I only have bad memories of our family dog, Rover.

I suppose I can explain it by saying he bit my hand when I was four, but that would too conveniently dismiss that time when he stole my screenplay, sold it to Hollywood under his name, and then fail to acknowledge me in his Oscar acceptance speech. Where the hell did he get the idea to become literate anyway? Literacy has always been my thing.

I’ve tried calling him a hundred times, wanting to make things right again, but I only ever get his machine. Woof, woof, message, woof, beep. I don’t even recognize his voice anymore.

My lawyer tells me suing him is not an option. As the lone member of the literate canine minority group, jurors and judges would jump to to his side lest they seem like bullies. I have another plan though. He has no doubt forgotten, but I have in my hands some night vision footage of him humping my leg. I’m sure TMZ would love a piece of that action.

He can’t avoid me forever. If all else fails, I’ll find someone to send Rover to that farm up north. Vengeance will be mine.

I am a man of principles, beliefs so strong they do not falter under any circumstances. The strongest of these is my belief that if you love someone, you should let her go. If she comes back to you, she is yours. If she does not, it was never meant to be. I abide by that one even when, like last summer in Yosemite, the only way to prevent my girlfriend from plummeting off a cliff face was to hold on.

Given the choice, most people would want to have their own show on a channel like NBC or CBS, or HBO if they like to curse a lot, but not me. My show would only fit on CourtTV.

Preparation for the show will begin when my wife, having discovered my womanizing ways and uncontrollable gambling habits, realizes the only way she can keep the house and maintain a life of decency for our kids would be to dissolve me in a bathtub full of acid.

When I was a ninja, I kicked a lot of ass.

I would sneak up on people, deliver a kick to their bottoms, and then before they can turn around, disappear in a puff of smoke.

I’ve always wanted to write a blog that people actually read, but it’s tough.