In the first photo Wembley’s legs seem like you could put a jack in there and crank him up a six inches. Mebbe that is the problem, pinched nerves?

Oh man, you clearly haven’t heard my aunt’s story: Tweezers’ Glorious Fun Time Dog Penis adventure.

It involved a well-hung basset, a much-tortured stuffed bear, a dinner party, panicked phone calls to the vet, and cooking lard (because no Vasoline).

Think you can guess the rest.

When I drove by our local theater, it was on the roster.

Then again, I live in the Bagger central in the inland Pacific Northwest so they’re probably making their $210/week.

Beagles have bad teeth too. I spend extra money on Science Diet Dental Formula, dental treats and a descaler water additive and my male will probably still need to have his teeth cleaned this year (he’s 2).

My parents had bassets and although I love the creatures, I thought it’d be better to have something smaller and lower-maintenance. Maybe you’re on to something with the hamsters.

If you don’t look too hard at the picture, as I initially did, you’d think it was some weird racist propaganda: “The National Jew[: gangsters, swindlers, posers].”

But now that I know it’s supposed to be Paul Ryan, I really don’t get it. Who exactly are they trying to insult?

colorful hardened chicken fetuses

Oooh! Oooh! You mean these?

I admit that, even though I will still gladly eat mac n’ cheese (okay, that’s mostly because it’s cheap, fast, and my cholesterol is fine), that over the years I have become more and more reluctant to go to OG. Maybe my salt-detecting taste buds have finally matured and staged a revolt.

Now I only go to OG when I want “crap” Italian. It’s a phrase I stole from my Chinese friend who, despite having excellent taste in restaurants, occasionally still wants “crap Chinese,” the likes of which can be found at Panda Express “establishments” nationwide. Let’s face it, every once and while even the most refined of us just craves something greasy, salty and full of carbs.

And living in a hellhole of white suburban Hummer-driving parade-bombing Teabaggers only encourages these sorts of restaurants.

I protest vehemently on the whole virgin thing. (Clearly you have never experienced the wide world of Sci-Fi role-play…) In fact, one cornerstone theme of science fiction, whether aimed at adolescent boys or not, are about explorations of sexuality.

Speaking of, while the Lathe of Heaven is a great book, my favorite of Ursula LeGuin’s is The Left Hand of Darkness. If you’re lucky enough to run across a copy with Ursula’s re-issue introduction concerning the essence of science fiction (paperback, the cover shows a spiky iced statue I think) don’t pass it up.

If you’re not averse to delving back into children’s fiction, I recommend the Tripod Trilogy, which is exceedingly well done and equally as hard to find.

Lastly, many of Ray Bradbury’s short stories are simply marvelous. Look for the Mars Collection (particularly “Dark They Were, and Golden Eyed”) and any collection that contains “There Will Come Soft Rains.” While not science fiction, his book Dandelion Wine is also wonderful. Bradbury’s prose is probably some of the best I’ve ever read.

Barely-holding-together is how bassets are supposed to look. Otherwise you don’t pity them as much, and they don’t get as many snausages as they want.

I was going to say something snarky, but my dog just shit on the carpet, and I think that speaks perfectly about how good a thing that would be.

I think I speak for the entire heterosexual female population when I say any image of a naked and sweaty Douthat should be crushed, burnt, and the ashes launched into the nearest black hole.

Oh thank the FSM. When I saw your tweet my first thought was that someone had discovered a DoucheHat sex tape.

If you own beagles, that lid must be made of reinforced titanium bank vault door and triple locked with electronic-only access.

Seriously, I have yet to figure out how to keep my hounds out of the trash, short of not owning any (trash or beagles, pick either or).

My two beagles ROUTINELY poop under the bed, as it is the only place where I can’t reach them and they are free to munch on it.

Yes, you read that right.

If you think Bassets are bad, never, EVER own a beagle. Recall TBogg’s famous Fenway phrase “hummingbird on Red Bull” and add about ten red bulls. And catlike grace and speed. And poop breath. Also.