So, turns out I have a new hobby.
If you've seen my LOLJax posters and my previous "Jax as a celebrity" post, you know that I enjoy turning my dog into a sarcastic little shit.
Now I've taken it one step further and have started putting him into movie situations.
You're welcome.
Can you guess the movies or situations?!? GOOD LUCK!
I have a dog named, "Jax."
Jax is absolutely annoying as shit but he's cute and barks at nothing at all hours of the night and cries, like, ALL THE TIME and tears every single toy he owns to shit and now that I've read that I'm considering offering him free to a good home.
I kid.
I'm flexible on the 'good' part.
Regardless, I've taken to a new hobby which is completely taking up all my time at work these days.
(Sssshhhh. Boss doesn't know.)
What I've done is take pictures of him and made my own version of the LOLCat posters.
Here is a batch of them.
Enjoy.
Because things like this happen:
I posted my Christmas pictures of my dog, Jax, with Santa because apparently that's what being single does to you.
It rots your mind and makes you pay for pictures of your dog with holiday figureheads.
True story.
After posting the picture on my Facebook page, someone commented:
"Have you noticed he has an abominable snowman on his chest?"
Here. Have a look:
Because I apparently have mental issues, I took my dog to have his picture taken with Santa, resulting in one of the saddest, most pathetic faces I have ever seen on any dog EVER:
I got an email the other day from some pet food place that reminded me that it was one year ago that I adopted my little buddy, Jax.
They included this picture:
I don't know where this pic came from and I'd never seen it before, but I especially love the skin-tight thing he's wearing which is obviously from his days as an exotic dancer.
Regardless, I've taken to a new hobby which is completely taking up all my time at work these days.
(Sssshhhh. Boss doesn't know.)
What I've done is take pictures of him and made my own version of the LOLCat posters.
Here is a batch of them.
Enjoy.
Seriously. It's like all I do now.
SO AWESOME.
If you want to see more, check out the album on my Facebook Page.
Moog and Jax out.
I've had my little dog, Jax, now since July and things are going along quite swimmingly except for his need to constantly know where I am or be in my goddamn feet all the time (trips and breaks face on counter) or just be around me all the time in general.
Case in point:
But the biggest peeve I have about my little guy is about his big peeve.
Let me explain.
Jax is HUNG.
Like..proportionally, if Jax was my height he would have a 10-inch penis.
I know what you're saying: "but isn't that only an inch longer than yours is already?" and you'd be right and I should probably have plastic surgery to slim my guy down and even out the playing field with the rest of the poor men out there, but we're not here to talk about me.
Focus, people. Focus.
The fact that Jax is the John Holmes equivalent of the canine world wouldn't be a problem if my dog actually knew how to pee.
That's right. Jax does not know proper pee form.
Here is how a normal boy dog usually pees:
With the exception of that last stupid dog in the picture, all those dogs have the proper male-dog pissing form down pat:
1) Approach object
2) Sniff object for 20 minutes
3) Move on to some other object
4) Repeat steps 1-3 six different times OH FOR GOD'S SAKE WILL YOU JUST PISS
5) Lift hind leg
6) Pee on object while looking at you, like, "Dude. I'm peeing. Take a picture it will last longer. WTF."
Simple, right?
Not for Jax.
Jax assumes this position when peeing:
In some dogs - mainly female dogs who have dog vaginas (dogjinas) or even male dogs who don't have a dog penis (dogeenis) that are roughly half their body length - peeing whilst in this stance wouldn't be a problem.
But for Jax and his canine Tommy Lee johnson of pain, this is what happens EVERY TIME HE PEES:
GAH.
Yes.
Jax never ever never ever fails to piss all over his front legs.
So. Awesome.
The unique combination of oversized dog schlong and forward leaning yoga stance results in my dog constantly giving himself golden showers.
I mean, I pee on my feet too but at least I'm in the shower when I'm doing it.
Now I'm considering contacting a cosmetic surgeon for dog-penis reduction surgery (patent pending) and now I seriously can't wait to see what kind of searches on Google this blog comes up in.
I have $5 on 'giant dog penis' or 'Angela Lansbury naked.' Who's in?! I take PayPal.
I've digressed.
My neighbors always know when I'm taking my dog for a walk because the air is filled with screams of "OH MY GOD STOP PEEING ON YOUR FEET" or "DUDE! The fuck."
