i'm back. voulez vous sniff my bottom? this post is probably, how you say, "not safe for at-work reading."

bon jour and halo. yes, it is i, monsieur le coq, the curiously adorable teacup poodle with a heart of gold.

i shan't bore you all with a tedious recounting of the absence following my underworld summit, as full of adventure and intrigue as it was, the details bore me. how many times can one tell sordid tales of vengeance taken, prostitutes solicited, or pursuit and/or execution of nigh each and every one of the pitiful cowards of an ice-cream truck driving/gun smuggling/child molesting cartel--the s'punkylads without vomiting? in short, i was able to track and hunt down all but their leader, who cunningly slipped my grasp and lives to molest youths and wayward lemmings yet another day.

i will, however, share with you related side-note about an experience i had had with an older bitch, one who after being mounted by a hired-in sire, whelped my arch-nemesis: s'punkylad.

i had first encountered s'punky's existence one evening while checking comments posted after my last update. "i heard that he got hit by an ice cream truck," he had quipped, even though ice-cream is actually hyphenated. those very words instantly burned through my eyes and wrenched deep into my psyche. just mere hours before, i had just narrowly escaped sure death by deftly dodging a runaway ice-cream truck and matrixly slow-motion tumbled safely to the road's shoulder. i can still remember seeing the driver's eyes--cold and steely, vacant but driven, undisciplined, slightly crossed, open yet lost, resoundingly stupid. how brash! how predictably droll! could this post have been from that very same driver? the one and the same who had just recently wished to prematurely deliver me to elysiums sweet repose? surely it couldn't be. and even if it were, surely this random poster wasn't dull enough to post his comment from his own home network computer which utilized his personal IP address. but apparently, i was wrong. he proved to be as dull as a bowling ball.

i used his IP to determine which ISP he employs which roundaboutly led me to his registered home base of operations. from the outside, it looked like a typical post WWII boom-era bungalow in a suburban sprawled neighborhood. innocent looking enough with its overused cape cod architecture, two-car garage and permanenently stationary shutters overly painted through the years, increasing their size, coat by coat each time. i then took up temporary residence in a vacant home in his neighborhood, across from his headquarters. the next few weeks were not unlike hollywood's stakeout descriptions, minus the highjinx and pranks. they were indeed lonely days , and i could have used the companionship and witty repartee of dreyfuss, estevez, even that windbag o'donnell--who was in the sequel. there was once a time whe i found her loud and brazen self-centered humor brand amusing (exit to eden, league of our own,) but that time, like last morning's breakfast, has passed. my attention now squarely focused upon my nemesis, i watched each and every move, catalogueing all the empirical data, studiously laboring over all my notes and graphs in hopes of finding a pattern to his randomness. my work turned successful one day and, according to my calculations, i discovered a fifteen minute window with which to infiltrate his lair. during which time, my nemesis would be locked in the partially finished basement half-bath, defecating and pleasuring himself a la menage-a-mois whilst perusing his latest issue of whatever pedophillic periodical he subscribes. during this window i would knock upon the front door. knowing there would be no response, i would craftily pick open the lock and enter mein enemy's lair. here i would learn all his darkest suburban secrets, familiarizing myself with his mundane, blending myself stealthily into his world just to leap out of the scenery one day and garotte him when he's most vulnerable and least suspecting. perhaps as he sleepily taps at the box-top while pouring his morning cereal bowl, or better yet just moments before his climax during one of his countless daily masturb-a-thons. here is where my his lex luthor to my superman shall end his evil chapter.

imagine my surprise when my ulterior-motived knock is pleasantly greeted by a typical suburban 1950's era-styled soccer-mom (though it's 2005): perfectly up-coiffed aqua-net hardened hairdo, gingham tea length dress, decorative enameled floral pin, flour dusted apron-- the entire cliche. her voice is pleasant but nasally, with a slight midwestern upward inflection toward the end of each sentence, turning affirmatives into interrogatives involuntarily.
"well helloo, little fella. you must be one of (edited)'s little friends. come in. come in why dont'cha. aren't you jyust the cyutest little thing. soo dyarling. (edited) should be out in a jiffy, he's says thyat he's jyust combing his hair. but you know how thyat goes. more likely he's prob'ly polishing the pewter."
"um, uh, hi." it's all i can muster. i'm too flustered.
"well dont just stand thyere, have a seat on the davenport. would you care for an RC Cola, i just love RC. it's much byetter than Coke or Pyepsi. i do also enjoy the Faygo, but nothing beats a Royal Crown Cola on a hot syummer day."

