i gave poe a bath tonight.
let me tell you something: you haven’t lived until you’ve given a 90lb black lab a bath. especially when the lab in question has a serious case of hyperactivity disorder. if they made ritalin for dogs, his ass would be on it so fast the ink on the prescription wouldn’t even have time to dry. i love him to death but jesus on a jumped up crutch, he’s a mighty big handful.
the actual bath wasn’t so bad. i think he was cold because it’s been dreary and rainy here and he’s been out in the elements on his dog run. i believe the warm water and someone rubbing him down did wonders for him. he stood still and moved when i told him. he didn’t try to run or fight. it was after the bath that did my head in. he was shaking all over, as dogs do. i was splattered with wet dog. don’t tell me. i know. that’s hot.
even i’m jealous of me.
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One should always be drunk. That's all that matters; that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's horrible burden; one which breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must get drunk without cease.
But with what? With wine, poetry, or virtue as you choose. But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room, you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated, ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock, all that which flees, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all that which sings, all that which speaks, ask them, what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock, they will all reply:
"It is time to get drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk, get drunk, and never pause for rest! With wine, poetry, or virtue, as you choose!"
Charles Baudelaire




















At least it was clean wet dog