Back in your crate.

It occurred to me last week as I blew past the open windows, shrieking inanities at the pup, that I should try being more selective with my invectives. Who is it exactly that the luckless passerby thinks I'm entertaining? What is the neighborhood left guessing as choruses of whosabadboy?s and nobiting!s and shameless cackles float out past the curtains into the early afternoon? Perhaps something a little less innocent than the game of tag with a tiny bulldog who's just pissed on my foot.