Since the time when the Man stopped the drinking of the Dos Perros, my life has become a barren waste...an unceasing march across the desolate, burning sands of time. The thirst I feel is too much to say, but if only tiny, small drops of Dos Perros were to fall from heaven and touch my sweet little lips. Sigh. My thirst would be quenched for all time.
Oh the pain! The lamentations barely can fall from my tiny, sweet little lips before the pain is so much too much to bear. It is for me but a brief respite in the desert of life when I taste but a drop of the sweet nectar that is Dos Perros...a nectar of the gods that only can be described in my small, little words as sublime. Please, o merciful one, release me from my pain so that I may bathe in pools of the cool, brown nectar and be free of the pain that is so much the now.
There is no more I, the singer of songs, can do when I am crushed mercilessly beneath the imperial fist that is Mr. Man. It is so much for me to say that only the curative and restorative powers of Dos Perros, the sweet nectar of our gods, can save me. The harsh winds of fate blast through my soul like the cold gusts that do blow across the highest peaks of the Andes, and it is only through the delicate infusion of the most sweet libation that I may hope to survive. Please, o beneficent one, make with me the marriage that is Dos Perros and my soul so that I may be healed fully and one with the angels that sing their tiny, little songs...and damn you, vile Snoopy, for causing me such pain. While I cannot but help myself to start the little fights, it pains me to know that you are all too good at finishing them.
Tonight I got to yodel. It was lovely fun. I also had some Dos Perros (Mr. Man, you may live to see another day) and it touched my soul. The taste on my sweet little lips, it is so good. It goes so well along with the feel of Katy's round rump caressed between my squatty little legs. If only I could do what nature intended (damn you, spay/neuter gods!) my life would be complete.
It is good. I love it. Angels sing when the foamy bubbles they touch my sweet little lips. It is all I can do to contain myself when Mr. Man drinks the perfection that is Dos Perros. I want to eat his face. Won't someone please help me?