Monday, July 03, 2006

How to Fold a Shirt

Alotta Faggina.
It is a time of mourning.
Brazil ain't in the World Cup no more, which is bad news. Is there anything better than waking up at noon, turning on the old Idiot Box, and seeing a stadium full of free-wheeling, brown-skinned wimmens from Pernambuco?
No... no, there isn't.

Beach cigar, anyone?

They have a dog beach in Chicago. It's a beach for dogs. The dogs can run around, swim, eat their poo, and smell each other's asses in a wet, sandy environment. And their pathetic owners socialize while watching their precious little pets crap in the lake.

Not that there's anything wrong with this whole "dog beach" idea... not at all. Like communism, it looks good on paper; but in reality, it sucks the life out of you and leaves you with nothing but vodka to douse the fire.

There's even a dog beach website. We checked it out. We noticed that about halfway down the page, there's a section called "What to Expect." That section informs you of the dangers of taking your dog to the beach, such as the possibility that your dog well step on a rusty fish-hook or get swept away by big waves.

Uh... yeah. We can think of a couple more risks.

How about e. coli bacteria? I heard that stuff's pretty rough. We're talking about 100 acres of sand, designated by the City to be shat upon by German Shepherds, Jack Russels, and Pomeranians, located just a quarter mile from public beaches enjoyed daily by the general public.

I've watched this video 14 times, and I still can't figure out how it's done.


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