Hoff blog, Hoff man
A night at the Pellboy Mansion
Welcome back faithful readers. Let me first apologize for my lack of recent blogging, but D$ and I have been fervently trying to get her inserted as President of the condo board here in Del Boca Missoura. We plan to have her in a puppet regime where Julia and I will secretly wield power from behind the scenes. Who are we running against, you ask? Common sense and a guy in a wheelchair. I like our chances here.
Today I was forcibly removed from the newsroom (yet another reason I have time to post this) and was told to “come back when I sober up.” Sure I’ve been keeping myself on a steady diet of uppers, downers, laughers and screamers, but that’s simply to aid in the handling of the stress that accompanies my daily life of ogling 18 year olds in short shorts. They had no right I tell you. None! And yeah, maybe I brought Julia to the office and had her sit down next to my desk. This girl who also writes for the paper, and who shall remain nameless for fear of retaliation, says to me, “Uh…Pell, why did you bring your dog to the office today?” I replied quickly that it was Bring Your Dog to Work Day and then slipped in a quick, “I love your body, Larry.” Evidently this did not hold water for her as she quickly went to the powers that be and ratted me out. When my boss approached I shouted “Nixon!” with intent of Julia attacking him before things got out of hand. Sadly, she approached slowly, sniffed his crotch and then licked herself before returning to my side. That’s when various insults were exchanged and I wisely went on my way.
Now onto more pertinent matters. Bryan Hoffman, or Frenchy as we know him, has been hounding me to finally write something. See, he’s unemployed, bored and thinks that he’s cock of the walk b/c he’s got a dog now too. A bulldog named T Bone or Porterhouse or Porkchop or something. Now there’s nothing more depressing in my opinion than a skinny, closeted Frenchman walking a man’s dog like a bulldog. Keep in mind, Frenchy’s mother has been paying me good money ever since college, unbeknownst to him, to “stay friends with him and make him feel like less of a loser.” Her words, not mine. Now he’s got some good observations, keeps me updated on important things like what the Eagles are doing in the off season and his dog’s bowel movement schedule, but he really needs to start listening to his mom and I. We’ve been pushing for him to enter the Bloomingdale’s executive training program for years. So if you’re reading this Herr Hoffman, please consider what we’re saying.
(Hah, and he told me he’d write a blog for me b/c I hadn’t written something in so long. Not bloody likely. Tune in later in the week though, maybe we’ll give the little guy a shot)