Today's Present

It's best to be honest about it.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, has issues.

Let me begin by clarifying that Winston, TLGD, and I get along fabulously.

Sure I call him names a lot, especially you little-son-of-a-bitch, which I mean literally ... because he is.

But we hang out together on the beloved back deck because he likes to tan and I prefer being outside.

He asks my advice when he's online shopping.

Just yesterday I showed him a black V-neck and no sleeves with white letters reading ... "I'm out therefore I am." He loves it!

I give him treats every morning. He prefers really big bones and I make certain he has one to start every day off right.

Sure he sheds all over the sofa, makes the bed feel like it has "Magic Fingers" as he cuddles beside Sarah and barks like a girl ... but he's a little gay dog so I expect such things.

But this morning he's really ticked me off.

He left a little present on the living room floor.

Sarah's still asleep and the little SOB is hiding under the bed where he knows I won't go because I love my wife and want her to sleep late.

I could kill him.

After cleaning it up I'm sitting here fuming pondering my revenge.

It has to be sometime diabolically clever that he will hate and Sarah will never know.

I don't know what it is yet so your suggestions are welcome.

I am contemplating puppy Prozac for him but want to get him back before he gets too mellow.

The best suggestion gets a free book!

Winston's Politics

Winston, the Little Gay Dog, is wearing a black wife beater tee shirt with pink letters reading, "Homo-Land Security: Keeping America safe from Politicians, Preachers, and other Poachers."

He and I are sunning on the back porch.

Goddess is passed out inside somewhere with Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat.

Sarah's off running a race and the girls are lounging around inside so Winston, TLGD, and I are just enjoying the quiet morning sunshine.

All three of them went Ape shit crazy when we returned from Ireland but everything's settled into our normal routine.

Winston, TLGD, is pretty vain and likes working on his tan with me in the mornings which is cool.

He's taken an intense interest in politics lately and likes to discuss the various humorous escapades and acts of idiocy by our elected officials.

He's started a scrap book of his favorite politicians running for office time around and Winston, TLGD, is showing it to me.

"Lawless for Judge" is the first and I smirk.

"Young Boozer for Treasurer," is the next.

"Are these real names" I ask?

"Young Boozer's from Alabama," Winston, TLGD, explains.

"Of course," I nod.

Flipping the page, the next campaign sigh reads, "Krystal Ball for Congress."

"You think she already knows if she's won?" I ask.

Winston, TLGD, shrugs.

"Schumuck for Police Chief," is the next one.

"Aren't they all?"

Winston, TLGD, nods.

"That's depressing," I say getting up to fix another glass of sparkling water with lemon juice.

Slamming the scrap book shut, Winston, TLGD, rolls over to tan his belly.

Shaking my head, I take my seat again and sigh.

"Let's just enjoy this holiday weekend shall we?"

Winston, TLGD, gives me a high paw.

Gay Tanning

Winston, The Little Gay Dog (TLGD) prances out on the Beloved Back Deck where I'm sitting naked writing a lustful blog about how Sarah starts pulling her shorts down before she gets to the bathroom.

I'm lusting ... I mean ... concentrating intensely of what I'm doing.

Winston, TLGD, doesn't care jumping up on the table wearing dark sunglasses and a white wife-beater tee-shirt with the colorful words, "Wanna taste the rainbow?"

"What do you want?" I ask full of irritation at my thoughts being interrupted.

Brown eyes peer at me over the top of the shades resting on his brown nose.

"Why don't you like me?" he asks through moist eyes.

"You're a pain in the ass," I mumble.

A lone tear rolls down his brown face.

"Alright," I sigh sitting up. "You're not a pain in the ass. You are a DIVA and you're sometimes a pain in the ass but not all of the time. What is this about?"

His little red tongue licks my hand.

"Oh for God's sake," I say pulling my hand back, "stop being such a drama queen! What's up?"

"You know I love you," he says.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I love you too. What do you want?"

Sitting down on the table Winston TLGD collects himself before asking, "Why do you throw me off the bed at night?"

"Duh," I explain ... "because you're in the way."

"I'm part of this family too," he says with indignation.

"Well good!" I snap. "Go sleep with the girls."

He sighs and says, "I love Mom."