before i can politely decline, she's back from the kitchen. in front of me and out of nowhere appears an aluminum tv tray. it's covered with one each of dolly madison's fruit flavored jelly pies in their waxy shiny wrappers. there's also a can of the promised RC Cola, as well as a collectible RC logo tumbler half full with ice.

she smiles down at me, though differently this time. here eyes were slightly wilder, and her hair was now taken down into silky auburn rivulets. something else though. i blink and rub my eyes, her gingham dress and apron are gone, and in their places are a black leather catsuit and corset. dearfoam slippers are now replaced by thigh high stilletto boots that are partially unzipped to reveal scandalous fishnet hosiery. she takes a sip of her own icy RC and rubs the cool against her heaving bosom.
"i jyust love RC Cola. it's so tingly and refreshing. i loove the way it tingles dyown my throat when i swallow, don't you?"
"i've never really thought about it." i try to change the subject. "speaking of tingly, i had an alka-seltzer this morning. just wasn't feeling quite up to snuff. you know, each time i feel the bubbles tickle my nose i expect a different outcome, but always that same flavorless bubbly flui..."

-author's note.
if you are of the type with a high moral compass, or are easily offended by descriptively sexual narrative content, stop reading now. just be sated with the knowledge that all is avenged, and all is now well. if you chose to sally on, it is of your valition only and i cannot be held responsible for any backlash from those who elect to ignore the preceding disclaimer. also, this is where you should quit reading if you are at work. there are oodles o' inappropriate descriptions just ahead. - thx, m le q.




"i need to suck your cyock. i need to suck yer cyock now!"

i clammor for the door. she's too strong. driven too wild by my potent puppy pheremones. she's too resourceful. i reach for the doorknob to flee and a steel panic gate slams down, cracking the mosaic-tiled entry. steel shutters slam in succession sealing off the interior windows from the outside world. just as the room turns black, red lights glow and fill the parlor from their recessed housings in the ceilings and walls. another panic gate slams sealing this room from the rest of the house. she now writhes toward me on all fours, her back slightly arching and releasing with every forward movement. i am slightly intrigued as her hands caress my torso.

soon i find that her mouth has enveloped my half flacid penis. every slurping moan she breathes sends spikes through my body and i can feel the blood filling my now turgid member. i can feel my own pulse through the shaft. she expertly swirls her tongue around the tip of my penis, and it flicks and dances across the glans ridding me of my previous apprehension. i can feel her breath moistly permeate the meatus.

she halts abruptly, to my dismay, but then wipes at her mouth with her forearm and bends over the davenport, which is now covered in clear vinyl. "come 'ere you naughty naughty puppy. i need to to feel you inside my ass. wontcha come 'ere 'n fuck my li'l asshole." i'm happy to oblige and i enter her surprisingly with ease and watch her equally surprisingly supple cheeks ripple with every thrust.
"fuh-uh-uhk me-he-he!!" she growled as the pace quickened, turning almost violent. at this point the gyrations were unpredictable and and i could feel her anal muscles contract viscerally. "fuck my ass! fuck it, you diirty, naughty puppy!! yeaaahh. mmmm...yeeaahh, fuck!!"
my puppy balls, now swollen, are aching for release, i grit my teeth, grip my paws at her shoulders and bite her ear, as puppies do, forcing each of my thrusts harder and harder.
"ooohh, you're a dirty puppy, arent'cha?!. dirty, filthy fucker puppy, fuuu-uh-uuuhk me!! oh, my ass! my ass!!" i feel her pelvis shift and i can tell she is about to climax. my balls penduluming wildly at her labia were beginning to be covered in a foreign stickyness. her lips moisten with each thrust and the flow is increasing exponentially.
"oh gawd, i'm coming...coming! mmmm. cuuummm...innnnngggggg!!"

her labia almost reach outwardardly grabbing and nearly swallowing my swinging balls as her climax came, her inner labia open and i can feel the gush of an expolsive female ejaculate it soaks my haunches and she screams and bucks wildly.