I wonder if John Holmes had this problem.
Lucky dog.
WARNING: This post contains pictures of me as a small child.
I always grew up with dogs as a kid which is, quite honestly, a bit of a surprise considering that my very first dog – a Pomeranian named ‘Suzy’ – was basically held captive by yours truly 4 hours of every day through the innovative use of reclining chair cushions and the super strength of a very fat kid.
I’m not sure what happened to Suzy but I assume whatever it was, it was self-inflicted in an attempt to flee a life of eternal Lazy Boy slavery.
Living in an inner city, it made sense to have a small dog because space is limited in a two-family home and small dogs are harder to hit in drive-by shootings.
The more you know.
So, of course, our next dog was a collie.
I don’t know why, either.
The dog’s name was ‘Timmy’ and he was handsome and ginormous and mostly stayed in our backyard in a dog house that my dad custom-made for him – probably trying to make up to him for the fact that the dog was now living in a yard roughly the size of a pee pad.
But Timmy was MAGIC.
Timmy could summon our neighbors at will by barking loudly and majestically at all hours of day and night. And then he would try to bite other children and sometimes hump them in an attempt to make leg-collie pups.
Good boy, Timmy. Goooood boy.
Then one day my friends and I came home and I peered over the stockade fence to say ‘hi’ to Timmy and that’s when we saw..
IT.
IT.
It was amazing.
It was gravity defying.
It was…
..a miracle.
There…just beside Timmy and his dog house:
A poop.
BUT LO! This was NOT just any poop, NO, I SAY! NO!
This poop was...
STANDING.
The poop was standing straight up like it was pointing to an airplane or was maybe pretending to be one of those Royal British guards or maybe even an early foreshadowing of the dawn of the Viagra age but if, you know, poop took it.
And there, Timmy stood next to his vertical turd (verti-turd?) with a look on his face like, ‘Yeah. See what I did right there? I pooped UPWARDS. Suck it.’ 
Like I said:
MAGIC.
It was then that I noticed the SECOND piece of dog poop.
There, at the base of the upright piece of shit, was another piece lying prone…deftly forming the letter, “L.” 
That’s when the light bulb went off because, you see:
My last name is ‘Lacroix.’
Me: “I think he’s trying to spell our last name!”
Friend: "..."
YES. I was convinced that somehow during the course of his stay with us, he had not ONLY learned the family surname but ALSO discovered how to write the alphabet and – using this knowledge – began rigorously training his sphincter muscles to begin crafting his own fecal matter in an attempt to communicate with us.
I was sure that, if given enough time, he would not ONLY spell his name but also be able to converse with humans in the grossest way possible. It was like “Charlotte’s Web” but with less spiders and more dog shit.
This was truly a miracle.
Then my friend threw a tennis ball and knocked it over.
I guess we’ll never know what he was trying to say because he never did it again and shortly after went to live on a farm.
I wonder if he ever met that pig, Wilbur.
They would have gotten along swimmingly.
Well..I'm right the Hell outta here for Christmas vacation but I'd like to stop and talk to YOU, my fine readers, and thank you for coming by and reading my drivel and mental swill and..seriously...
Wish you the best of everything this holiday season.
With that, I'm outta here but not before showing you some custom crafted Christmas cards I threw together starring my dog, Jax.
On a related note:
I designed this by myself without any help from the art schools in
Florida.
Happy whatever you celebrate, everyone...even if you celebrate nothing.
See you next week!
Moog out.
I have a new dog named, "Jax."
Jax is absolutely annoying as shit but he's cute and barks at nothing at all hours of the night and cries, like, ALL THE TIME and tears every single toy he owns to shit and now that I've read that I'm considering offering him free to a good home.
I kid.
I'm flexible on the 'good' part.
Regardless, I've taken to a new hobby which is completely taking up all my time at work these days.
(Sssshhhh. Boss doesn't know.)
What I've done is take pictures of him and made my own version of the LOLCat posters.
Here is a batch of them.
Enjoy.
Seriously. It's like all I do now.
SO AWESOME.
If you want to see more, check out the album on my Facebook Page.
Moog and Jax out.
My new dog has a habit of completely destroying all his stuffed animals within 3 seconds of getting them.
This has the unwanted result of me slipping on knee-high hose and a gray wig while seated in a creaky wooden rocking chair and sewing them all back together without their decapitated heads or torn-off limbs because who the fuck can honestly afford to replace a $10 toy every single friggin day.