"I know," I sigh holding up my hand. "I know."

"Well then why do you grab me in the middle of the night and throw me against the wall?" Winston TLGD implores.

"Oh for Christ's sake," I mutter. "Listen! I roll over, put my arm around my wife and grab hold of a big ol' piece of hair that's breathing! Instincts take over and I throw you against the wall."

"It hurts," he cries. "It really hurts."

Standing up dragging my fingers through my long hair I take a stroll around the deck.

The air is warm with the damp hint of rain and salt hangs in the air.

"I have a suggestion," Winston TLGD timidly suggest. "Why don't you sleep with the girls?
"YOU LITTLE SON OF A BITCH," I explode ... meaning it literally.

"Calm down," he says licking himself. "It was just a suggestion."

"Are we done?" I growl.

 "I believe so," TLGD says standing up and making his way to his little outdoor tanning bed before suddenly turning to say, "will you put some lotion on my back?"

"Oh Jesus Christ," I mutter grabbing the lotion.

"Want to work on your tan too," he asks.

Sarah's still in the bathroom and it's a nice day ... "Yeah, I think so. Put some lotion on my back."

"Ooooohhh," Winston TLGD exclaims, "it's hairy."

"SHUT UP!" I yell.

"BOYS!" we hear Sarah scream from inside.

A New Journey Begins!

For almost four years I've posted a song title as my status update on Facebook trying to never repeat a title. I immensely enjoy friends responses ... sometimes quoting lyrics, asking questions or searching for hidden messages.

I've also daily posted a blog or Facebook note. This has been enriching as a consistent community of followers was born. You found things to identify with, laugh at or be spurred to debate or discovery.

I went through seismic changes in my life. Suddenly single turned into marvelously married. An empty nest is now full. Countless jaunts to St. Martin dwindled as new destinations emerge. A house became a home. Dead ends are endless possibilities.

Professionally I morphed from successful CEO to full time Beach Bum; international consultant to partnering with my wife Sarah in Micheal Elliott Enterprises "growing hope" for people needing more in their lives through coaching and encouragement.

My 9th book Sandy Bottoms and Duct Taped Hearts is out and the feedback is GREAT!

The 10th, a children's book illustrated by Eddie Woods is being released in a few months. Winston, The Little Gay Dog is a loving look at my family, acceptance in a Judgmental world and being yourself in the end!

Now there are new worlds to explore!

You've followed my changes and accomplishments as I'm pretty transparent about it. It's been cathartic for me and I'm happy you find it encouraging, humorous and useful.

BUT ... All Things Must Pass.

Change blows in the Palm Trees and it's time for them to carry us to new seas!

The daily song titles and postings will soon fade like the setting sun on the Back River.

Replacing them are new opportunities for those seeking inspiration, encouragement, laughter and community!

Like getting married under a full moon on the beach or cliff diving from 45 feet in the Caribbean, it's a little scary but pretty damn exhilarating!  That's how all great things in life start!

So stay with me as this journey!

We're going to have fun!!

__________________________________________________

Follow the journey at www.facebook.com/micheal.elliott1 and liking it or at www.meellc.com

"You whore!" Johnny O yells walking into The Breakfast Club.

"What?" I ask sipping my coffee.

"You and Sarah are pimping out Winston, The Little Gay Dog!"

"Yep," I nonchalantly reply. "He's a team player."


It's true that on my Facebook page is a giant picture of Winston, The Little Gay Dog, looking straight at you with really sad eyes, blatantly soliciting.

I had nothing to do with it.

Sarah and the little Son-of-a-bitch came up with the marketing campaign without my input.

I was out on the Beloved Back Deck helping Goddess take her medicinal marijuana for her bad eyes.

"Well, you tell him Uncle Johnny thinks it's a really cute picture."

Johnny O and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, hit it off the first time they met.

Johnny arrived at our house wearing a Toga and the puppy wore a pink fuzzy sweater with the words "There are 3 sides to every love story."

While the rest of us partied away, Toga Johnny and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, had each others back.

( If you need to take a moment and shake the visual out of your head, that's OK.)

Every day Winston, The Little Gay Dog, turns on his rainbow computer and reads whatever crap his Uncle Johnny has posted.

