In a Pickle

Dear Frieda,

A couple of months ago, I rashly told my sister-in-law that I would babysit my niece and nephew any time. Well, guess what? This 4th of July weekend, I’ve been roped into taking the two youngsters to the zoo! To top it off, I already have a date for that evening, for a formal party! I won’t have time to go home and change! What can I do?

Signed,

In A Pickle

Dear In A Pickle,

First of all, don’t fret…that causes wrinkles! I have the perfect solution for you! This Frieda Original goes from casual to formal in a snap! You will undoubtedly be the most sensational chick at the zoo in these crisp, white cropped pants and festive, blue crop top. The red top hat adds patriotic flair while keeping the sun off your lovely skin. When you drop off your young charges, you can transform your ensemble in an instant. Simply swap the pants for the sparkly, full-length skirt, and…presto-chango…you’re black tie ready! Now all you need to do is sit back and modestly accept all the compliments!

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…