A young man has a great date planned with a hot chick, unfortunately heÂ’s also got a bad case of gas. Upon arriving at the girlÂ’s house to pick her up, he meets the parents and waits for her in the living room while she finishes getting ready.

At this point his stomach is turning and heÂ’s doing the best he can to hold his gas. This is some serious stuff too, beer and beef burrito farts – the stuff dreams are made of. Luckily, just before he was about to explode Spot, the family dog, jumps on his lap as he sits on the couch. He figures itÂ’s safe to let out alittle bit of the pressure and and if anyone notices theyÂ’ll think that the dog did it.

He farts, and the woman yells, “Spot, get down from there.” The guy thinks to himself, “Thank God! They think the dog did it.” Seizing the opportunity, he lets out another fart and the woman, again, yells for the dog to get down.

This goes on for a few more farts when, finally, the woman yells loudly, “Dammit Spot, get down before he shits on you!”

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a “good little hunter” I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now …

8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm – Milk bones! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm – Dinner! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

A duck walks into a bar. He goes up to the bartender and says “Got any grapes?” The bartender says “No” so the duck leaves. The duck comes back the next day, goes up to the bartender, and says “Got any grapes?” The bartender says “No” so the duck leaves.
The next day the duck comes back again. He goes up to the bartender and says “Got any grapes?”
The bartender says “Look duck. We don’t have any grapes today, we didn’t have any yesterday, and we definitely won’t have any tomorrow. If you come back in here and ask for grapes again, I’m going to nail your webbed feet to the floor.”
So the duck leaves. The duck comes back the next day, goes up to the bartender and asks “Got any nails?” The bartender says “No.” Then the duck says “Oh good. Got any grapes?”