And every day, Uncle Johnny is helping Winston, The Little Gay Dog, make his Christmas list, which now centers around the question, "How many times does Santa come?"

Honestly, the Managing Partner doesn't allow me to have much to do with the Marketing Decisions. Goddess is cut out of the process too. Even Gypsy, the Gender Confused Cat, is locked away as Sarah and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, drive the process.

And I don't know if you've noticed or not but Johnny O is becoming an increasingly recurring character ... right up there with the Cat Lady, The Neighbor who Gardens in her underwear, and my pissed offed Guardian Angel.

I'm not saying anything's going on.

But I'm not saying its not either.
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Just in time for Black Friday! "Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts", my 9th book! Order yours now at www.meellc.com/newbook

A Repulsively Erotic Morning

Every single night, Winston, the Little Gay Dog (TLGD), prances into our bed room, lithely jumps on the bed and snuggles next to Sarah, fur touching skin.

It's repulsively erotic.

After licking himself, he balls up beside her bare back, falls asleep and purrs like a Pussy Cat.

Goddess sleeps on the floor in the doorway protecting us from whatever she fears may come in the night. She snores loudly and Winston, TLGD, ever-the-Diva, snarls with his eyes closed but Goddess could care less.

She's stoned.

Sarah can sleep through nuclear explosions, unless one of her girls whimpers or rolls over, then she bolts upright while some radar sensors beam through walls making certain her "little Blessings" are alright before immediately falling back into a deep sleep.

On the other hand, I could fall out of bed, hit the floor, burst into spontaneous combusted flames and she wouldn't even roll over.

That's our nights.

Every night.

Winston, TLGD, typically is staring at me when I open my eyes and the little Son-of-a-Bitch, and I mean that literally, yawns in my face.

He's having another of his "Cher" moments.

So I reach into the dresser Drawer, pull out the baggie with his balls inside and wave them in front of his face.

Sarah moans so I quickly put them back in the drawer.

Goddess is wide awake now wanting a snack.

Throwing Winston, TLGD, out of bed I snuggle with my wife.

He snarls.

I flip him the finger and snuggle Sarah tighter.

He licks himself then puts on a black sweater vest with pink words that read, "U R Why I Am GAY."

He smiles and prances away.

That's pretty much our wake up routine every day.

It's repulsively erotic.

What's your wake up routine?
___________________________________________

Interested in more deep, inspiring writing? Check out  my new book "Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts" at www.meellc.com/newbook

What would you call it?

Winston, the Little Gay dog, has taken the day off so he can get his nails done.

He got all dressed up in a black fur sweater with "Two Pairs beat a Straight" written in  pink on it with matching pink ascot as the Managing Partner drove the literal Son-of-a-bitch to his appointment.

Goddess and I believe the Managing Partner plays favorites.

Goddess is all bumped out, claims her eyes are killing her and is doubling up on the medicinal marijuana. I told her to slow down her consumption and could barley make her out through the hazy cloud as she replied, "Well just call me Spiderman because I'm in love with Mary Jane!"

I called Johnny O to talk to her. He knows much more about these things that I do.

Things started getting crazy when my book Sandy Bottoms and Duck Taped Hearts came out before his book which doesn't even have a title yet.

His book is done but he can't make up his mind what to call it.

First it was going to be "Winston, the Little Gay Dog" until we told him that's a pretty bland title and he got mad.

A few days later he prances in and announces he will call it, "Winston comes Home-Oh!"

Goddess and I burst into laughter telling him that's a stupid title so he storms off to complain to the Managing Partner.

His next idea was "Goodbye Balls! A True Horror story!" and that's when Goddess began doubling up on her medicinal marijuana treatments.

"Winston discovers Big Ben's a Clock?" was next.

At that point the Managing Partner intervened and is spending more time placating him.

She made out this big "To-Do" list for us but Goddess ran out of rolling paper it went up in smoke.

I'll be glad when Winston, the Little Gay Dog, can figure out what his book's going to be called.

At this point I'm sure he's open for suggestions if anyone has any.

The release date is soon and he's growing desperate.

I really do hope getting his nails done calms him down.

