Have I ever told you how much I love my car?

Her name is Sasha, (Yeah. I named my car. Lots of people do it. It’s normal, OKAY?) and she’s black and she’s born from jets (or at least that what her manufacturer wants us to believe). I think it’s true because Sasha screws.

And our favorite thing to do when we’re alone together is drive like the wind, sing songs and dance, dance, dance.

And I don’t care if people stare at us at red lights. It only encourages us because then we have an audience and we can really show our stuff. One time a guy pulled up next to us at a light, and was staring and laughing at our dancing, and so we rolled down the window, and turned up the volume so he could hear better, and then we sang right to him. And then when the light turned green, we drove away like nothing had happened.

But sometimes other drivers get in our way and make us angry and we’re forced to shout at them and say some very Un-Christian things, and thank goodness we’re not Christians because then Jesus would be very upset with us.

A lot.

And we’ve found that we cannot rock out properly when we have a passenger. This is particularly true when that passenger happens to be the sort of asshole who would turn down Sasha’s volume when we’re not looking, thereby catching us singing loudly and badly. That’s the only negative as far as we can see.

And did you know that when I sing I sound exactly like Madonna, and Mariah, and Joss Stone? I do. I am really, very talented. But I have to have keep Sasha’s stereo volume way up, because it ruins the song if I can hear myself singing because I’m a much better singer than they are and it makes me feel guilty and really very sorry for them. That’s another bad thing about it I suppose because Sasha isn’t a very good singer and I feel bad about that too.

Anyway, here.

We made a video for you.

I had to lip sync the whole thing because you Internets probably would have turned the volume down on me and my melodious voice would have exposed Madonna for the true fraud that she is.

What do you dance to in the car?

Don’t pretend you don’t do it.

Crissy may be silly, but she’s not stupid.

Shhhhhhhh!!! They’re home right now! And the hotties boys are in the garage with the motorcycles. Keep your voices DOWN!!!

Ok, ok, here it is,

Priceless:

On Tuesday, we were all in agreement that the right thing to do is to put a strong pimp hand to the situation and so I did. And I feel much better. And I’m sure you do too.

I had no idea it was going to be dog week this week, but it is apparently since everything I have planned for you is dog related. All. Week. Long.

Aren’t you so excited you could just pee?

Anyway, I’m sick with some sort of monkey disease and not feeling very enthusiastic today, and seeing as it is dog week and all I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to ask my dog Alice to guest blog for me while I recover from the monkey thing.

She stayed up late last night preparing this video for you about the joys and pitfalls of ice fishing without thumbs.

You’d better leave a nice comment for her.

It’s her first time blogging.

PS: A totally freaky thing just happened. I’m at work right now, and a beautiful male brindle Greyhound just walked in through the automatic doors and straight to the back room where I was just sitting here, minding my own business, and contemplating dog week. The dog officer has already come to pick him up…sniffle.

I wanted to keep him.

I’m not even fucking kidding you.

Freaky shit, huh?

And now I shall entertain you with some of my dancing:

Outakes:

Worship me if you must…