I Wanna Be A Hobo…

I would like to be a hobo.

I don’t want to be what we now refer to as a ‘homeless person’, I want to be a hobo. A classic 1930’s-era hobo, complete with battered harmonica, plaid ‘kerchief bindle, plenty o’ tinned beans, nary a care in the world, a head full of tales spun by the fire, and a heart full of homespun wisdom!

My Dog, The Shit

Some of you will have heard me talk of my dog. You will have heard me describe him as anything from a sarcastic, grizzled ol’ nineteeth-century prospector to an embittered, sexually confused, drunken, middle-aged cougar.

I would like, if I may, to offer you an image of my darling dog: love of my life, and belligerent, contemptuous little shit. If you’ve had the privilege of getting to know this miraculously long-lived creature, you can vouch that the picture I shall paint is uncannily accurate.