Poor little thing.
_____________________________________________
In just 60 days Micheal Elliott will help you so you are writing the book you have always wanted to write. Or writing the compelling grant argument to secure needed funds. Or writing the short story to submit to a magazine. You don't want to miss this! Just a few spaces left. Starts this Friday. http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/ 

The World's Dog

"She's just the best dog ever," Chris says petting Goddess. "She's a community dog. She just loves everybody."

Chris is on his knees and Goddess is on her back. He's rubbing her belly. She's wagging her tail.

"Hell," he exclaims laughing, "she's the world's dog."

Chris works for Yates Astro Pest Control. A canister of bug poison rest on the floor while he returns Goddess' love.

"Now this one," he says turning his attention to Winston, the Little Gay Dog, "he's a little more high strung."

"He's a Diva," I fire. "Little son-of-a-bitch!"

"He doesn't bother Goddess."

"Nothing bothers Goddess."

Chris nods and stands.

"Let me tell you what the little bastard did last night," I say while writing him a check. "He loves Sarah and she lets him sleep next to her."

"NO," Chris gasps.

"I know," I say holding my hand in front of his face so he doesn't even go there.

"Well get this. The little son-of-a-bitch crawled under the covers with her last night. I put my arm around her in the middle of the night and grabbed where his balls used to be and woke up screaming in terror."

"Ouch," Chris winches leaning forward to cup himself in protection from Winston, the Little Gay Dog, wagging his tail wearing a black sweater reading "Christian Fundamentalists! The original bigots of the Anti-Gay movement."

"It didn't bother Goddess," I conclude.

We both stand in awkward silence.

There's nothing else to say.

"OK, I gotta go," he says quickly fetching the canister of poison. "I'm gonna spray outside so keep Goddess in for a couple of hours."

"What about Winston?" I ask.

"Your call," he yells sprinting down the stairs.
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There's one week left to sign up for my writing workshop! You know you want to write your book! Here's your change with personal coaching from me. Give yourself a present and register now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/

Friday at the office just kills me!

On Fridays people don't read my stuff.

I'm savvy enough of a social media guy to occasionally read the tracking of whose reading what I write. It's looks pretty good except on Fridays when the lines on the graph plummet.

On Friday's you people suck.


I don't blame you.

We're all excited it's Friday.

Who want to read?

Who wants to do much anything except ... PARTY!!!!! ... however you define it.

But it's not officially the weekend yet. I have lots of work to do today.

Making it worse, the managing partner is in her office, clamoring around and banging stuff. Occasionally she glares this way so I'm trying to look very busy.

Goddess is passed out in the kitchen and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is wearing a sweater vest that reads, "Homosexual Agenda ... spend time with the family ... be treated equally ... buy milk" while he kisses the managing partner's ass.

His nose is so freaking brown!

Literally!

The little son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally too)!

Gypsy, the gender confused, paranoid personality disordered cat, is giving himself a bath in the kitchen sink which is just ... bizarre.

The Cat Lady has the day off and is on her back deck wearing a dirty yellow bathrobe, fuzzy pink slippers, and a blue towel wrapped around her head so she looks like Marge Simpson on meth. She's staring at a weed whacker. Her buff boyfriend of the week is lighting candles in her bedroom. I'm trying very hard to not think about what they're up to.

I just threw up in my mouth a little thinking about it.

The managing partner just stormed out of my outdoor office. She told me a bunch of stuff, apparently each thing important, but I have no idea what she said.

I'm trying to concentrate on writing.

Besides it's Pirate Fest on Tybee Island and I wonder how we're dressing. Our friend Wen McNally is evidently wearing an eye patch and flip flops.

It's going to be hard for Sarah and I to top that costume!

Winston storms into my office, lays at my feet and starts licking his G-spot.

I guess his weekend is starting early.

I wish mine could too but I have to finish this blog no one's going to read anyway.

It's Friday.

Monday Morning Staff Meeting

The managing partner has a meeting at the other end of Corporate Headquarters and isn't at the staff meeting I've just called to order.

Sitting at the conference table under the umbrella on the Beloved Back deck, I'm taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

To my left is Winston, the little gay dog, in a pink sweater vest that reads, "Closet? What closet?" Wearing sunglasses, he's hyper and wants me to get started because he's got other things to do.

