Juneau’s gotta lotta dogs, a sign of a dearth of human
love—get the dog to love’ya, sure—and when

she gets pregnant, take it for an ultrasound, and speak
about it loud in the grocery store for all to hear.

Say, “We’re pregnant,” and reveal what gender it’ll be.
It wears on a grump like me; so today, at the top

of the hill, when a woman called to her dog, going,
“Frosty, come here,” I sang a little song for the

benefit of my wife. I sang, “Frosty the dumb dog, was
a dumb dumb dumb dumb dog, with a dumbass

look on his dumbass mug and he looked just like his
maaaster.” And sure—Frosty’s owner might’ve

heard, but if she did she didn’t let on. She was enjoying
the sight of the bear scrounging around for

stuff to eat on the slope beyond the creek. “Look, Frosty,
a bear!” she said to her bite-sized companion.

T’was a real cutie, for sure, and being Frosty was too
far away to expect any munch action, I said to my

wife, “Wouldn’t it be fabulous if that bear suddenly ran
down the slope and ripped into that jogger?”

The jogger could not see the bear only right above her.
“That would be awful,” my wife said, and I

scratched her head and slapped her ass. “You could use
some lessons on being charming,” said she, and

when the jogger, who had circled around, and was aware
of the bear now, jogged by us, I said, “He almost

got you,” and the Asian woman smiled huge. “I’m faster,”
she said, apparently pleased by my fabulous looks.

Had not my charm been proved? I’m a charming guy, what
can I say? I’m charming. Could anybody deny it?