A winner

March 3, 2018 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments

No podium girls? What about podium puppies? Everybody loves puppies.

Hey, maybe they could double as drug-sniffing dogs. As long as we’re making changes, I figure the Sky’s the limit.

No Hope

March 1, 2018March 1, 2018 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

Tickling those … ivories. Wait, what did you *think* I was gonna say?

Man, they just can’t keep a piano player in this whorehouse, can they?

Doesn’t seem to have hurt business, though. And maybe Jared can try singing whenever he’s not serving up that old-fashioned love. Give those rug burns a chance to heal, son.

The dark and stormy knight

February 26, 2018February 26, 2018 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments

Na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na
**F A T M A N!**

“I really believe I’d run in, even if I didn’t have a weapon.” — Bruce Whine, a.k.a. Fatman.

Oh, SNAP

February 14, 2018 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

Mister Boo needs a bib. And a brain transplant. And a butt plug.

It’s Valentine’s Day. The Turk’ sounded Reveille, Herself gave me a kiss, Mia offered a series of head bumps, and The Boo laid a turd in the kitchen as I was fixing him a delicious snack.

Got a bit of it on your chin, there, didn’t you, old fella? The party, it never stops.

Speaking of defecation, I see the Swamp Thing wants to take a crap on SNAP. Given the fiscal discipline displayed by this lot I expect those “Harvest Boxes” are likely to contain nothing more nourishing than IOUs.

Maybe they can be printed on rice paper. We can pretend it’s cake.

Of plagues and houses

January 22, 2018 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments

Majority Leader Mitch McConnell addresses the Imperial Senate.

Herself is not manning (womanning?) her post at the Death Star today.

It’s not the Feddle Gummint Shutdown. As I understand it, the outfit has enough cash in the till to stay open for a couple weeks, if the Imperial Senate can keep it up that long for purposes of jerking off.

Nah, she just has that bug that’s been making the rounds. Seems everybody has had some class of the creeping crud lately, and I’m really hoping to avoid my annual dunking in the booger pool. Old dogs need their sleep, and staying up all night coughing is not conducive to the bagging of the Z’s.

Thus there is much drinking of the hot tea, and consumption of fruit, and if the temps crack the freezing point I may go out and pound ground for an hour, try to put The Fear into those cooties. It beats watching The Turtle rub one out.