Beside him Goddess is passed out and snores in the chair with empty bags of Doritos littered on the floor. She was here when I arrived, finishing her hourly medical treatment of medicinal marijuana for the glaucoma she swears she has.

At the opposite end of the table is My Guardian Angel who looks terrible, taking long drags off her cigarette followed by sips from a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon. She seems distracted and lost in thought. Her white robe is dirty, the blue stole wrinkled, her long black hair hasn't been washed in weeks and hangs limp in her face as she blows halos in the air.

The Cat Lady wears her dingy yellow bath robe with a blue towel wrapped around her head. She looks like Marge Simpson on meth and cat hair falls every time she moves. Smelling like kitty litter, she's looking into her yard smiling at the thirty or so feral cats wandering everywhere. Her buff boyfriend of the week is shaving his chest and legs and keeps winking at her.

On my immediate right is Gypsy, the gender confused cat, obviously wondering why he's here at all. Gypsy normally shies away from most everything because of his paranoid personality disorder. He and Winston, the little gay dog, don't get along and both constantly vie for the managing partner's attention.

"All right," I say, "let's get started."

"Screw you!" my Guardian Angel snaps.

Gypsy darts from the table and runs downstairs causing the Cat Lady to jump up and run after him leaving a blanket of cat hair raining down on us.

Winston, the little gay dog, takes this as a good sign and flashes his evil genius smile while fumbling for nail polish in his man purse.

Startled, Goddess wakes up, yawns and says, "People! Please! Why can't we all just get along?"

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

My Guardian Angel angrily flips me the finger.

"Is everything alright out there?" the managing partner yells from the other end of Corporate Headquarters.

"Yes Dear," I lovingly answer.

The Cat Lady is chasing Gypsy screeching, "HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!"

Goddess rolls another Dobie and Winston, the little gay dog, paints his nails orange ... because the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) knows I hate that color. My Guardian Angel throws another empty beer can in the back yard and another magically appears from nowhere.

I sigh heavily.

It's a Monday," I mutter under my breath.

___________________________________________

Want to become a better writer? Need personal assistance as you unleash the creative soul inside of you? Sign up now to be a selected member of a small group in my writing seminar at  http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/

Winston, the little gay dog, and SpongeBob Squarepants

Winston, the little gay dog, is upset the "SpongeBob SquarePants" movie is being filmed on Tybee Island.

He prances to the Beloved Back Deck wearing a rainbow sweater that reads, "Don't be a square! Round fit holes better", looks at me in disgust, snarls at Goddess whose passed out at my feet and growls at Gypsy, the gender confused cat.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" the Cat Lady unfortunately screeches further infuriating Winston, the little gay dog, and he barks in his high pitch voice and I swear it sounds like "BITCH!"

The Cat Lady, wearing her dirty bathrobe and blue towel wrapped around her head, looks like Marge Simpson on Meth, stops sending a flurry of kitty hair falling into her yard like rain.

"Mike," she screeches, "did your dog just call me a bitch."

Suddenly interested, Goddess raises her head to see how I answer.

I shrug my shoulders.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

Winston, the little gay dog, hikes his leg and pees in her direction.

The Cat Lady returns the gesture in kind.

Goddess, Gypsy and I all gag at the same time.

The problem is Winston, the little gay dog, feels SpongeBob SquarePants is selling out; fame has gone to the cartoon character's head and he's forsaking his natural, God-made self of being gay for continued movie success.

Last night Sarah came outside crying asking if I'd talk to Winston, the little gay dog. I never tell her no (she's from the North you know?) so I meander into our bedroom where he has a lava lamp, orange shag carpet, big screen television and mini-fridge full of frozen Daiquiris under our bed and ask him what's up.

He offers me a Daiquiri and I put down my glass of wine to take it.

"What's up buttercup?" I ask.

Sighing while blinking back tears, Winston, the little gay dog, explains, "SpongeBob SquarePants is gay."

"What?" I exclaim not caring at all.

"His best friend is a Patrick, a pink starfish, and his neighbor Squidward takes bubble baths, listens to classical music, and talks like Paul Lynde! SpongeBob and Patrick hold hands when The Adventures of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy is on television."