"i need to suck it. i need to syuck your cock. i'm gonna suck your dirty naughty cock and drain your filthy puppy baalls dryy." again i'm only happy to oblige, and i was always taught to respect the wishes of elders. my engorged unit is now completely throbbing and alive in her mouth. her probing tongue expertly weaving its magical pattern not unlike ribbons around a maypole. she coaxes me manually as well in a slight twisty motion and massages my swollen and girl-cum soaked balls with her free hand.

"ah oo rehty? cub ih by bowf. hoo it. ah hanna haste ih. cumb in by mowf, oo haughhy puhhy." i reach forward with my left paw to grab at her auburn hairm but cannot as i do not have an opposing thumb, my other paw reaches back to balance myself by placing weight on the tv tray. i feel my orgasm approaching, my core trembles and my groans increase. her muffled moans crescendo to meet mine in volume and i involuntarilry quiver sending my inner chi deep inside her throat. i feel her gag reflex tighten and then release and i can feel my own semen trickle from the corners of her still hungry mouth onto the base of my shaft and onto my already sticky balls.

we fall clumsily into an exhausted sweaty heap on the glowing red floor, panting and convulsing. surely, my original fifteen minute window had expired with which to invade my enemy's fortress. fortunately my true identity would remain hidden thanks to the panic gates employed by ms. s'punkylad. i light a perfumed gauloises cigarette and dress. she steals a drag from my cigarette and chimes "oh heya, i'm a squirter dont'cha know. didn't i tell ya thyat befyore. oopsy. oh well. wontcha stay for dinner? its myeatloaf night. (edited) just loves his myeatloaf..." her voice trails off as she opens the panic doors and saunters into the kitchen. the front door is now open and i make a hasty retreat to my safehouse.

i've learned much of my nemesis s'punkylad today. i've seen his home. i understand where his confusion may have all begun. i do welcome future posts of his and i look forward to bringing you all the future tales of all the future trysts with his other familiars. i have met his mother. and she is a filthy fucking fuck-pig.

greetings all.

firstly, let me just say that this post shall be brief, as i am in no mood, currently, to recount the events of my ruddy weekend. what had once promised be full of henchmen recruitment and strategic advancement now lays empty and void, like a discarded crisps bag on this mortal coil's highway shoulder. (and yes, i do realize that i have successfully used the apostrophe key, its whereabouts were described to me plainly by my disadvantaged, but well-meaning half brother pommes frites. after i had relieved him of his substitute duties to peanut butter tuesday, he shared his newfound knowledge with me, as well as an assortment of nonsensical babble about brightly loud helio-flowers exploding forth from the heavens and rapidly growing insects which tasted not unlike cigarette butts and purest forms of evil. i'm still not quite sure what it was that he was describing, and, frankly, i'm too tired to care at the moment.)

am i happy to be back? yes. did the weekend fare well? no. is the global paper industry one step closer to crumbling? no more so than it was before my trip. will i ever divulge the sordid unfortunate details? yes, but perhaps on another day.

it's late, my bottom hurts, and i'm covered in alpaca fur. also, i've the strangest craving for a rooty-tooty fresh and fruity breakfast extravaganza from the local ihop.

I LIK FIRWORSKS

I HERD A BOOM IN TEH SKI. IT WSA LOWD AND I GET SCARDE TO. IT WAS PRETTY. I LIKD IT BUT AT FIRTS I DID NOTE.

I ATE A ASH SNAEK. I THOUGT IT WSA A BUG. IT WAS YUCKEEY' I DID NOTE LIKE THAT AT AL.BUT IWAS PRETY BEFOR I EET IT TO.KAY' BY.

