It’s my party and I’ll hike my leg if I want to

Ok, I’m hereby announcing a contest. I should warn you, I think I’m gonna win. And I won’t even have to pay someone off to skew the results, like that one time at bandcamp.

The contest is to see who had the most surreal experience this weekend.

It’s just now Sunday morning and already I think I have this sucker in the bag.

I went to a dog’s birthday party today. Like, there were decorations. And a dog cake. Which, incidentally, is not a cake made of dog.

It’s a cake made especially for dogs, according to their taste buds and nutritional needs. Which means it had tin cans, squirrels’ tails, stolen sandwiches and cat poop in it.

There was no cake for the humans. I can’t tell you how sad this made me.

The 4 year old had an awesome time. There was a go-cart there, complete with a patient, safety conscious big kid to drive it. So he and his new friend (the big kid’s little brother), a fellow party animal and all around man about town, were chauffeured around the yard about 75 times. They chatted like best buds all day, when they weren’t double-handedly decimating the deli and fruit trays.

So, can anybody beat the surreality of going to a dog’s birthday party?


“I wonder if the jump from here will kill me or just maim me a tiny bit.”


Sad clown dog says, “Fuck off”.


“What? Go eat your own cake. Oh, that’s right, you didn’t get any. Poor baby. Now fuck off”


“This hat is for me to poop on!”