Shopping Failure No More!

Dear Frieda, I’m getting married in two weeks. My husband and I will be leaving for our honeymoon right after the reception. Here is my problem: I normally wear sweats or a long flannel nightgown to bed, but my fiancé asked me to get something “really special” for our wedding night. I went to a department store, but I just couldn’t find anything that seemed right! All the nightgowns looked either trashy or downright comical! What should I do?

Signed,

Shopping Failure

Dear Shopping Failure,

Don’t waste another minute fretting, dah-ling! I have the perfect #friedaoriginal for you! I think you’ll find this dazzling negligee has just the “je ne sais quoi” you’re looking for! The sparkly gold fabric will compliment your happy glow. The gown is short to show off your long, lovely legs. It’s translucent enough to be alluring, with a long, matching peignoir you can throw on to protect your modesty when room service arrives. Believe me, dear, when your new husband sees you in this stunning creation, oh-la-la!, he’ll be speechless!

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…