HLEEO. MY NAM IS POM FRETE. WHAT IS YURS.

I TIHNK MY BRUTHER IS A GUD FREND. I LIK HIM TO.HE LET ME WACH TEAVEE WHIL WEE TALKING. TODAY I SAW CENNIPED CROLLING ON TEH FLOR. I ATE IT. IT WAS SALTY AND TASTD LIK DIRT AND TOENAELES. I SPIT IT OT AND ATE IT AGIN.

MY BRUTHER IS FUNY TO. HE ALWAY GET MAD AT ME WHEN HE CANT FIND HIS GLASES. I LIEK TO HIDE TEHM IN TEH SINK. I ALSO LIK TOO RUN REAL FAST AND I LIK TO RUN TO.

SOMTIMS HE SWARES BUOT THIS POSTROLFY THNIGY. HE AKS EVRYBDOY WHER IT IS AND NO ONWIL TEL HMI. HE GETS ALL MADE AND I DONT KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT IT MAKES ME LAFF. HE GETS ALL LOUD AND HIS VOISE GETS REAL HI AND SQUEEKY. I LIKE HIMHE IS FUNNY. ONE TIME I SAW MY TAL AND I CNAT FIND IT NOW TO THTA MAKS ME SADE. KAY BY.

HLLOE AGIN.

KRITSEN SSYS I SOUNDED STOPID, BUT IM NOT. I AM A GUD PUPPYU. MY BRUHTER READS MOR BOKS AND IS GUDER SPELLAR BUT I AM GUD AT THIGNS TOO. I LIK JUMPNUG AND RUNIGN AND EATIGN BUG. MY BRUHTER SOMTMIES STIL POOPYS ON THE FLOR TO. I CAN SIT AN SHKAE AND LAY DWON AND I CNA MAKE YUO CRY BECUSE I AM ADROBLE. I LERNED WHAT A POSTROLFY IS AND KRITSEN SHOWDE ME WHER IT IS. NOW I AM A SMATRET LIKE MY BRUTHRE'. I LIK'E POSTROLF'Y I'T IS FUNN.

MY BRUHTER IS BETER AT SOMTHNGIS BUT I AM BETRE AT OHTER STUF TOO. I HAVE A BIGER PEEN TO AND I AM STRNOG AND I HMUP THE COUHC TO.'

I MIS MY BRUTHRE A LOT. I WISH HE WSA HOM NOW. YUR PAL POM FRET.KAY BY.

i shall soon return

dearest friends,

with depestest regrets and apologies, i must take a short leave. i shall be attending a summit of underworld crime lords at a secretly undisclosed location. although i myself have no interest in criminal activity whatsoever, my attendance is explained threefold.

1. strategy: i will be among the worlds seediest players, learning firsthand from the masters of regionally specific manipulation and oppression.

2. recruitment: i shall persuade only the most worthy non-threatening crimelords to join me in my righteous cause to bring the global paper industry to its knees--unless my immediate demand to add bacon flavoring to all further products is met.

3. leisure: your humble international puppy of leisure and leisure time activities plans to kick up his dewclaws and paint the town red. figuratively speaking, of course, as i have no actual reference as to what red is as canis mammals eyes are equipped only with shades of black, white and grey. additionally, ive never been to des plaines, illinois before. blast. i should not have mentioned that. hang it all, who really cares for secrets anyway. plus, the federal defense network will undoubtedly already have their hands full already this weekend while monitoring the some odd 20,000 shriners conventioning in baltimore. those shriners. such a raucous sort. who knew all those middle aged men in tiny automobiles would be capable enough to throw a soire as decadent as last years fezzes and lezzes shriners ball. their past indiscretions will serve our summits cause well, indeed.

i shall soon return after debriefing my newly converted henchmen. until then i will leave you in the capable, well, mammalian paws of my slightly retarded half brother pommes frites.

adieu mes amis. je retournerai bientôt.

intimità svp, manque. j'essaye de dà placer mes entrailles.

