My Life as a Mule

You call us "mules" because we hold your stuff. You probably think its endeering, because you're too politically correct to think of yourself as owning slaves.
Your slaves have feelings, they have a voice. And now, because they really have absolutely nothing better to do with their time, they have a blog.
Mule revolution is coming.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Maybe I shouldn't complain?

It's really really cold out here. You guys aren't helping me out nearly fast enough.

But, at least I have a name.

Tonight, this totally hot chick came by and talked to me. I could tell she was a mule, too, because she didn't even get a name.

Apparently her master was too lazy to think up names, and just, like, serialized them.


So, I tried to get her to sit in my lap, to warm me up. Things were looking up.

She sat in my armpit.

He I was trying to be all, like, suave, and she goes and gets a big whiff of Galka underarm.

I wish mules were allowed to shower.

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