I'm in a band now. We call ourselves, "Deuces Wild." My wife wants us to put a picture of her gay little dog right on the front of the bass drum; says it might give him the confidence he needs to butt-hump other dogs for power. Right now all he's into is the piano leg and somewhere behind the toilet. I guess I'm the only one who knows he's too small to ever have any confidence. Sure, he yells a lot, but that don't mean nothin'.

One day my wife'll just vacuum that gay little dog right up and then we'll go about our lives never even REMEMBERING his gay little presence obstructing the morning news or shivering like he just became aware of his own existence but lacks the fundamental physiology to complete the process. Maybe one day he'll just explode or suddenly time-travel back to whatever God-forsaken moon he came out of.

One thing's for sure: The seductive crooning of "Deuces Wild" will never be enjoyed in tandem with the disturbing, affrighted visage of my wife's mutant fashion accessory. We ALL lose when small dogs are allowed free reign like my wife wants.

Don't get me wrong, the miniscule beasts have their place -like maybe at the end of my fishing line. We could also train them to act like door stops. If that fails, at least we could weigh down their legs and use them as living bookends. And when they die you just throw'em out and build some REAL freakin' bookends.