The Great Pugsly

Gone is the romance
That was so divine
'Tis broken
And cannot be mended
You must go your way
And I must go mine
But now that our love dreams
Have ended


What'll I do
When you are far away
And I am blue?
What'll I do?


What'll I do
When I am wond'ring who
Is kissing you?
What'll I do?


What'll I do
With just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
When I'm alone
With only dreams of you
That won't come true


What'll I do?


In my younger and more precociously vulnerable years, a renowned code poet gave me some advice that I've been struggling to decipher and possibly then consider, ever since. "When you feel like criticizing anyone," he told me, "remember that all the people in this world haven't had your advantages. For while you are multidimensional, they are all ones and zeros. Zeros, mostly."

He then went on to cite my good looks, wickedly witty sense of humor, charm (especially with the ladies) and convincing humility as just a few of those advantages.
Around that time, his scripting caused my browser to freeze, so in consequence I reserved all my judgement until offshore tech support purged the offending code.

It was by poor choice that blog vote predetermined I spend the summer on a slender and withering appendage known as Shlong Island. As a struggling Ponzi schemer, I could only afford to squat on that less fashionable side of the Discourtesy Bay known as Bad Egg.

While the filthy rich, and also the occasional Canadian expatriot  and Australian celebrity thrived and inflicted themselves on the more fashionable arm referred to as Fabergé Egg, I made do in a cottage where the only amenities were a Meth Lab left in haste by a previous tenant, and Lambonline dial-up Internet.

Only my neighbor, Pugsly, would be exempt from both Ponzi scheme and generic distain for other lifeforms. Pugsly, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. For Pugsly turned out all right in the end. It was what preyed on him, what foul dust floated in the wake of his posts.

At least twice a year, teams of warehouse club sample servers, amateurish writers, unabashed plagiarists, copyright infringers and under-the-table Teamsters would descend upon Pugsly's place to construct Puglypaloosa.

Like moths to a zapper, errant bloggers would wander into Pugsly's fragrant and enchanted garden; perhaps wondering why he chose not to "defoliate" per commonly accepted hygenic practice.

There was music from Justin Bieber and the Jonas Brothers through those summer nights among the trolling and the word verification and the stars. They started their quest for bondage involving animal costumes, and yet somehow ended up at Pugsly's blog; a simplicity of mind serving as its own ticket of admission.

 
(end of Part-1)
 
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Injunction Junction

Hi everybody,

So sorry for the delay, however because of the impending legal action, I was required to wait 90-days before posting anew. Thankfully that requirement has now been met and I can fill you in to the extent that the law allows.

Suffice it to say, Black Bart and all Puglypaloosa funds are nowhere to be seen. I am hoping for the best, and that this will be revealed as pure coincidence. However there are many indications that the 2-disappearances may be related.

Authorities are searching for Black Bart and the missing monies, and attorneys are diverting all attention from Serena's Workperson's Comp case to instead focus pro-bono on formal charges and protection from Puglypaloosa creditors. I am presently dealing with the aftermath of Black Bart's apparently endless, shady business dealings, least of which include the truckloads of illegal Mexicans and Canadians that he snuck in as cheap labor.

I've been able (until now) to placate both groups, pending a plan for repatriation to their respective banana republics. However I've run out of cheap beer and World Cup Soccer for one group, and even cheaper beer and Regional Curling rebroadcasts for the second. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Meanwhile, if anyone spots Black Bart, please report his whereabouts to the local authorities or dogcatcher. And remember that while he is not armed, he can be dangerous (mostly as a trip hazard). So use extreme caution, especially around stairs. Also be wary of his ability to charm and manipulate. As many of us can attest, he makes "The Most Interesting Man in the World" from those Dos Equis commercials look like a schmuck amateur.

Here at Puglypaloosa "Command Central", we've already been fielding reports of Black Bart spottings across the globe. Let's keep those updates coming in, and keep each other abreast* (* usually - in more carefree days - I would attempt a sophomoric aside here, however this is not the time for titillation) of developments.

So far these are a few of the unconfirmed Black Bart sightings:

- Seen at the World Cup in South Africa with Paris Hilton; reportedly showed little interest in her Vuvuzela; unlikely to be the real Black Bart, as he is a notorious horn-dog. Paris later detained for marijuana possession / tried to pin it on Black Bart.

