If that pooch needs anything, it's a good going-over with the hose!I will tell you this, Mr. President: if you want a moment's peace, don't open a dog-washing business in your basement! I know some dogs don't take to water, but with the way those hounds carry on with the barking, growling, and yelping, you'd think someone had just let loose a tabby cat down there! One time, I heard a loud pop that nearly knocked me off the couch, and Jace assured me that some of the dog-washing equipment had broken down thanks to a particular tough customer (I am not good with stairs so I could not help him fix it). And that poor beast was carried out of my house in a burlap sack, so I can only assume that little I will not go down there without a flashlight and a strong shoulder to steady myself on.guy tuckered himself out fighting all that soap and water.
But this dog-washing business was not to last long. One day, a police man came to the door, asking about all of the dog noises our neighbors have been hearing over the past few weeks. I assumed he was here to commend Jace on all of his community service (done freely and not court-ordered), but when I sent him to talk to the boy, Jace gave me all the credit for his little operation! Can you imagine that? What a sweet child. But this wonderful moment was soon destroyed when Jace was handcuffed and put inside a police car for the victimless crime of opening a dog-washing establishment without a license! Your Honor Mr. President, I say this to you: if it is a crime to help clean poor, sick animals, you might as well lock up the ASPCA because they are just as bad as the man who keeps stealing my TV.
Reverend Oboe, I beg you from the bottom of my heart: please pardon dear Jace. I miss him so and there is a smell in my basement that I would not begin to describe to a distinguished man such as yourself. I also ask that you please use your Presidential powers to let my daughter-in-law Susan know that she accidentally left me at the Wal-Mart two days ago when we went to get my medications. But I guess it's all my fault for leaving the car to look at the new envelopes at the stationary shop next door. Tell Susan I am sorry and can't find my purse.
Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic follow up to "Baby Got Back" has serious unintended consequences.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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