So this is blogging?

Readers,

I'd like to apologize to you that you have nothing better to do than read my blog/look at my photographs. You will learn nothing from this. In fact, you may walk away dumber. If you choose to stay, you'll wander off knowing lots of irrelevant tidbits about my dog, and have a tenuous grasp on what clinical insanity looks like. If you're still reading this, I assume that you're either A: legally insane yourself, and want to feel less alone knowing there's someone out there who is also batshit nuts, or B: your backspace button is frozen, and you're about to reboot your computer. Either way, sorry. You shoulda bought a Mac.

Now I'm gonna take a hot second and explain the name of this blog. Mischief is defined (on dictionary.com) as: conduct or activity that playfully causes petty annoyance. That definition works for me. I find myself getting into mischief frequently. I like pranks, making things dirty, curse words, offensive gesticulation, and making a lot of noise. I'm not an anarchist, as I have no organization or message behind my mischief, but I'm really just a shit-maker... constantly making a mess with the hopes of little-to-no consequence. So far, I've managed to tread lightly enough to keep myself out of prison. Win? The meatball is my faithful and stupid dog. That's not her real name, but an alias she picked for herself sometime during the Watergate scandal. As you can see, she's robust, she's pretty, and she's super immodest. Her lack of modesty and sheer lack of understanding consequences of her own mischief astounds me. But then again, she's a dog, and doesn't have the forethought to not make bad life choices, like people such as... Bernie Madoff or Casey Anthony. Sorry, that wasn't a hot second. I've never been good at brevity anyway.

Dumb with T-Rex arms

Smart

Also smart

Moving on... I'd like to be clear that the fluffy monster that is my dog is the light of my weird little life. I have no kids, I have no job, and I get cold easily, so we're perfect together. Now, I'm not a lazy asshole 24/7... I am a student. One day I'll be working in a hospital taking care of little children people, and making them smile. The perk of being a playful jerk of an adult is the fact that kids really like you. If I'm at a party with 82 adults and 2 kids, I will find the children, and they will be my friend. Plus, I really like trampolines, finger painting, poop jokes and building forts, so I'm the ideal pal for a child ages 6-12 or so... or even older if you're like me. I just typed that last rambling of a sentence, and realized I have done ALL of the above with adults within the last year. My friends are adult babies. I like that. Meatball likes kids too. She likes cats. She likes mice. She does not like dogs. I can only assume she's confused about her identity, and thinks she's a giant cat. She sleeps all day, doesn't understand fetch, cannot swim, (and that's not an exaggeration), and fiercely tries to cover up all evidence that she's gone poop... even if it's indoors. She has no awareness that her tail is in fact attached to her ass, and she prefers cat food over dog food. I think she'd prefer any food over that pricy-as-shit food she eats that's supposed to make her slim down. So far, she's packed on 15 with this food, so I'm going to deduce that it's not working. Her not-so-obvious people food favorites are hardboiled egg yolks, cheese and tomatoes. She'd really like omelets.

Please stay tuned for photos of Meatball, mischievous stories, evidence of past pranks, and rants, as about 98% of things I see deserve social commentary. *M&M