Hi there, Dharma here. I'm filling in for that other person who occasionally shows up round these parts. I thought I'd take this opportunity to ask for your help in resolving a little interpersonal problem I'm having with that afore mentioned blog-slacker.
You see, she just doesn't understand how hard it is to be a dog in Brazil. Especially on Sundays.
Sundays are bbq days. All the neighbors grill out. A ridiculous number of them. The air is just ripe with grilled rib-eye and sausage and sirloin. There isn't anywhere you can go to escape the smell. Every breath is a drooling torture.
And those grillers are all laughing and carrying on and I just know their dogs are getting in on the action.
I've tried reasoning with her.
But she has no idea what it is like to have a nose this big.
It's a real bummer man.
So I was wondering if you could be so kind as to convince her to do just a little grilling for me. Nothing extravagant - maybe just some pork sausage or a few chicken hearts - they're easy right? Or at the very least, a little bacon grease on my dried sorry excuse for daily sustenance would suffice.
(And by the way can you also talk to her about my ridiculous hair cut. I'm getting so sick of the Falkor wisecracks.)
I'll be your friend forever.