thin.”
Thanks for the link, Tina!
I guess all we see of the Min Pin is the silhouette of his butt behind this amazing color changing pug.
Best Pest Ever — They must come with fleas.
At least they are pure bread and not that gluten free crap.
No, no, the “best” pest is human. I dated him. And he cost a lot more than $300 – though that is a lot of bread, even if it is organic, artisanal, and handmade. (Anybody know what bits of a soul are worth?)
In all seriousness, that pug is cute and I hope they were both rehomed with non-asschapeaux.
Aw. I’m allergic to wheat. If I have eight other dogs and a bottle of Elmer’s Glue-All can I get these two Glu Ten Free?
Mmm…warm pug bread, right outta the oven…slather a little real butter (not that margarine crap) and some homemade jam…sigh….
Doesn’t do much for the thin, but it’s worth it.
Goes well with a coffee slice, too.
And here you go. Barking hot.
http://justcapshunz.icanhascheezburger.com/?s=bread+dog
Are those eyes or raisins?
Windy, I just discovered another sentence that I never, ever, ever want to hear uttered or read again. Thanks!
It looks like a huge maggot bread.
Mmm, furry maggot bread with raisin eyes. And 100% natural toenails.
No, I won’t go to the corner. It’s my special day and I’m staying right here.
Will bet that all Spark’ has is “rall buter” for that braid . . .
Oh, awesome! This pug came with an amp, a gig bag and a pocketful of picks.
*Sits down at drums.*
BTW, “Best Pest Ever” is IF’s Papa Roach cover band.
I personally prefer the Rickenbacker tone, though you don’t see ads for it. Probably because “Rickenbacker your new pet out” sounds like something that would get you brought up on a public morals charge.
Real dog-rock enthusiasts know that the Gibson Les Pug is the only way to go. Tonally, at least. But some people prefer the look of the Flying Weimaraner.
“Flying Weimaraner.” Heh. Heh heh. Snort.
I have this thing where I often mispronounce words I don’t use very often – I can picture what I want to say in my head, but I just can’t figure out how to say it. I was talking to my Mom the other day and mentioned Weimaraners, only I called them “Weinie Rammers”. I thought she was going to laugh herself into a stroke.
As did I!
Damn, girl, you gotta warn a person.
I think my next blog post ought to be the various ways my hubby has butchered the English language.
Well, maybe I’ll wait a while as today’s blog post was all about another of his foibles.
Ooh, yes – the inadvertent chemical peel he gave his hands. That sounded very ouchy.
His stater kit must be thin, it doesn’t even include the basic spellcheck. Most Sparkies upgrade to the Exclamation kit, complete with extra punctuation.
He obviously expects you’ll have a lot of your own question marks already.
That pug is obviously not pure bread. It appears to be a mix of pumpernickel, whole wheat, and Portuguese sweet bread.
I dunno, it looks more in bread to me, as I think it’s loafing a little…
“Hello?”
“Yes, may I speak to Sparky, please?”
“Sparking. How can I help you?”
“I bought this dog from you. The one from Craigslist.”
“Mm hmm.”
“Well, he seems to be leaking a lot of water. I’ve had a few dogs in my day, and none of them have ever had this problem. What’s up with this?”
“Sir, the ad clearly discloses that the dog’s hose broke.”
“Oh.”
Hey Lucy, I’m home!
Do you thin the dog pee’d in the hose today?
Looooossseeeee! Choo-gah sum splainin’ ta do!!
Those bread dogs are kinda cute, I wouldn’t mind a DIY kit to build one. Actually, I’ve got a lot of random parts here already…
*Builds for a while*
Hmm, not quite the same, but still pretty cut- ALL HAIL HYPNO DOG!
This ad give me bad feelings. “Hose broke” makes me think maybe they whipped them with a hose. And this reminds me of a friend that had a pug who’s eyeball was always popping out.
Damn you Sparky! Now I’m depressed!
Friend of mine has a dog who kept chewing through the garden hose. Perhaps that’s what “hose broke” is?
