"I Liked Goldfinches Better When They're South for the Winter"

Guest Blogger: Cheeps,  Purple Finch

I don't hate Goldfinches, but, to be honest, I like them better when they're south for the winter.  Each spring they fly into town like a bunch of damned locusts.  They act like they own the place.  They perch on our trees and eat at our bird feeders.  Can't they find their own bird feeders?    And aren't there any trees in Florida or wherever the hell they came from?
And then they have to go shove their Goldfinchyness down my throat.  They just have to flash those gold feathers and make their weird goldfinch sounds.  Hello?  This is California.  We speak Purple Finch here.
What really frosts me is how I have to explain to my own fledglings about them, like why we suddenly have to share the birdbath  with a completely different kind of bird.  What if my kids grow up thinking it's okay to be a Goldfinch?  That's we're we're heading.
 Maybe some of us should take a stand.

"This Acorn PROVES the Sky is Falling."

Guest Blogger: Chicken Little

The haters were quick to ridicule me.  "That's an acorn, stupid!" they said.  "The sky isn't falling!  It's not even a solid object!"
The major media and folktale outlets pilloried me.  The academic elites mocked me.  Turkey Lurkey called me a "Dumbass."
Yet Professor Grousey Lousy of Matchbook University bravely observed, "Well, technically I suppose one could argue that much what appears to us as 'sky' is, in fact, bluish light scattered from particles of nitrogen, oxygen and so on.  These particles are subject to the laws of gravity just like everything else, so, in a sense the sky is solid and falling."
So I've been proven right.  Yet the media and children's books remain silent.  Even the Foxy Loxy News Network won't touch my vindication.  Shocking!
So far Ducky Lucky is the only one who weighed in.  "I can reluctantly understand how the sky, in a sense, is falling," he sniffed, "but that doesn't match Chicken Little's notion that it was crashing down in dangerous chunks.  A freaking acorn landed on his head.  Did he turn around to investigate what hit him?  No.  He ran off screaming about the sky.  He's barmy."
Isn't it just like those know-it-all jerks to call me names?  They can't argue logically so they just attack me.  Cowards.
Yes, it's true that an acorn hit my head.  But do you know why?  Because a piece of falling sky knocked it loose!  Prove it didn't!  Prove it didn't!!

"What's with this Anti-Bullying Nonsense?"

Guest Blogger:   Harman Throttlefolk

It happened last Friday.   At the George Washington Middle School cafetorium.  As I plunged my fork into my chili cheese fries,  I saw him.   Ned Smith, dorktard extraordinaire.  There he was, with his thick glasses, pimply skin, skinny neck,  carrying his stupid cafeteria tray and looking all stupid.  Something about him screamed   Beat me!  Beat the crap out of me!
Some instincts you don't ignore.
So I swagger up to him, call him a #@Iing @&$!! and knock the tray out of his hands.  Chili, green beans jello and plastic hit the floor.  Then I shove Ned down into it and pour my Pepsi on his head.  Everyone's watching now.  Some cheer!  It's like the gladiator games and I'm victorious.  Ned hobbles to his feet as soda drips from him. He won't even look me in the eye, and he's scraping the food off his shirt and I go "Next time watch where you're going, you !@#(!"  Everyone laughs.
Then Fat-Ass Monitor Lady sends me to the principals office.  Now I have to have lunch in the stupid office for the next too weeks because "bullying will not be tolerated.*"
What's with all this anti-bullying nonsense?  Why should I accept some runtiod geek as my peer?  How come he's tolerated and I'm not?  I don't get why we're supposed to embrace the dorktard lifestyle.   It's well known that wimpy, nerdy kids are more lonely and prone to depression.  I'm doing the him a favor by encouraging him to lose his wussyness.     And my reward?  I get into trouble!  It's hypocrisy I tell you.   If this keeps up, America will be crawling with weirdos.  And people like me, who stand up for what's right, will be locked up. 
Chilling.

*Well, there is a threshold of bullying that they tolerate just fine.  I was singled out because my victory left too much evidence.  Some bullies work around the system by being more subtle, or doing $#!+ like wedgies and swirlies that the geekbastard won't report because he's too ashamed that his dorkatude lead him to that fate.  But if us bullies compromise, what next?  Will we then lose our rights to more subtle putdownmanship?  Will we be prohibited from whispering "#@&&*+!" and "#^(&head" when a spazoid walks by?  Will the proud tradition of  "After school I'm gonna pound you!" fade into history?

