A Hat for the Races

Dear Frieda,

I just relocated for a new job, and I’m anxious to make some friends. Yesterday, a group of young women in the office invited me to go to opening day at the horse races with them. I was so excited to be included, until I heard more of the details. Apparently, its traditional to dress up for opening day, and that’s not all! The women wear hats, the bigger and flashier the better! I want to make a good impression and participate in the fun, but I don’t know where to start! What do you recommend?

Signed,

Clueless

Dear Clueless,

Your worries are over! I have the perfect #friedaoriginal for you! Your coworkers, and everyone else, will be agog when you arrive in this clingy, black, daringly short, strapless dress. The simplicity of the gown is balanced by the abundance of showy flowers adorning the oversized, red-lined top hat. You’re sure to be at the center of an admiring crowd all day! Oh, and dah-ling, I always back the horses with promising names. For example, if you see a FAST FRIEDA or FEATHERED FRENZY, I would advise you to hurry and place your bet! 

Signed,

Frieda

Morty Exposes The Industrial Chew Toy Complex

If humans got one thing right, it’s the IRS. Wonderful profession. More of a calling than a job really. If I understand Mr. Baxter correctly, it’s an entire agency that sneaks around making sure everybody else is on the up and up. Newsflash puppies: That’s what I do everyday—have been for the better part of a decade. Don’t get me started. Of course sometimes I don’t know why I bother. Most puppies are hopeless. It’s all entitlement and excess with these goofballs. Doggles®? Are you serious!? Ha! I can see fine without “stylish protective eyeware” thank you very much. Who comes up with this junk? When I was a puppy I had one tennis ball. One. Kept it for three years and it wasn’t even new to begin with. That’s how we did things back then. Don’t get me started. Did I complain? Heck no! I was grateful and took damn good care of my belonging—dropped it in my water bucket every now and then, kept it clean as best I could. No telling when I’d get another one if God forbid something happened to it. Of course that was all before the meteoric rise of the Chew Toy Industrial Complex. That’s right puppies, I’m talking about a shadow pack of elites—probably Huskies—who control everything. But don’t expect to read about it in The Droolitzer, I’m pretty sure Bogie is in on their mainstream agenda. Canine social engineering and whatnot. Newsflash puppies: life’s not all biscuits and belly rubs. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And whatever happened to carefully burying your bones for a rainy day? Lemme guess? You don’t wanna get your wittle paws durtie. Ha! Anyway, who’s funding this surplus of assets in the canine community? That’s what I want to know. Half these puppies are underemployed at best. Unbelievable. Which remind me of the time…