One of my friends has a Chihuahua whose eye popped out once. I’m so glad I’ve never seen that happen. I don’t have anything funny to say about escaping eyeballs.
What are you folks doing in my nightmares? Can’t a girl have any privacy?
Sorry, Windy. I’ve never heard of or seen that before, but now, I’m pretty sure that if I ever sleep again I will awaken myself screaming.
The chi-pocalypse just took on a new, horrifying element. *shudders*
*imagines eyeless zombie chihuahuas, in packs*
I’ll be over here, in the corner, with the flask.
*mimblewhimble*
Zombie Chihuahas in Packs is IF’s Steppenwolf cover band.
I always wondered about that phrase, put your eyes back in your head. *wanders over to the corner, where it’s safe*
I’m impressed. I could never get my dog to wear hose. Not even knee-highs.
Is that because it’s a bare dog?
Camille, that made me laugh so hard I have tears running down my face. I wish I had more doors to give!
(Disclaimer: I’m on day 3 of solo parenting and haven’t slept much. Slap-happy would be an accurate description.)
Next step after slap-happy is punch-drunk…
Yeah, I crocheted the cats some socks once. They didn’t like them. Not one bit. Nope. Ungrateful boogers.
FM… you’re supposed to knit kitten britches.
I bet y’all think I’m kidding. I like to crochet and I whipped up some little booties for my old cat (this was back when I drank a WHOLE lot more than I do now). He didn’t like them, he fell over as if he were paralyzed. If you’ve ever put clothes on a cat (I do that to our current cats for Halloween sometimes) that’s how they react. Like you’ve just KILLED them. Tis hilarious. And even more hilarious if you’re very drunk.
Yay, a fellow hooker!
My big cat Fearless does that if you so much as drape a napkin over her – it’s like the weight of a small piece of fabric is just crushing her.
I’m a happy hooker, too!
Wait…that sounded so much better in my head.
Let’s try…
I love hooking!
Shit.
Never mind.
monkey,
Once again, big warm fuzzy secret heart for you. Your cat stories are hilarious, and unlike cats, they don’t make me sneeze or feel inadequate.
And I still squee when I see your sweet sweet puppy pic.
Let’s see…”Hooking Is For Lovers”, “Hookers Do It With a Needle”, “Needles: They Ain’t Just For Addicts Anymore”. I’m trying to think of a good t-shit for those of us that love the medium of yarn.
Hooking has always been a satisfying hobby. Sadly, only one Eyebrow daughter took it up. Blue ribbon winner, tho. Made me proud.
two amazing dogs is IF’s Three Dog Night tribute band. But I hear they’re a bunch of hosers. When they play “One is the Loneliest” they try to push each other off the stater.
They must have relied on CatMath….that sneaky, sneaky CatMath.
No… they’re two amazing dogs and IF, who’s less amazing but more dogged.
“More dogged”? Hey man, what happens in the lederhosen needs to stay in the lederhosen.
I thought the
pecilhose needed to stay in the lederhosen.Huh. I never tried putting lederhosen on the dog. Now I have a new project for the weekend.
I don’t want a pure bread dog – do you have any half-bread ones?
How about a low-carb kitten?
How about a diet gerbert? It’s kosher.
If those are #2 meat gerberts, I’m trying to keep dead flesh out of my pug bread staters, thank you.
…and, remarkably, this makes perfect sense to me….
Make mine decaf, please.
What’s the phone number for this one, Llamanun (BBUY)… I totally knead these dogs!
Ooof, what a pun. Don’t think you’re going to get a rise out of me with that one, though.
It was the yeast she could do.
I don’t think the phone number is in… hey… wheat a minute… is this just a thread of bread-related puns? Rye, I oughta…
Ah, if only . . . we could have skipped raisins for eyes, hoses broken and the whole oven-baked mess of it all . . .
I am–slightly–driven to search this CL ad out and set up a bot to email Spark’ “Dough!” about elebenty elebenty times . . .
But, I have to also admit to having something of a poor day, too.
Seems like I only show up anymore when bad puns are posted. I must be a gluten for punishment.
Maybe you should get off your buns, quit loafing around, and help us come up with some decent jokes.