- Allegedly duped British Petroleum into believing he was an "Oil Spill Consultant"; being blamed for failed design of first containment seal, which is identical to twist-off cap from Boone's Farm wine bottle.

- Multiple sightings with Lindsay Lohan; reportedly convinced her to invest in and become a celebrity endorser for "BLOactive", a cocaine-based topical acne treatment; also reputedly duped her into drinking by falsely claiming she could slip skin from a cadaver betweeen her ankle and the alcohol monitoring bracelet to fool the authorities.

- Identified as Mel Gibson's new sidekick; overheard convincing Mel that it was okay to "get crazy" and "tie one on", on occasion; also observed convincing "Braveheart" that his views were "spot on" (particularly the ones on relationships and minorities) and meant to be shared with others; then leaked (after first leaking on) the tapes.

- Allegedly convinced Larry King to "try other things while he was still young", allegedly to entice Larry into resigning so that Kathy Griffin* (* a suspected Black Bart associate) could take over (Disclosure: I am also  currently being considered as Larry's replacement) and install Black Bart as Producer.

- Suspected of orchestrating a Yankees coup where he is running the team by October (don't know how he plans to get rid of George Steinbrenner)

More reports to follow, as they become available.

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Puglypaloosa Award: The Pug Scores a Bogey

Hi everybody,

I know there's been a delay in delivering the next round of entertainment here at Puglypaloosa. For most of you, the effect of alcohol has worn off, and ugly regret is starting to once again seep to the surface. So what do you say I make it up to you with my award acceptance ceremony as today's humble offering?

The rules that go with this award (thank you Boneman for deeming me worthy) are to list five things about yourself and pass the award on to other bloggers.

1) I worry that people will notice I tend to dwell a bit too long on art that features female nudity.

I fully became aware of this "quirk" (along with my blossoming sexuality) during my first visit to a world-renowned art museum. I tended to linger longer in front of paintings featuring exposed breasts and nether regions.

Gauging by the numerous old-timers in trenchcoats around me, I was reassuredly not alone in my new-found legal voyeurism.

However before you judge too harshly, "bare"* (* note the clever wordplay) in mind that the ladies of my admiration were universally "Reubenesque" and thereby fostered a future appreciation of the typical female blogger.

(UPDATE: I just realized the previous sentence may be horribly misinterpreted by one or more readers** (** well, the honest ones)! By "Reubenesque", I - of course - did not mean to imply that anyone out there is "plump" or not in shape, as measured by today's unrealistic*** (***  geez, apparently) standards! I simply meant that with liberal applications of sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, Russian dressing, Black Bart and yours truly, you would make a fine sandwich.)

During the same visit, I chanced upon a full-size plaster sculpture of a naked woman in a brass bed* (* also rendered in plaster). Long story short: I wound up explaining to security that another patron squeezed her bottle of baby powder on me for calling her "Reubenesque". Plaster fallout: I've been hooked on unclothed gals in full-body casts ever since.

2) I am obsessed with collecting applications for my iPhone.

It wouldn't be fair to the one or two non-geeks inadvertently stumbling across this post, for me to inflict a narrative of EVERY application (or "app" for us hipsters) that I have (so far). So allow me to share just two for now.

"Earthquakes": This app alerts me everytime an earthquake occurs somewhere in the world. Which apparently is every 15-friggin' minutes. So bite me, Haiti, I thought you were unique. And just so you know, I've cancelled my plans to abduct, er, rescue your orphans and convert them to my new servitude-based religion.

"MoonPhase": As the name implies, this app tells me what phase the moon should currently be in. Then, when another app (I lied, and snuck in a 3rd app. So sue me. There's an app for that.) called "Planets" confirms that the moon should be visible, I scamper outside and compare phases. Everytime they do not match, I write an angry letter to my congresspersons, urging them to cut NASA's funding.

3) I don't think any golfer should be popular enough to have groupies.

This gives false hope to pseudo-athletes everywhere. Soon: bowlers, curlers, synchronized swimmers, Frisbee-golfers, bocce-ballers and cricket players everywhere will start desiring opposite-sex companionship. And that means increased competition for this Pug, Ben Rothlisberger - and even possibly Black Bart - at every Denny's, porn convention, strip club, Vegas casino and church parking lot.

4) I believe that Facebook and Twitter will ultimately make you boring even if you normally weren't.