"I LOVE PAUL LYNDE!" I shout.

Winston, the little gay dog, nods understandingly.

"Who didn't love Paul Lynde?" he agrees.

So Winston, the little gay dog, is staging a protest against the whole SpongeBob SquarePants movie being filmed on island.

"It's taken us too long to gain acceptance," the little gay dog explains changing into his nightgown and turning off the lava lamp.

Ours is a blended family.

But I didn't have the heart ... or the guts ... to tell Winston, the little gay dog, that his sisters ... all three of Sarah's girls ... are extras in the movie.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

Milley Cyrus and Winston, the little gay dog

Wearing a sweater vest that reads, "Guess why Jack and Phil went up the hill?," Winston, the little gay dog is working on his tan.

"You little son-of-a-bitch," I say, "why are you getting a farmer's tan? Take the damn sweater off."

He ignores me, laying in the sun on his little doggie bed monogramed with the guys from One Direction watching his Kendal.

"What in the hell are you watching?" I scream because he's got it going full blast.

He doesn't hear me.

He's riveted by Miley Cyrus' performance at the MTV Video Music Awards. He keeps playing it over and over. He loves her and is sticking his tongue out every time she sticks hers out.

I throw up a little in my mouth and choke it back down before yelling, "I'm going to tell Uncle Johnny you piece of ..." but stop when Goddess meanders out to survey the situation.

She looks at Winston, the little gay dog, and then at me and then back at him again.

I shrug my shoulders.

She shakes her head and shakes her long golden hair before taking a quick puff from her medicine pipe. She strolls over to Winston, the little gay dog, hikes her hind leg and pees on his Kendal. Goddess shakes her long golden hair again, winks at me and picks up her pipe.

Winston, the little gay dog, is furious and starts jumping up and down while barking furiously. He looks and sounds remarkably like Miley Cyrus.

Goddess giggles and strolls back inside.

Shaking my head I turn up the music on my computer. Gary Lewis and the Playboys drowns out his Miley Cyrus.

God!

It's a Monday!
______________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.

Pre-order your copy for $10.95, plus $4 S&H now! Offer ends August 31st.

(Regular price $14.95, plus $4 S&H takes effect 9/1)

Our puppy is sick!

Something's wrong with Winston, the little gay dog.

First off, he's not dressing like he normally does. Every day he is very particular about his looks and makes a fashion statement. He prefers letting the world know he's opening gay having kicked the closet door open the moment he was born. He likes to wear shirts with sayings like, "I love football! Especially tight ends!" or "Jesus loves me! Isn't that gay!"

Yesterday and today he's just mopes around naked.

He's very particular about his diet but right now he's not anything. Oh, he's starved himself before because he very much agrees with Fernando Lamas, "It is better to look good than to feel good." This time though, he's not trying to fit into whatever new doggie sweaters he's bought online.

Sarah puts food in his little crystal doggie bowl with the gold leaf trim with Van Gogh's "Starry Night" on the bottom but he sighs and walks away.  

He loves Sarah more than anything and is forever following her around but not right now. He's not jumping on the bed to cuddle with her either. Instead, in the night he just stays under the bed in his little doggie pad with the lava lamps, Chaise Lounge,  shag carpet and votive candles while watching the Liberace: Behind the Chandelier movie over and over.

Goddess seems unconcerned about her baby brother, eating all of the treats we give him to satisfy her never ceasing case of the munchies. When she's not doing that she tends her lavish herb garden.

The girls are growing mildly concerned because he's not helping them get ready for school in the mornings and they value his sense of style. He's forever rolling his eyes and shaking his head as they parade out decked in what they think looks cool. Most day's he even barks at Laurel's fashion statements. Now he's not even helping them with their hair!

When Sarah and I have the morning coffee break he normally likes to watch but he's not even coming inside these days.

Personally, I could care less except that his little naked self is right beside me as my naked self is trying to work. Sitting outside on the Beloved Back Deck, he stares at me, sleeps at my feet or licks where his balls used to be. It's hard for me to concentrate.

He's eleven in dog years so it could be puberty.

I don't know.

