Strudel Responds

So Cancer Boy decides I can say what I want to say, huh?

Oh, have I got some things to say.

A few days ago, Cancer Boy said I was whining all night to go out for a run. I wasn't whining to go out for a run. I was whining because I was reading this stupid blog. The comments, especially -- they frustrate me. They are suppoed to be funny? I'll tell you what's funny. Arte Johnson as a German soldier -- now that's something a schnauzer can laugh at.

Yes, I read the blog. I wait until everyone is asleep, and I click on and I read. I don't write -- not without permission. That would be unethical. Schnauzers are ethical. Unlike poodles. Don't get me started on the French.

So here's what I have to say about some of the things that have been in the blog lately:

First -- I am not a reluctant runner. And Cancer Boy certainly doesn't pull me along. I'm a dog. We run. It's what we do. Fish swim. Birds fly. Dogs run. You could say, Baby, we were born to run. Ha ha. I know how obsessed Cancer Boy is with YouTube, so here's a video. I like The Boss, but I like Little Steven more. I watch Cancer Boy's Sopranos on DVR when he leaves for work.

So, yes, I like to run. But I know how to pace myself. Unlike Cancer Boy. Him a runner? Please. He runs to Dunkin' Donuts. Spills his latte all over himself when he runs back home. That's why he always smells like caramel.

Speaking of running: I saw the video of the stupid people on the treamills. You all run like a bunch of cats. What is wrong with humans? It is running, for the love of Great Danes. Stop rolling in catnip, you fools, and pay attention to what you're doing. You want to see how to run on a treadmill? Here's how. See? Not so tough. I chose a Bassett Hound puppy -- his legs are as long as your fingers, and even he can do it without falling down.

You want to see one that's really impressive? Check out this doberman. Don't try that fast. You'll end up on YouTube, or in a hospital, with a broken hinterbocken, if you know what I mean.

(And yes, that fast one's a German breed. Superiority in action.)

Now, up next -- you, Hockey Boy. The Cancer Boy's brother. Again, with the videos. All the goalers fighting. Stop that. That's bad hockey. You want to see good hockey? Here's good hockey. Now that's being a good goaler, hey Hockey Boy? The kid cheated at the end. Cat-loving little brat.

You want to know what is bad dog hockey? This is bad -- undignified, especially for a fine German breed.

This is also bad dog hockey. I don't think this guy is a real dog. Sounds like he's been rolling in catnip. And he spells dog with two g's. There's something wrong with him.

That's all for now. I keep reading the blog, and your foolish comments. And I'll run with Cancer Boy. I'll even let him drag me some more. Make him feel like he's fast and strong.