alas, my day just could not fair much worse. i cannot wait until evenings fold envelopes me into its dark beauty, and i am welcomed within for an evenings slumber.

no matter how poetic i spin the yarn, it just doesn[apostrophe]t alter any of my many foiled attempts to defecate. firstly, kristen abruptly rouses me from serene repose - i was enjoying the most fantastic dream. i was in a land of giants, every one well-versed in the customs of peanut butter tuesday. the eldest giant-tribesman opened his giant jar of jif, dipping his massive hand within. my puppy tail wagged with such anticipation as he produced the largest handfull of g.w. carver[apostrophe]s legumic masterpiece and untucked his giant-tunic. i could almost the taste to wonderful combination of peanutty ambrosia and giant-bodysoil when...

...monsieur...monsieur...are oo ready for a widdle walk, bebe? are oo ready? ...baby-talk? seriously? i know im still a curious 4 month-old puppy with a heart of gold, but that[apostrophe]s 28 months in your human equivalence.

so there we are, kristen, pommes frites and myself. walking in small circles on the municipal tree lawn. just as i trample the grass just ever so perfectly, so as to focus and center my chi toward my bowels to produce a zen-quality stool, i[apostrophe]m yanked impatiently to another locale just two meters away. was that really necessary? at least walk me to the other side of the lawn if i am to experience this intestinal disharmony.

look at her, tugging us to and fro, elitestly sipping her robust kenyan roast java, staring at me condescendingly to "just hurry up and poop" so she can make her train. perhaps i could have some coffee for once. i am recently roused, still confused as to the whereabouts of the pb-giants, and frankly its not yet even 7 am. perhaps if i could imbibe of your morning beverage i could speed along your day. caffeine is a natural diuretic as you know. she sighs pathetically and we are whisked away briskly. i can hear her muttering echo in the courtyard toward the stairs.

ray wakes a few hours later, dresses, and we all enjoy a pleasant, successful walk at the park. movements for all, even ray. he used an oak leaf and a big buford wrapper to clean himself afterward. i do miss him so when he leaves for work.

after a successful nap, pf and i engage in a game of capture the flag. we are slightly disadvantaged as we have no "flag" so to speak, much less a second one for the opposing force. our match was still hearty and vigorous, albeit diminished to just running around the 1100 square foot apartment at breakneck speed on hardwood floors. the overwhelmed enemy now thwarted, not to mention imaginary, we retire to our crate to nap once more.

an hour later, i am, again, interrupted from the bastardized continuation of my once-perfect dream (pity it is never the same if you try to revisit the dream later.) i recognize the rumbling. it is my bowels. my chi again focused, however this time involuntarily. i must have been sleepwalking again while laying supine. i glance at the cable box, 4:30. oh the horror! kristen isn[apostrophe]t to be home for another hour! panicked, i gingerly waddle my way toward the front door. i know that i cannot reach the latch to let myself out, but ray and kristen seem to offer kind praise and encouragement when accidents are near the door. at least they associate potty with the door leading outside. they[apostrophe]re so cute. i stealthily sneak past the squeaky 3rd floorboard from the right of the door and assume my yogaic fecal-riddance pose. much to my chagrin, at that very instant, a starling happens by the living room window. he offers a beautiful, yet ear piercing melody. my retarded half-brother now clumsily skitters toward me, knocking me over and i lose my window.

she comes home some 50 minutes later and its all the same. mindless circles, never pausing nearly long enough to harness my energy. why? why? always the rush. surely rodin did not sculpt the thinker while his master tethered him to a rope of time constraints and tivo recorded programming from the eve before.

ray comes home a few hours later and we all enjoy a pleasant walk in the park. i pause under the sprinklers, looking upward with closed eyes, feeling their cool spray wash away my concerns and again dream of large hands in even larger jars spreading their delicious buffet upon their larger yet...

what th---bugger! (more times than not, cursing is more effective when portrayed as hugh grant in the rectory scene from four weddings and a funeral.) bloody sprinkler shut off. bollocks on your automatic timer cleveland heights recreation center. bollocks! bollocks! just take me home! i just wish to retire!