My Cardboard Balcony

I Called My Dog by Belinda Roddie I called my dog "The Floof," plain and simple, though my mother called her "Floofster" instead, and my father called her "Lady Fluff." Well, I thought "The Floof" sounded better when said aloud, and truly, what a floof she was. Her white fur shrouded her like a thick shawl, her eyes beaming between the tufts of fuzz. When on her back, she looked just like a ball, rolled up and grunting, her belly exposed so we could rub it. She was pretty big, and if she got bored around me, her nose would wind up pressed against me. I, a twig, looked so tiny and frail beside my pooch: The Great and Beautiful, Majestic Floof.

I hope you like being with a comedian, 'cause I'm all about the self-deprecating humor. Seriously, I'm brimming with it - kind of like a fat glass brimming with really cheap, terrible beer. I'll lob every single lousy joke right between your eyes, give you barely any time to fake laugh at the delivery before I churn some other gag up from the hot cauldron of my gut. I ought to be touring the States right now; as much as I'm a sloppy riot, I'm probably way funnier than half the performers out there.