Jeez, what a moldy-oldy. You’re toast man, TOAST! 🙂
Why don’t you make like a tree and get outta here?
Today’s box is brought to you by the letters QQ and D/DM. Sorry about the hole blasted in the side. There will be a work crew in to fix it later.
Well, this box certainly is a fixer-upper, ain’t it?
Hey, how did my old socks get in here? HAMMY!!!
Hammy is still nailed in a box in the box, please leave a message.
*leaving a massage*
😀
Given today’s ad, shouldn’t you be leavening him a massage?
Depends on the hose broke
Don’t massage the puppy’s tummy!
Party pooper…
I like dogs a lot. Really, I do. The pure bread ones are not the best, though. There are always a lot of complaints. “Moooom, there’s hair in my sandwich!” or “Mooooom, my PB&J smells like wet dog!!!”
Darn kids, asking for a pet and then complaining about it…
Your kids are lucky. For my entire childhood, the only pet I ever wanted was a luck dragon, and I never got one.
The one pic is blurry, so I’m not certain – but it seems like two pics of the same dog. At the very least, the blurry pic has none of the min pin traits. The tail (blurry as it may be) looks like it’s curled and fluffy, not straight, docked, and non-fluffy. The overall body looks more stocky than svelte.
These dogs love you and they love showing you how much they love you. At first it’s endearing, but before long it gets a little tiring. Of course one look in those eyes, and you instantly forgive the annoyance. Unless, of course, you suck at craigslist.
The min pin is apparently the headless dog in the background of pic #1. It must be his best feature.
Ichadog Crane.
Because I can’t ve arsed to ask Uncle Google, what is a min pin and is it a bad bowler?
:gives kelli a little pinch:
Just trying to help….
A min-pin is sort of a mini version of the Doberman Pinscher.
Only yappier.
And more annoying.
And smaller, but don’t tell them.
Right next to the Choo-ha-ha the Min-Pin is the biggest “little” dog on the block.
No, I don’t have any, but a coirker and her partner have two..in lieu of kids…and another coirker’s wife raises and sells the little darlings.
They really are adorable…when they are puppies.
Fully grown, I hear they’re great with favre beans and a nice Chianti.
My experience with Min Pins is that you must use a training collar to get them to stop barking. The one I knew would try to kill you unless the owner kept her hand on him, and would bark ceaslessly when put in another room. The collar was the only thing that worked. He still tried to kill us, but he did it quietly.
Funny story about that….
Well, not about min-pins, but about small ankle-biters.
A friend had a pair of Chi-hoo-has named Tiny Tim and Tinkerbell.
Tinkerbell was 10 yrs. old and didn’t have a tooth in her little head, but that never stopped her from doing her damnedest to try and bite any hand that got near her.
My friend was always admonishing Tink by saying, “You’re such a bitch!”
This always made me laugh as I said, “As a matter of fact she is.”
Said friend never got it.
Sigh…this is the same woman who was once writing a LONG and nasty letter to somebody who’d wronged her in some *horrid* way.
She paused in her furious scribbling to yell across the room to me and say, “How do you spell illiterate?”
After about fifteen minutes solid of laughter…no, it wasn’t just me who heard it and we fed off each other, and this person sat looking puzzled the whole time…she finally got pissed and left in a huff.
Oh my….the good times…
Bad Bowler is IF’s Men Without Hats cover band.
Sorry, my accent occasionally slips out.
It’s very long, and for that I don’t apologize. The story used me as a conduit to be shared, and I felt if I shorted it I’d be cheating it. There’s a happy ending.
The two little dogs had met in the pound. The miniature pinscher and the pug became friends by commiserating with each other each time families walked past their kennel and chose larger dogs, cuter dogs, furrier dogs, or – heaven forbid – cats. Finally, at the end of the week, e-day had arrived. Since the dogs were small, the pound employee wasn’t paying too much attention. The man in puppy dog scrubs was quite sad about the odious task that fell on his shoulders, so he delayed until the very last possible minute. Just as the bosses were beginning to lock up, he relented and started preparing the drugs. Right when he opened the small kennel, a huge commotion arose nearby. Lucy, an over-excited Dane, crashed through her kennel and started running laps around all the other kennels. All employees started chasing her, and Killer saw their chance. The two little dogs, normally quite yippy when excited, very quietly trotted out of the kennel when everybody was working on cornering Lucy. The boss had accidentally triggered the automatic door, so Killer and Max quietly scampered into the darkness.
