Einstein Is Under My Porch

Diary entry: I gotta tell you, Paulie feels like one of those idiotic CPR dummies after a long life saving class in which beer and wine was served to a bunch of loose lipped morons who all think their drool has magical healing properties, because my dog Smudge wakes me up every morning like he’s a demented fireman trying to resuscitate his favorite movie star and he’s not taking “no” for an answer, Smudge knows how to open the toilet lid when he wants water, I have awakened thinking the roof was leaking, the basement was flooded, or that the pretty lady across the table threw her drink in my face, and when I open my eyes, there is Smudge again, wanting to go outside, all he ever does is crap by the stoop and spend the day scouring the woods to find dead animals to bring home, the dog psychiatrist says bringing home a dead animal for me is a sign of affection and it is how Smudge expresses his love for me, can you believe it, my dog Smudge has a freakin’ “dog psychiatrist”, the goofy bastard talks like my animal is human and I should respect him as such, I don’t care if Smudge is a stupid animal or goddamned Albert Einstein, when he craps on my pillow he’s out the door; rain, cold, or sleet, Albert Einstein can sleep under the porch…