Guns n' Hoses

Do you know what the most awesome bit in the whole constitution is? The right to bear arms. Now, since I've never had any formal education beyond nursery school I used to think this meant naked biceps (be honest, you saw that one coming). But after my owner debated some whiney hippie last night, mine eyes have seen the glory - and the glory is a .22 Beretta.

True, the only armory I've been able to lay my paws on so far are some old Star Wars toy weapons, but I just love to look at myself in the mirror as I pull one of those babies from behind my back. And don't even get me started on loading the magazine and cocking the hammer. I've had TaTa time me. See? I'm getting all excited just talking about it. I almost want someone to break in so I can mow them down in a hail of bullets. Why would anyone ever want to ban these things? My toughest decision is whether I want to target shoot or hunt. But first I need to apologize to TaTa.

To test out the new extension of my hand, I put a kernel of corn on TaTa's head to shoot. It got messy, but it's not my fault. The guy wouldn't stand still. Don't worry, he's fine... just missing a scale or two. On another note, why don't people just hunt with machine guns instead of rifles? That way you're bound to get something. I love America.

An American Hamster in Paris

My owners have been talking about a vacation for a while now. Because of this, I knew it was only a mater of time before I had to say goodbye to TaTa for a bit. I just never thought I'd be saying au revoir to him.

To apparently help break up the malaise that is the northeast frozen tundra, my owners decided to pack a few bags and head off to sunny France. You know, it's the country with all the whiney guys in berets. So into the hay-filled, beige carrying case I went for the next 12 to 15 hours (depending on layovers and the time change). Well, what do you know? I guess all the millions upon millions of square miles and breathtaking monuments right here in the good ol' U.S. of A. were all booked. So now, instead of wiping a tear away as I gaze into the granite faces of former presidents on a certain South Dakota mountain, I'll be squinting awkwardly at the Eiffel Tower. Where are the walls anyway? Dude, they never even bothered to finish it. And ain't that just like the French? They're probably waiting for the Americans to come help them... again.

What was probably the best part of our trip to the land of bri cheese and accordion music was when a couple of poodles were in front of me in line. Smirking to myself, I shouted "Ich bin ein Noodle!" They instantly threw down their baguette bread, put their hands up and surrendered. The French crack me up. Then I casually asked them which way to the Mona Liza Minnelli.

Chick, Please

You know what my new favorite thing to do is? Every time I hold the door for another pet, who then proceeds to just scuttle though silently, I shout, "You're welcome!" Which is funny, you see, because they didn't bother to say thank you. What am I, a doorman? Not to rudeness, I'm not. He can just wait at the bar. And that's another thing!

Not that I get to go clubbing too often, but when TaTa and I hit Studio 54 I'd like to get my Mai Tai served quickly. There's no reason I should have to hang there, clinging to the edge of the bar with my front paws, waiting a half hour to be acknowledged. I'm sorry... I'm being mean. You club owners with just one bartender must be shocked that the place is so busy. After all, it is 11PM on a Saturday - you guys are usually dead about this time, right? But I know the truth is that it's because I'm a dude.

This chick rabbit hopped up to the bar last weekend all in slow motion, white, fluffy fur in soft light. She had her carrot juice in 20 seconds flat. All she had to do was flutter her eyelashes and sniff with that pink nose. It also really helped that "Oh Yeah" by Yello was thumping in the club. Slick my fur back with some water from your bowl, TaTa, it's time to make my move. I'm sure glad I brushed my teeth today.

Hamster of the Opera

"I am your hamster, come to the hamster of music..."

Haunting, isn't it? Just imagine it with a fog machine! I've been thinking about it for a while now, and finally decided to write a musical. In most social circles this would be ludicrous, but I know I can trust you, my friend. The idea started as more of just a rock opera kind of thing, but the more I wrote, the more I felt this needed a bigger voice. To be fair, I only wrote the libretto, the music was all TaTa. You'd be surprised, but the guy has a real ear for it. Case in point: originally, I felt that the final reveal for the Hamster of the Opera required more of a Bach-like Toccata and Fuge with simple oboe accompaniment. But it was entirely TaTa's idea to unveil the piece scene by heart wrencing scene a la polka. I tell you: the fish is a genius.

We've already decided to put our brains together Lennon/McCartney style and do a musical version of All The President's Men. I see Clay Aiken as Nixon, but TaTa is all set on Rick Springfield. Is that dude even still alive? Jessie's Girl? Never heard of it. Anyway, assuming that takes off (which I'm sure it will) we'll then tackle that elephant in the room known as Citizen Kane. It's itching for a libretto. Now if I could just reach the mailbox to send the score to someone.