For the next few days, they scavenged what they could. They worked together to catch a stray lizard or grasshopper. They mostly only hunted in the late evening or early morning. Nighttime was spent hiding from coyotes and daytime was spent hiding from the heat. On their fourth day of freedom, Killer realized they weren’t getting enough water. Max was reluctant to follow, but slowly the pair started exploring backyards on the edge of town. The first yard was xeriscaped with cacti and gravel. The second yard had a leaking sprinkler head, but the sight of an unfriendly Rottweiler kept them away. In the third yard, a grumpy middle-aged man was sitting on his patio and waving a fan in front of his scruffy face. A glass of ice tea sat on the ground next to his chair, and even though it was a dry day, some moisture had condensed on the glass. Slowly, Killer snuck into the yard from the side of the house. The min pin was too focused on her objective and how the cold, wet glass would feel against her dry tongue. She didn’t notice the man stop fanning himself when his peripheral vision caught slow movement.
She was just a couple feet away. She would have to crawl under the man’s chair to get to the glass, but the payoff was worth any risk. The man had slowly turned his head toward the dog. Just a couple seconds after she entered his shadow, he simply reached down and scooped her up. Killer was too thirsty and hungry to make a fuss, so she just whimpered once and went slack. Max watched from the shadows of the bordering shrubs as the man examined Killer from nose to tail. The person grumbled something about “mangy-looking dog” and “acceptable anniversary gift”, and then he took Killer inside. Max whimpered quietly in the shadows and laid down.
About an hour later, Max awoke to an uncomfortable feeling. Something was in his ear. Something wet. Something slimy. He opened his eyes and recognized Killer. She looked happy. She started pushing on Max’s side with her muzzle. Reluctantly, he got up. She went out from the comfort of the shade, but Max stayed. Returning to her friend, Killer started pushing on Max again. Stubbornly she pushed against his rump until he exited the shade. Killer trotted over to the patio and then turned to look at her companion. She gave a couple little yips and then started trotting in circles around a bowl of water the man had given her. Max was wary because the man was out of sight, but his thirst compelled him forward. Just as his tongue was about to begin lapping up the water, giant hands from out of nowhere scooped him up. The grumpy man examined Max with the same lack of excitement he showed to Killer, and then grumbled something about “guess she gets two anniversary presents.”
At first, things with the new family went very well. The wife was very excited to have two little dogs. Max took a little longer to warm up to them than Killer did, but after the first week they both relaxed. After about a month, both dogs wagged so constantly that they seemed like little balls of energy. In their eagerness to show their new people gratitude, at least one dog was licking a person at all times. Even at night just before falling asleep, both Max and Killer scampered around the bedroom until they got picked up so they could slobber affectionate kisses all over the people. The woman seemed to enjoy it, but the man seemed to endure it.
After a couple more months, the man stopped picking up the dogs for his evening showering of affection. He began closing the door to his den. He began reading the newspaper on the patio despite the heat. Finally, instead of an afternoon “business” walk he just started pushing the dogs out into the backyard and leaving them there until they were done.
One day, Killer overheard the man grumbling words like “pest”, “craigslist”, and “money”. She trotted into the bedroom and saw the man typing on his laptop. He looked up and said something like “get rid of you both” and set down his laptop. Killer recognized the look the man gave her. It was the same look her first owner had when he dropped her off at the pound. It was a look of disgust. She scampered off and hid under the couch.
The man shrugged his shoulders and took out a camera. He snapped a picture of Max. “Both small dogs, picture doesn’t matter”, he thought to himself. He turned down the lights in the dining room and began shaking the camera just a little. He snapped another picture of Max. Figuring somebody’d care more about the dog than the picture, he went back to his computer to finish the ad.
