The Muse 

Any poet worth his salt has a muse; this four-legged fur ball on the left is mine. His name is Austin, and from the very first day he moved into our life, he’s had the power to motivate and stir within me the emotions that inspire my poetry. If you’ve read my poems and noticed their subject matter (death, murder, hate, insanity), then you know our relationship. Let’s just say his mother & grandparents love him, and leave it at that.

Rebuttal

Grrrr… Merf… Woof… Bad Dad! Bad!  Yer jus jealous 'cause mom loves me more.  Oh boy yer gonna get it!  I'm tellin' gramudder!

Redirect

Ever wonder what happened to Rosemary’s baby? When the movie ended, Mia Farrow dumped her little demon spawn off at the Humane Society. I stumbled in a few minutes later and signed the adoption papers. I used to laugh at David Berkowitz and his, “Son of Sam” defense. Now, I just pity him…

Parting Shots

LAWSUIT! LAWSUIT!  I'm callin' Johnny Cochrane...