On my 13th birthday, the day I became a man,

On my 13th birthday, the day I became a man, uncle Shlomo's mullet ate Mrs. MacPherson's poodle Mitsy. I remember it vividly. It was preternaturally fast, devouring the unlucky

pet before running off to join Mr Blobby in a whacky adventures. I wished I could have escaped my new responsibilities and join them but uncle Schlomo's mullet couldn't be tamed

. Being that now I was officially a man, however, I felt responsible for approaching Uncle Schlomo's mullet to discuss why he felt compelled to consume a non kosher dog. The mullet

was an interesting creature up close. The bristles on top are stiff, clearly for protection. The tail is long an spindly providing it with stability for balance. The mullet should

Not be like the version you see on Jeff Rense. That is without description. Mullets are out of style since the 80s. This is with good reason. Hipster beards are cool, I admit.

The ironic point of view for the sake of irony stopped being ironic the moment it thought it was ironic. Ambiguity ruled the cesspool, now. Would it drown or carry me? That would

ruin my all ready fairly rotten day, truth be told. However, it occurred to me quite suddenly that I could just climb out of the cesspool and take a danged shower. It was a slipper

chewed up on the mat, my dog's way of crying out for attention. He was proud to drop it in the toilet and flush as I was in there showering. Was he mad I used his shampoo again?

I just really like the smell of dog shampoo, and it feels so good on my fur- uh, my hair. I left the bathroom after scolding my dog, and went to go put on my furry outfit.