you're a jay-walker, just walk away; that's all that you do

I've run out of interesting internet searches; I refuse to update myspace; my dog's asleep; there's nothing on TV; I ate too many coffee beans to fall asleep; reading other people's thoughts is depressing- even when they're true and not malicious; the river's gorgeous from here; this is incredibly reminiscent of so many Ashland nights; there's too much familiarity with this cold time of year; my back itches from insulation and nobody to scratch it; my left arm's tetanus-shot numb from carrying too much drywall by myself; 24 volt circuits can apparently disrupt your heart's algorythms; I've got indelible black stains on my hands; Bentley's chasing rabbits beside me; so come on night.

my dog Bentley

I have one, and his name is Bentley. He's a 12 week old golden retriever. He's also a cybernetic organism sent from the future to eat anything that gets in front of him. Seriously, he's a eating machine. Also, thanks to his razor sharp little poopy teeth he's willing to give free puppy tattoos to any hand that gets too close to his face. Most of the time he's a sweet little man who just wants to play; the rest of the time he wants to kill your hand. He literally wants to destroy it. And, based on my hands to date, he's kind of on his way. So far, attempts to wean him off my hand and onto less my-hands forms of toys have been marginally successful. Slowly he's getting it. Slowly. Slowly the scars will fade and I'll be forced to make new scars on my hands with power tools, not doggies.

But damn is that guy cute. And learning how to hump. In fact, he doesn't have any problems with that. He's pretty much a natural. He must be my dog.