But I do care. I don't like it when anyone in my family is sick or things aren't right for them. I don't even like when they have bad moods. Life's short and its sometimes too hard. I like it best when we're celebrating the day, doing good things because every day is a good day for that, and really enjoying the life we have and who we have ... and who we had ... in it.

I know you're busy but I'd appreciate it if you'd take moment to do something for Winston, the little gay dog. Say a prayer, blow him a kiss, send some good Karma, plaint a Rainbow Flag in your yard or hit the like button on Face Book.

I do love my little gay son and I don't like him being sick.
___________________________

Want to know more about Winston, the little gay dog?
An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
You can at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Feminist Right Wing Political Wackos

There were no Pope Frances sugar cookies for dessert.

It was terrible and we are still traumatized. Sarah is shaken. The girls all need therapy. My faith in God is sorely tested.

A feminist right wing political terrorist group broke into our house while we were away on a mission trip for Jesus.

Imagine our horror when we finally made it home after spending five days doing God's will on a Cruise Ship.

We were saving large Cherub children from ice cream laced bacon ... stupid people who confuse a white letter "T" on ugly orange shirts with the state of Texas ... lost white people who wear baby blue tee shirts with yellow shorts, matching baby blue tube socks and sandals (can you say Georgia Tech?) ... mothers who raise their daughters to wear matching cover ups over matching bathing suits ... this was a mission trip to pure hell!

But we prevailed and came home filled with glorious praise for the Savior's command to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. We taught them to eat salad which they struggled with mightily. We held backyard Bible Clubs showing heathens God only follows the SEC and doesn't give a shit about Notre Dame. We sought out the oppressed giving the good news that clothing is optional. It got ugly sometimes when we had to slap some sense into parents for doing really stupid things with their children.

We were so happy to hurry home and begin a family study for this week's Sunday School lesson.

Instead, we were shocked to see what Satan's people did while we were gone.

We found Winston, the little gay dog, wearing a tee shirt that said "Republicans blow harder, Democrats always got your rear but we can agree on one thing. They suck!" The poor little thing was crying, paws duct taped  behind his ball-less butt with a tiny Cuban flag stuffed in his mouth. He was left in the closet like this.

Goddess was beside him, also traumatized, snoring and passed out smelling of reefer. She was actually smiling.

Anyway, the feminist right wing political group was obviously upset about our mission trip.

Leaving their devious calling card, an elephant dressed for Fantasy Fest made us all scream in horror, "HOLY J. EDGAR HOOVER!"

Releasing Winston, the little gay dog, he hiked his left rear leg ... he is a leftist ... and peed on the Fantasy Fest Elephant.

Goddess half way opened her eyes and blew smoke on it.

Sarah and I locked the girls in their rooms and had a laying on of hands ceremony.

God's name was called upon multiple times.

So was Jesus's.

So was Satan's.

I swear to God Monica Lewinski and Mitch McConnell were there. Harry Reed and Nancy Pelosi were too. They were all entangled in a holy, sweat soaked, steamy, copulation of sex. Bill Clinton, America's greatest President ... he balanced the budget, left a surplus, never killed anybody and made oral sex a part of the country's vernacular ... hovered above.  That was one great service! I still feel healed.

GLORY!

Anyway, when Sarah and I finished with the laying on of hands ceremony, Pope Frances himself had obviously intervened and performed a miracle.

Hearing a scream, we almost jumped up, but ... well, we were naked so we didn't.

Later ... much later ... a lots later ... a really long time later ... I went to the bathroom and saw Pope Frances' miraculous work ... the Fantasy Fest Elephant was screaming for his life as he was being flushed down the toilet.

Looking down on it ... experiencing yet another sigh of relief than the one I had with Sarah ... I watched it go round and round.

Winston, the little gay dog, having bathed, groomed and changed clothes ... now wearing a tee shirt that reads "The stuff trickling down on you isn't money" ... jumped up on the toilet seat and looked down.

The Fantasy Fest Elephant spun round and round.

Winston, the little gay dog, barked "Call me."

As the Elephant went down, we heard "I will."

Winston, the little gay dog, looked at me and winked.

"Another convert," he barked as he went to find Sarah.

Judge Not

Well, that was fun!

It’s a sad shame that we have to leave the ocean to go home at the beach.

There are some things you just have to do in life.