Guest Blogger: "I Don't Care if You're White, Black, Green or Purple... ...But if You're Magenta, Get the Hell Away From Me"

by Jack Tupp, Guest Blogger

 I'm a fair guy.  I don't judge people by color.  My best friend is Phthalo Green.  I dated a Cerulean Blue chick once.  Heck, I'm part Vermilion on my grandfather's side and people always ask me if I'm part Mauve, so don't go calling me a bigot.
Magentas  don't know their place.  They're dumb as corks, but we're supposed to act like they're all smart.  They have no class.   And we're supposed to pretend like they're all the Queen of England!.    Ever been around a bunch of them? You can just tell they're up to no good.
People call me names like "paranoid" and "dumb," but the truth is, I tell it like it is.   I'm not gonna pretend they're normal..  I mean, look at them.  Listen to their stupid "music" or take a whiff of that crap they call food. 
Then people say stuff like "Well, the Brain Surgeon at Station Hospital is Magenta and he's world famous."
But I know better.  Everyone's all political correct so they'll pretend a Magenta Brain surgeon is okay .    So now we have a Magenta guy carving up brains!    Is that crazy or what?
Wha.. what's that?  You're part Magenta?   No you're not...  ...really,,,?   
...Heh, of course I  didn't mean all Magentas.  Just, you know, the annoying ones.  The loud ones.  The ones with bad attitudes,
Hey!  Don't up and leave.  Geez.  That's the problem with you Magentas.  You're too sensitive!

Guest Blogger: "My IKEA Girlfriend was Pretty Cool Until She Fell Apart"

"Olimpia, my IKEA girlfriend"

Guest Blogger: Allen Heckskey, Los Angeles Resident

Olimpia smelled of particle board and lingonberries.   I bought her at IKEA.
I'll admit I had mixed feelings when I opened that flat box and saw all those pieces.  I'm the kind of guy who can't put a model airplane together and I'm supposed to assemble a person?  It took three hours.   I kept messing up, like when  I realized I'd put each hand on the wrong arm and had to take them off  and swap them.  One of her eyes rolled under my bed and it took twenty minutes for me to find it.  She was a hassle to put together, but once I was done, I knew I'd made the perfect girlfriend.
She was wonderful.  Gorgeous, slim, and fun.    She never made me sit through dumb movies or musicals.  Never hauled me to cat shows or swap meets.   Never made me hold her purse while she tried on clothes. Never said "You should this..." or "Why don't you that."   Never got moody.  Wherever I wanted to go or whatever I wanted to do, she was up for it.  And she cooked the best meatballs you ever tasted.
Trouble came about six months later.   I thought it was my imagination when her skin seemed to sag at the joints.  Then we were in line for "Cyberslashing Bloodsplatterfest 3D" at the IMAX and her arm falls off!   Try fetching your girlfriend's severed arm in front of a line of people.   I duct taped it back on later that night, but two days later, her foot came lose and her knee ripped open.   It got ridiculous.   More sags, breaks and rips.  I taped her up as best I could, but it was clear her days as my girlfriend were over.  Too "high maintenance."  Plus she looked kinda stupid with all that tape.
I wasn't sure what to do with her.  I thought of putting her in the closet or the attic, but that was too creepy.   I could have thrown her away, but she was like a ratty old bathrobe that you loved because it was yours.  For now she's propped the corner of my bedroom.   It's not a total loss.  She still tells me I look "great" every morning, and never complains that I "don't take her places anymore."

A Crummy Moth!

Guest Blogger: Milton the Moth

" Eat your greens, little caterpillar," the adults promised, "And someday you'll be a beautiful butterfly!"
That's what I heard every day.  All this buildup as to how someday I'd graduate from grubhood, emerging as a colorful butterfly.  I often wondered how I'd turn out.  Would I be an iconic Monarch?  A sporty Swallowtail?   Maybe I'd even be the kind with those big pretend eyes on my wings.
Well, imagine my surprise when I broke out of my cocoon and discovered I was a crummy moth.   A moth!  A plain, dinky, grayish moth.   This is what I was waiting for?
My stupid caterpillar buddies all turned out as butterflies.   They're too cool to hang with me anymore, but they still stop by to bug me.  "Who's up for laps around the streetlight" one goes, and the rest crack up laughing.  They also call me "Clothes Nibbler," "Porch Light Pest," "Cat Toy," and "Bat Bait".  Gee, thanks guys!

The Phoenix: "This Fire and Rising from the Ashes is Getting Old"

Guest Blogger: The Phoenix, Mythological Bird

"At first it was pretty cool.   I'd be getting a little rough around the edges and KABOOM!   I'd burst into flames and  rise up all new and pretty.  Not many birds could do that!  The Trick won me a lot of bar bets over the years.  On weekends I'd do the performance artist thing and rake in the tips.'
It's been many a century  and now I'm  tired of the whole thing.  I know my power is divine and mystical and all that, but really, couldn't the gods have tried a bit harder when they put me together?  The immortality's good, but did they have to make it tied to spontaneous combustion?  How stupid is that!? Sure I come out fine, but everything nearby gets trashed.  I can't tell you how many cleaning deposits I've lost for destroyed property and smoke damage.  Nobody invites me anywhere* .  
Just last week I was unloading my shopping cart at Thriftimart and FOOM!  I took out the conveyor belt, the tabloids,  the gift cards and the candy selection.  Most of my groceries too.  The tequila bottle made it but then the lady behind the counter wouldn't let me buy it because now I looked "way under twenty one."
Stupid, stupid mystical power!  "

*"Okay, this one annoying guy  tries to pal with me, but only because he likes to put a marshmallow on a stick and hold it over my head "just in case."   Har har.    Jerk!"

