I am a leather jacket haphazardly thrown

I am a leather jacket haphazardly thrown onto the back of a chair. It's quite nice being a jacket, sometimes. It's never cold, but I always end up smelling like smoke, one way or a

nother. My owner chain smokes and isn't shy about blowing smoke all over me. Snuggling up with me at the end of a long day is like sleeping in a cigar factory.

, but she puts up with my doggie kisses even when I slip her a bit of tongue. When we go out for walkies she always has one hand free for my leash, though lately she smoker's cough

keeps her from hitting the high notes of Minnie Riperton's "Loving You." "Dootin dootin doo-doo HAAAK!" This makes me whine sadly because I don't get to throw back my head and howl

with her, like I do when I hear Minnie Riperton on the radio. She could sing Joan Armatrading songs just fine and I could throw my head back and really laugh, but I couldn't howl.

My howl was broken. What kind of werewolf was I? The pack had abandon me and, my own father hung his head in shame. Finally I moved to a hippy camp in the hills of West Virginia.

what else can you do for a new year but to remember it? It isn't like it is going to get any better for the new year. It has 365 days to load up on to sustain it throughout history

, or something to that effect, anyway. As you can see, sir, he was drunk as a skunk when he told me all of this. I don't believe his testimony is trustworthy." The detective

pulled out a six pack. "I want you to look at these skunk photos & point at the one that most resembles the informant." "Not to sound too dismissive, Sir, but your methods stink."