My apologies to my readers with Facebook or Twitter accounts. I certainly didn't mean to imply that YOUR Facebook and/or Twitter accounts were boring! In fact, in particular I LOVE keeping tabs on expensive new purchases and when you leave the house. 

However, are those "tweets" about every bowel movement and how much you enjoy vanilla ice cream REALLY necessary? If you're going to tweet, at least use it to report on the neighbors': probable terrorist activities, excessive purchases the I.R.S. would be interested in, swinger parties or crack-dealing.

Ditto for Facebook. And while I'm on the subject of Facebook, WHO THE F**K are these people who comment that they "approve" of a new activity?! For those (in this case: fortunate) cave-dwellers who may be unfamiliar, here is an example (citing a fictional Facebooker named "Doris") of a typical Facebook exchange:

- Doris commented on Suzette's trip to the Piggly Wiggly (grocery store).

- Jerry likes Doris' comment (shows a "thumbs up sign).

- Doris became a fan of Ravi Shankar's Muzak blog.

- Gunther approves.

(... etc., ad nauseum ...)

I just don't get it. Maybe you need friends to get it. However since in my case that isn't an option, perhaps the key is to "adapt" Facebook more to my liking. Here is an example:

- Bob commented on Gunther's Aryan Nation wall.

- Pete likes Bob's comment (shows a "Sieg Heil" sign).

- Puerileuwaite became a fan of Bob's and Pete's respective employers' HR sites.

- Puerileuwaite commented on Bob's and Pete's respective employers' HR sites.
- Bob became a fan of Denver Post's Now Hiring website.

- Pete became a fan of Miami Herald's New Job Opportunities website.

- Black Bart likes living in Bob's recently vacated house.

- Puerileuwaite approves.

5) I want there to be one global conspiracy that systematically eliminates all conspiracy theorists.

I had a lot more to say on this topic, however I was advised by certain unnamed moles in Google / Blogger management to keep it to one carefully worded sentence.

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The Sweater

I loved that sweater.

Everything about it. Perfect shade of blue, hint of green. And how it smelled of her.

I recently read how the masculine animal is more attracted and aroused by the natural scent of a woman* (* dispense with the Al Pacino jokes, you heathens, and do your worst) than by contrived perfume manipulation.

And scent is the most unexpected and dominant characteristic of my memory of her.

Please forgive my rambling. Love tends to blind me to proper construction. And too often reason as well. Damn you, love. You strive to deny me both Pulitzer and happiness.

I could go on ad nauseum. For it is so easy to focus on the symbol rather than the woman. Symbols conveniently quantify all-consuming emotion into tolerable allotment. Symbols define as required, do not require compromise, nor do they force confrontation.

Symbols enable others to con us into things we do not need and can ill afford.

I miss her, my heart aches, and rarely does a day go by where I manage to escape unreminded.

It has been years gone by. I regret how that sweater - amongst her other possessions - had been left behind in long forgotten dresser in closed room and chapter.

And yet to cling to it would be to cling to a symbol, and not the breasts and the woman that it once contained.

Perhaps I need to get out more.

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Welcome Again to Puglypaloosa

Hi everybody!

As my esteemed colleague Black Bart so eloquently put it, hello and welcome to Puglypaloosa. I hope it turns out to be everything you've dreamed of, assuming for once you didn't ingest massive amounts of Taco Bell prior to turning in.

At this point you're probably wondering just what Puglypaloosa is all about, and if you took too much of a gamble in remaining so noncommittal in all other aspects of your hellishly anticipatory existence. Heck if I know.

However I would rather take a stab at justification of your sacrifice than curse (and possibly belittle) your darkness. So allow me to whip out my Bic, and hope there is little methane remaining in that dreary cave of yours.

Now as most of you well know, I'd originally intended to kick off this shindig last summer; as that is the preferred season for topless behavior. Especially for the ladies. You know who you are. And if you qualify (man-boobs do not).

But alas, forces conspired against me.

So now here we are, summer long gone and in the cruel grip of a brutal winter. Except for Australia, apparently, because "heaven forbid" you wankers conform with the civilized rest of the planet. Nonetheless I find my disposition strangely benevolent toward our kangaroo cousins; mostly traceable to my fondness for AC/DC, "Friday On My Mind", Crocodile Dundee, Nicole Kidman* (* especially "Dead Calm" and "Bewitched" vintage Nicole), our beloved Dianne, and - of course - because Australia has been unfairly disparaged as the "Alabama of the World".

