Two signs of the apocolypse

First up: Just when you thought there were fewer rubes willing to be separated from their money so someone else could be rich, this comes across the streams of internet ether: Pooch pilsener. Beer for Bowser. Suds for Spot. Lager for Lassie. Oh, I could go on and on and on and on... Check it out at Happy Tail Ale.

We have a new chicken versus egg joke brewing here, folks, no pun intended. Which came first: beer for dogs or diet pills for dogs?

What's wrong, ol' girl? Did Timmy fall in the well with the bottle opener?

I'll let you off with a ticket this time, but the next time I see your mush team swerve and curve like that, I'm throwing the whole team in the kennel to dry out.

My name is Snoopy and I've fallen off my doghouse. You see, the bald-headed kid thought it would be funny to give me an after dinner drink and I've taken to selling my dog treats to support my hops habit.

Sign of the Apocolypse, Take Two: Yes, I'm going to write about shoes again. Well, not shoes so much as a cool way to organize them. Now that I've accumulated a few pair, I need to start thinking in this direction. Those midnight strolls to the loo have gotten a wee bit dangerous (again, no pun intended) since my collection started growing beyond the foot of the bed. To keep me from stubbing my toes and tripping over laces, I give you organizational art:


This is not too shabby looking. Of course, it'll have to be able to hold up under the weight of these:



Ha!
Click if you're interested in more info—like what was the artist thinking when she came up with this idea. I read too quickly to make out her vision statement. I was looking for info on sales on this side of the Pond, to no avail. (bummer)