I’m sure we going to have to adjust Winston, the little gay dog’s, medication when we get home. When the Pope said who was he to judge God loving people regardless of sexual identity, Winston probably went ape shit crazy with joy.

        

Though not a Catholic he is certainly a Christian gay dog and is forever wearing tee-shirts with Biblical references saying things like “Jonah’s got nothing on me. Watch me blow this whale” or “I got your resurrection right here.”

I must admit though, I agree with Winston, the little gay dog, on this one. It’s nice to see Pope Frances say one shouldn’t be judged whether they’re straight or not. It’s not our job to judge. God does that.

Winston, the little gay dog, and I believe God gave each one of us this gift of life. None of us are created the same. We are conceived according to plan or because of mistakes. Some are black, white, brown or red. We are male or female. We are tall or short, fast or slow, and each of us is different from everyone else. And … we are either straight or gay.

Winston, the little gay dog’s, Uncle Johnny O put it best when he said, “I like this sinner friendly Pope! He’s my kind of guy.”

I have to agree with Johnny O too. Everybody screws up in life. Everyone sins sometime. For the most part, we all eventually commit the same ones.

It’s crazy how judgmental people get when they’ve done the same things as the people they’re judging. When you look at it, this is the world’s biggest problem. Everyone is too freaking judgmental.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Johnny O often says, “everybody just lighten up.”

After all of the false judgments the Catholic Church has delivered over the last few centuries, it’s nice to see them led by a guy like Frances. He’s open, honest, not as tightly strung as his predecessors and I bet he doesn’t wear anything under his robe. You can just tell he hangs loose.

Besides, I’m sure Goddess is ready for us to get home. She can only take so much of Winston, the little gay dog.

Goddess is not judgmental, loves everybody, and spends most of the day passed out on the floor. She likes medicinal marijuana while he prefers Speed. They sometimes clash and I have to referee. 

Winston, the little gay dog, is high strung when it comes to religion. Goddess rolls with the tides.

Plus, we’re tired of Cruise Ship food. I’m ready to fire up the grill tonight, open a bottle of wine, sit on the beloved back deck and offer a toast to the heavens when things go right in the world.

And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Winston, the little gay dog, spends the afternoon making sugar cookies in the image of Pope Frances for our dessert.

It’s just something he would do.

A Bible and a bone

Winston, the little gay dog, pranced into the kitchen wearing a sleeveless tee shirt that read "Too cute to be straight" over a multicolored rainbow. He's wearing sunglasses and has his doggie Bible with him obviously ready to go to Bar Church.

Goddess is passed out in the floor between the kitchen and the living room, snoring loudly and reeking of medical marijuana. She isn't budging so Winston, the little gay dog, lithely jumps over her and makes his way to the doggie treats, picks out a big bone to suck on and lays it on top the little doggie Bible.

Sarah is wearing a bikini and is lathering herself up with suntan lotion as I pack the cooler. We're planning on spending the day at the beach. Goddess doesn't care that we're skipping Bar Church to go to the beach but Winston, the little gay dog, is pretty indignant and told me that I'm going to hell.

I gave him the finger and continued getting ready for the beach. He got all miffed and hasn't said anything since.

The other day I couldn't find any of my bandanas. I wear them when I run in the mornings but every single one had disappeared. Eventually I got down on my hands and knees and looked under our bed which Winston, the little gay dog, has made his own.

I was shocked at what I found.

A tiny disco ball revolved from one of the slats reflecting bright colors from the little Christmas lights hanging on the other slats. A tiny Chaise Lounge lay to one side covered by my bandanas. A lava lamp rested on a coffee table beside a stack of doggie porn.

I yelled at Winston, the little gay dog, and ever since he's gotten all religious on me.

I don't care that he's created his own space. Everybody needs there own space. I don't even care that he has stacks of doggie porn but He SHOULDN'T HAVE STOLEN MY BANDANAS!

Walking out the door, Sarah and I grab our beach chairs and take a right. Winston, the little gay dog, totes his Bible and bone, takes a left and prances down the street towards Bar Church where Psalmist Stephen can try to knock him off his Holy throne.

I let Sarah walk in front so I have something else to focus on.

A Bible and a bone!

Give me a break.