No one accuses ANYONE of being Alabama and gets away with it. Not even Alabama should be victimized by such derision. Not on my watch, anyway. I am a champion of the underdog.

Anyhoo, it is indeed winter for most of us. Serena in particular has been getting hammered with snow (and Lord knows what else ... booze and men readily come to mind). And aside from Lamby, who probably believes it's just punishment for our debauchery, we probably all feel that we are long overdue for a respite.

And so - submitted for your mild amusement - I humbly submit the 1st Annual Puglypaloosa.

ALL are welcome, except for YOU, you recent blight of anonymous commenting sons of bitches* (* excluding my past "secret admirers" who albeit rarely :-(  do comment anonymously. Maybe you have good reason: fear of public scorn, risk of bowling league expulsion, threat to sham marriage, risk of Pug tracking down home number, or perhaps even the potentially jarring shift in sexual paradigm).

Here at Puglypaloosa, you have to be somebody, even if you're a nobody.

Hell, you could be anybody. But if generic praise is your game, then THIS Pug ain't a-buyin'. Unless it's after we've consummated our relationship. However, even then it would be nice if you were specific. "Dear Previous Occupant" is not only distant; it also deflatingly means that my deposit is non-refundable.

So what, pray tell, IS Puglypaloosa? Well that is for each of you to determine as it unfolds, envelopes, adheres and constricts. Some shall likely find it nurturing. Enlightening. Others: exhilarating. For many it may prove suffocating. A few will discover it to be nauseating.

In the end, all entrants tread their own unique path through Puglypaloosa in quest for truth and search for exit.

Enjoy the journey, my friends.

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Welcome to Puglypaloosa

Hello everybody,

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Black Bart. Perhaps you have heard of me. Perhaps you have seen the Wanted posters, high-school abstinence instructional videos or even one of my ubiquitous Craigslist p4ww ads. If not, you lead a wretchedly sheltered life, and in that case it's a good thing I've come along.

As Chairman of the 1st Annual Puglypaloosa, I would like to welcome all of you to the festivities. I would, but let's not kid ourselves. I would take out restraining orders on certain ones (I'm sure you know who you are; if unsure, ask a coworker), if it were within my power to do so. So let's simply say that more than a slight majority* (* when factoring in first-time blog visitors) are welcome, and leave it at that.

Rest assured my cohort Puerileuwaite has been busy tending to all aspects in preparing the 1st Annual Puglypaloosa to - indeed - be the best damned Puglypaloosa ever. As you can imagine, this is no easy feat. It has required months of blog (and personal hygiene) neglect. Relationships with fictional role-based online virtual companions have suffered, as have his stud duties at the local puppy mill.

And please don't get him started on the loss of Ted Kennedy's vacant Senate seat to a Republican during his extended absence from the campaign trail. The regret is almost too much to bear, and he has many nightmares about beloved "Uncle Teddy" rolling over his Oldsmobile in his grave.

Fortunately Puerileuwaite accepted my humble offer of Chairmanship (and CFO) of Puglypaloosa, as this has eased the burden of cash and (immediate) responsibility, allowing him to focus his energies on the logistics.

I believe the results will speak for themselves, both through the actual experience and eventually - plaintiff and defendant testimony.

It started as a dream. A vapor, perhaps. A festival of fun and enlightenment, devoid of commercial trappings, pandering to celebrity, and quest for profit. Then reality set in. "Pug, (I said) won't this type of festival attract free-loaders, deadbeats, ne'er-do-wells, and - at the risk of being redundant - non-Americans?"

He saw my point.

"Okay, I see your point. I'll place you in charge of turning a profit to cover expenses. You'll run concessions, concierge and medical services. Just make sure prices are fair, products and amusements are of good quality, and all services are non-exploitative of our patrons."

At least that's what I think he said. I get distracted after 3-consecutive sentences. The same thing happened in prison.

Throughout Puglypaloosa, I shall be checking in with tips and advice to maximize your experience, and make sure you are enjoying yourselves (even if no one else enjoys you).

Remember to visit one of our fine concession stands, concierge desks, or medical huts during your all-too-brief stay. We take paper or plastic.

Altruistically yours,