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The Masculine Wilderness.

June 21, 2011

It was tough in the desert. That’s what they said.

It didn’t phase Mr. Anderson, though. He was a maverick dog who loved adventure. He’d been bungie jumping and everything. After a long talk with a travel agent at Thomas Cook, he decided the best way to spend his holidays this year was to wander about in the wilderness, grow stubble and sit on rocks looking moody and attractive.

All was as expected for a time. He gazed at sunsets, thinking about deep stuff (like holes), his facial hair slowly blossoming into that undefined thing that is  somewhere between stubble and beard. He looked stunning and manly, and all was well.

One night Mr. Anderson settled down on a particularly comfortable rock for his nightly stare off with the sun, but all his staring through the week had tired him out and he fell into a deep sleep. The next morning he awoke to the sound of people milling about, and discussing last night’s Eastenders. Understandably startled (he was going to watch Eastenders on BBC iPlayer and didn’t want to know what had happened), he glanced around in a panic to try and assess where he was.

The amazed dog discovered that he was in a small village, and not in the hilly wilderness as he had expected. Looking down he saw how he had gotten there, he had mistaken a sleeping pony for a comfortable rock! What a fool.

“Oh tits.” He thought to himself, and ran off, thoroughly embarrassed.

Thanks to Lindsay for this one, not sure where she got it from.

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