Killer knew what would happen next. Somehow, they’d end up back at the pound. That was no place to be, so she decided to make her escape. She had become so fond of Max though, so she knew she’d have to drag him along. That night, as soon as the man pushed them out the door Killer started shoving Max toward the edge of the yard. He thought it was a game, so he started pushing back. Killer yipped a little warning, but Max returned a playful yip and charged her. Being more stocky than the min pin, Max knocked her over. Each time she’d get back up, he’d knock her over again. She realized he was having fun, so she finally just stayed down. Max waited for her to get up, but when she didn’t he lost interest and took care of business. She reluctantly did the same and sat patiently but sadly next to the door.
The same scene played out each night. Each day, Killer sat remorsely in the window, sad that the previous night’s effort had failed but determined to try again. Each day the man grumbled something about “nobody else wants you either” and the woman became a little more concerned about Killer’s behavior. At the end of about a week, Killer noticed some strange activity. The woman didn’t seem happy, and she had made a call to somebody named “vet”. Killer became quite nervous. She started whimpering, and finally Max noticed that something wasn’t right. The woman noticed Max’s change, and said something like “better take them both.” She scooped up both dogs and took them to the car. After fastening her seatbelt, she noticed there were no keys in her hand. Hurridly, she got out of the car and rushed back to the house. Even though the keys were swinging in the door lock and she was back to the car in less than a minute, that was all the time the little dogs needed to vanish.
On their own again, the two spent a few days chasing lizards and grasshoppers. It was the middle of fall, but the days were still too warm to be really active. This time Max was the one to realize the need for water. Killer didn’t want anything to do with people any more, but she stuck to her friend out of devotion. The pug led the way into a few yards. They had wandered around the desert near town, but they were nowhere near the house they’d just left. Quietly, Max would sneak around a yard looking for water while Killer would hide in whatever cover she could find nearby. Yards were going into hibernation for winter, gardens were harvested and drying out, pools were covered. Max was beginning to give up hope because it seemed like no payoff was coming for all of the risk he was taking.
The last yard he approached was surrounded by a gigantic fence. He could smell something unusual, but couldn’t identify the faintly familiar odor. In the corner of the yard, the ground was quite disturbed. It looked as if a gigantic chunk of earth had been removed and then replaced. This seemed recent because the ground was still soft. Max pushed aside teaspoons of dirt at a time with his tiny paws until there was a hole just big enough to squeeze through. Peeking around a large tree, he saw what appeared to be a little table with little cups. He didn’t think people came in packages small enough to drink out of cups that small, but there seemed to be some water spilled near the cups.
Very cautiously, Max crawled across the ground toward the table. As he neared the table, his attention switched from scanning for danger to anticipating the liquid. Just a couple body lenghts from the table, he had completely forgotten everything but that water when he was completely eclipsed by a shadow. Freezing, he began to growl. When Killer heard her friend growling, she reluctantly left her hiding place and crawled through the fence to the base of the tree. Peeking around the corner, she nearly fainted at the sight.
Max nearly exploded with panic as he noticed the changes to his environment. On both sides of Max’s head were a dog’s paws, either of which was nearly as big as Max. Attached to the paws were two legs almost twice as long as Max’s body. When Max looked up, he saw just inches from his head a dog’s mouth into which he could fit. Staring down at him was a pair of eyes that seemd to Max to be bigger than the entire sky. Between the mouth and the eyes were a pair of nostrils into which Max could fit his entire forepaw. Above the eyes were a pair of ears either of which Max could use as a blanket. Perched askew between the ears was a pink rhinestone tiara with ringlets of fake golden blonde hair. When the two dogs’ eyes met, the giant mouth opened and the ground around Max shook with a single bark. From that angle Max didn’t recognize the Dane that broke from her kennel the night Max and Killer escaped, but Lucy’s tongue licking Max and covering him with slobber from tail to nose and flipping him over caused any dread to evaporate from Max’s heart.
