Why you don't have to go to the gym.

Last night, we all played poker for a while and my stepdad won all the chips by going all in every hand and knowing that we were all sissies and wouldn't call his bluff. Especially since the one time it I did call his bluff, it wasn't.

Then Ricky bet Kelly he could beat her in a race around the block. We all, including Ricky, assumed that Kelly would win because she goes to the gym often and has always been quite athletic, while Ricky, though he played soccer for a long time, mostly just sits around playing video games and practicing the bass. But, Ricky beat Kelly. I guess the pre-core (sp?) machine isn't actually good training for running in the real world. But Kelly still looks great and healthy. So there, Ricky.

There was a firefly in the house yesterday. They glow green.

Here's a picture of the worst pet in the world.

That's my mom's dog Ming. She thought that in Buck Rogers it was Ming the Magnificent, but it's actually Ming the Merciless. He's actually kind of cute sometimes, like here:

He's a collie, but they shave his flowing locks in the summer. He's always a little embarrassed about it afterwards, I think, and a little mellower, Samson-like. (Did you know that Samson was a big fucking jerk? Read your Bible, kids.)

They have a cat, Maurice, who is a strong contender for the best pet ever title, but he doesn't photograph well. They really counts against him in the competition. But I'll do my best to capture his spirit. A blog's not a blog without cat pictures.