I also cook.
LAAAADIEEEES!
This gave me an idea for a new "Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys" episode of my home video series.
Just in time for Halloween.
Enjoy.
(if you can't view the embedded video, click here to watch it on my YouTube channel)
ARE YOU ASCARED NOW?!
Yeah. Me too.
If you want to see the rest of my "Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys" videos, click here...
..or..
..just go to my YouTube page and see ALL my stuff.
I'm kind of hanging out on vacation this week so here's what you get:
It's been a while since I made a movie so here you go.
The following is based on a true story that happened to me, literally, hours before I GOT ONTO A PLANE WITH TYPHOID MARY.
So, you know...
This was a fantastic fucking day.
If you can't see the video embedded in this post, you can click the direct link to it here.
I neglected to include the part where I was on the phone with my doctor saying, "Yeah..it's really hard and oozing...that's what she said," and then listened at the stunned silence by the nurse for about 30 seconds before she said, "I cannot stress enough HOW QUICKLY YOU NEED TO GET TO AN EMERGENCY ROOM."
Great day. Great. Day.
If you want to see more videos, just go to my video channel:
You can also subscribe and see all of them by clicking here:
Seriously.
Go look before the cats kill what's left of me.
And they will. You can bet on it.
Yet another episode of my regular video series:
Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys
Because, um..you know...
What ELSE am I going to do with all these stupid things?
Besides let the dog play with them.
For the first edition of 'Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys - Special Pooh Edition' click here.
I have issues.
Enjoy.
Today's Episode:
Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys - Double Dutch
Yeah.
Admittedly, that's a little messed up.
Wait til you see the next one.
For my YouTube Channel and ALL my videos, click here.
Moog out.
I think this is going to be the first installment in a regular video series:
Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys
Because, um..you know...
What ELSE am I going to do with all these stupid things?
Besides let the dog play with them.
I have issues.
Enjoy.
Weird Stuff to do with Dog Toys - 'The Search for Mr. Pink'
Yeah.
Admittedly, that's a little messed up.
Wait til you see the next one.
For my YouTube Channel and ALL my videos, click here.
Moog out.
"..and really, officer...how could you press charges on this?"
Let me explain.
When my dog died last year, we went out and got ourselves a new dog.
When that dog didn't work out, we got two more until we FINALLY found one that fit.
Sometimes, you have to commit a few animals to death before you find one you can live with.
It's like the whole "making omelets/breaking eggs thing" but it involves kill shelters.
I'm totally putting that on a billboard.
Magical.
Regardless, we ended up with Sophie.
Sophie.
Eats.
EVERYTHING.
Blankets, cushions, chairs, toys, remote controls, tissues...
It's almost easier to list shit that she HASN'T tried to eat.
Let's try that.
Here's a complete list of things Sophie HASN'T eaten:
1) Tokyo.
I think that's pretty much it.
The problem is that we've tried to discipline her and teach her NOT to eat things.
Here's how that goes:
1) Walk into house
2) See this:
OH WHAT THE FUCK.
It's at this point we do something like this:
"SOPHIE!! BAD GIRL!! BAD. GIRL!!"
At which point, Sophie does...
THIS:
"SOPHIE YOU'Re a bad..awww...oh who's my girl? Are you my girl? Yes you are! Yes you are!"
Hey.
Wait.
What the fuck just happened?
You immediately start to yell at her and *PLOP* down she goes all cute and shit.
There is no defense.
3) Go into a different room
4) See THIS:
OHMYGOD SONOFABITCH.
"SO-PHIIIEEE! SOPHIE YOU ARE A BAD, BAD..."
Shit.
"THAT'S A BAD BAD Girl awwww who's daddy's cutie? Is it you? Yes it is. Yes it is. I got your belly."
I don't even know who I am any more.
5) From the kitchen...
Wife: "OH, SOPHIE!"
We should have just kept the hamsters.
"SOPHIE?!? REALLY?!? WHY CAN'T WE JUST LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR..."
"..JUST an hour or...oh..oh look how CUTE you are! Who's daddy's girl? YOU ARE! Yes you are..I'm gonna get that belly! Yes I am! Yes I am!"
* blink
If Al Qaeda ever figures out how to do this WE'RE FUCKED.
Hm.
Maybe we should keep this under wraps.
National security and all.