The Sun: Why Do I Even Bother to Shine?

Guest Blogger: Sol, A.K.A. "The Sun"
I was so eager in the beginning.  I knew developing and maintaining a solar system would take dedication and work, but I was under the delusion that it might, maybe PAY OFF SOME DAY...
I'd considered my planet collection a work in progress.   I pulled the most interesting planets I could find into my orbit.  I kept the moons spinning.   Installed an asteroid belt.  Threw in some comets.  Hung rings on Saturn (still making payments on these).  I thought, this may not be the best planet system, but someday it'll be one of the greats.
Now, after 4 billion  years of being snubbed as a location for intergalactic conventions, absent in "Planetary System of the Week" mentions, and not even a stub on the MilkyWaykipeda, it's become clear.
My planetary system is crap and I have no business running it.  
No double stars.  No pulsars.   Most of my planets are lifeless, and the one holdout is crawling with the most disgusting things you ever saw.
The final straw came when I took the "How will YOU end up" quiz on Facebook.  I'd always figured I'd be fusing iron some day.  And then I'd go supernova.  Then everyone would point to me and say how awesome I was.   Nope.  According to the results I'll eventually fall apart and become a "planetary nebula"  which is the politically correct way to say "space booger".  Left over at the core will be a "degenerate dwarf".  That's like a tatertot that glows in the dark.
Boy, I'm glad I've worked billions of years for this! 

Jupiter: "My Fellow Planets are Idiots":

Guest Blogger: Jupiter
I really hate my neighbors.  How'd I end up  with such losers?
Take Mercury:  Hopped up little bastard.   He's always racing round and knocking stuff over.
Then there's Venus.  She's always trying to outshine everyone.  "Did you know there's a song about me?" she says.  "Did you know there's a goddess named after me?"  I shut her up by pointing out there's a category of diseases named after her too.
Then Earth- yechh.  He's  infested with spores and creatures.   A real slob. How dirty is he?  His creatures have actually spread to his moon!.  There's a giant leap for you.  Also, he's wet, clammy, and always tracks in mud.  
Next comes Mars.  Where do I begin?   At parties he gets drunk, pulls up his shirt and points to Mariner Valley and goes "Let me tell ya how I got this!"  His story keeps changing:  "It's an asteroid impact!" he says, then next time it's  "from a knife fight me and Phobos had in the Oort Cloud!"  Sure, Mars, sure.
I think it's a stretch mark.
And there's that tramp, Saturn.  You went real subtle with those rings, honey!   Real classy.
Uranus and Neptune?   Two boring clouds of "duh".
There used to be Pluto.
He was a stupid little pebble.  He'd fly all  about going "Wheee!  I am planet!  Me planet!!"    Planet? That  idiot couldn't achieve a circular orbit in a flushing toilet.
 I'm glad they put him away.
The Sun says I have an "attitude problem" and should "lighten up."  (He thinks he's really clever when he uses the expression "lighten up," as if it's a inside joke that I'm too dumb detect. )  He also tells us  "I'm proud of ALL of you," in a way that makes it sound like he's really, really  deep and enlightened because he's able to detect how special everyone is.  Dolt.  If I were him I'd book the whole solar system on Jerry Springer.  If you hang out with idiots, you may as well get paid for it.

Guest Blogger- Biff the Bulldog

Loyal Dogs of America,
For generations we've been loyal, responsible creatures.  We protect houses and fetch slippers.  We sit, stay and roll over.  We do what we know is right.
Yet in spite of this, an evil force trying to destroy everything we stand for.  A wicked entity which continues to threaten us and ignores our warnings.  The time has come for real dogs to take a stand:
The mailman must be stopped.
Each day this faceless intruder trespasses onto our property.  We warn him to leave and he does- only to return the next day.  The arrogance!  Does he think his repeated visits will scare us into submission?  Or is it his idea of a sick joke? 
Someone passed some info to me from a secret source.  While I can't verify accuracy, it sounds honest.  And answers a lot of questions.

"What the Mailman Doesn't want YOU to Know
Who is this mysterious human?   What is his REAL agenda?
The mailman has a deadly grudge against all dogs, and it's only a matter of time until he unleashes his evil.
He's the secret mastermind who
1. Invented muzzles, cats, and dog sweaters
2. Funds veterinarians, groomers, and fireworks manufacturers.

His plans include
1.  Doubling incidents of flea dips.
2.  Removal of trees and fireplugs.
3.  Outlawing table scraps.
4.  Taking away your chew toy.
5.  Vaporizing all dogs with the secret weapon he keeps in his sack (Ask yourself- if he only comes to YOUR house every day, what's with the big bag.  How DUMB does he think we are?)"

I hate to frighten you, Loyal Dogs of America, but it is my duty to keep us safe an informed.   Don't let your humans play down the threat.  "Oh, it's just the mailman," they say.   Humans are easily tricked.
It's up to us dogs to straighten things out.