Red Room Where the Writers Are

Sassy Puppy

     “I am a great artist,” I say to the puppy.  “Surely you can appreciate your good fortune and accept the responsibility of living with me.  My paintings will bring world peace.  My writings will cure cancer.  My infinite wisdom will end hunger.  You must not annoy me.  You must allow me to work.”

     She looks at me, wrinkles her long elegant nose, and farts defiantly.  “Just quit yammering and throw the damn stick.”