Killer darted out from her hiding place determined to protect her friend. When the Dane lay down, Killer grabbed one of her hears and started to shake it as fiercely as she could, growling. Lucy simply shook her head and Killer sailed through the air, landing in a heap at the feet of a squealing 6-year-old girl decked out in a pink princess gown. The little girl scooped up Killer and scampered off to her mom, pleading to please rescue the poor little thing. The mom looked at her daughter and saw from the welling tears that the little girl’s birthday wish had changed from a pony to a min pin.
That night, Lucy and Max slept in the same room. They shared a queen-size mattress bought just for Lucy in a room others would describe as a guest room, but these people described as their Dane’s room. Lucy stretched her long legs all the way across the bed and dangled her toes over the edge and Max used her ear as a blanket. The birthday girl insisted on sleeping in her princess gown and sharing her bed with the new queen of her bedroom. Killer still felt terrified from the giant dog’s head shake and thought she might’ve been a little bruised, so she winced no matter how gently the little girl stroked her. Just before falling asleep, the little girl yawned and whispered “Your highness, I hope you like your new kingdom enough to stay here with me forever and ever. I love you.” Despite the misadventures of the past few months, Killer found herself completely at ease as she licked the child’s tongue once and then fell asleep.
Oh my lions. Do you guys realize what just happened here?
YSaC has really made it. I give you… YSaC fanfic!
Otherwise, that was a sweet story, Yancy!
Actually if you go over to Mindfield’s blog, you’ll find a rather large collection of YSaC fanfic.
Where is Mindfield/Denture Dog anyway? I went on vacation and he was gone when I got back. What have you twisted people done with him?
Is he in a trapdoor in the baux or did he run away with some poodle?
Mudsy, honest, we don’t know either. He said something about being busy for a few weeks, then just disappeared. He never showed up on Facebook either.
Speaking of Facebook. 8) Any regulars who haven’t joined FB and then joined YSaC Friends, you are just asking to be out of the loop. There’s even PICTURES! What are you waiting for? I’m looking at you, Slash!
Freaky Puppy’s website is gone, too. Sigh….I fear something terrible has happened…like, his ‘Net privileges were stripped or something.
He was pure genius.
Oh, hey, this reminds me that now that Facebook has this new “acquaintances” thing, I am officially open to friending people who I don’t know IRL.
To find me, just search “astrognash”. Be sure to send me a message letting me know who you are on YSaC or I’ll just assume you’re a random creeper.
I’m as Facebooky as I know how to be. I’ve commented on some of the FB posts, even. But I don’t know real names and nobody there uses the same picture as they do here… I’m currently represented by good old Jim (that’s my pup’s name) wherever I go.
Oh, I see. I friended YouSuckat Craigslist and liked the YSaC page… didn’t know about the group.
There should be a document in the FB group that gives everyone’s real name and alias.
PS, I’m assuming “I’m looking at you, Slash” was directed at me. I hope so, because although I’ve never been called “Slash” before, if I now find out that you were talking to someone else, I will be sad.
Mindfield’s page is gone??? PICKLES AND WINSTON ARE MISSING?!?!?!?
I’m genuinely sad at this.
I do not resemble that remark.
Yes, you are hereafter and ever more Slash to your close personal virtual friends. 8) Cause D was just too vague. Glad you like it!
If you must have a pest, it is prudent to get the best pest ever.
Well, forget it. I was interested in the magic thin strated-out dog-bread…until I got to the hose broke part. Nope, no longer interested. I don’t want a dog-bread that will break my hoses. I don’t even know what that means exactly, but it sounds BAD and scary! =0
Wow.
Just, wow.
Not only is the pug pure bread, but…
Sparky has wheat thins, too!
And not just wheat thins: Xe has “every thin you could ever” imagine!
“I don’t know, I can imgane quite a bit.”
Yea, Sparkily.
I’m really impressed that Sparky was able to broke a hose. I’ve tried broking hoses before, but they’re pretty damn tough.
So, the mysterious QQ never came around today, so Slash, here’s your Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Smutmhadra!
http://media1.break.com/dnet/media/2010/2/10/58%20Pug%20Loaf_thumb.jpg