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ASK MAX

June 15, 2005 Edition

Dear Max:

I’m a guard dog at Gitmo, and Max, sir, we are under strict instructions not to pass urine in the area of holy books. My boys feel sorely misused by Amnesty International. I can tell you that Gulag dogs piss on their damn legs, and do not have the stuff to chew off more than some stick arm from a hungry damn poet. My boys want to invite you to join us in wearing a yellow collar that reads “Amnesty: Piss Off”.

Bird Colonel Jose Chihuahua

Hi Jose,

I already have a collar. But if by “Gitmo” you mean git mo’ food…I’ll wear whatever you want.

Dear Max:

This weekend, I broke out in an itchy rash all over my body. It was disgusting and very uncomfortable. I think it might be from my new cat. What do you think?

Ruing Her Rash

Hi Rue,

You may have stumbled on a major breakthrough in human pathology. Who knew that itchy rashes were a symptom of pathetic decision making? To wit: A new cat?????

Dear Max:

So I was wondering, I can no longer reach the next door neighbors dog (a.k.a. my ex)…that “bitch” has been walking around as if she owns the place, while letting other men pet MY puppies…what should I do?

Biscotti

Dear Biscotti,

I like your name. Is that Italian for biscuit? A biscotti is a hard crunchy biscuit, isn’t it? A tasty fellow, such as yourself, should have no trouble finding a new bitch. And this time, treat her right and keep her on a short leash.

Dear Max:

I’m a Highland Terrier in Manhattan (no, I don’t play the bagpipes, and I don’t wear a kilt, and if I did, to quote Craig Ferguson, the only thing I would wear under it on a good day would be lipstick). My owner tends to carry me around in the street. I understand that she’s got no one of her own species to hug at the moment, but I’m missing out on all the filth and stench of the Big Apple baking at 90 degrees. Will my feet every touch pavement again, or is this not a trend but some sort of new canine PC?

MacHound Cooper

Hi Coop,

First of all…a baked apple needs 325 degrees for about 15 minutes. After that a dollop of ice cream as big as my head and…I digress. Doesn’t your owner know that you are the perfect conversation starter for other sweaty lonelyhearts? I can hear them now: “What kind of dog is that? And while we’re on the subject, are you partial to doggie style?” Never fails.

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