I, con cur
I, con cur, hereby waive counsel, and make this statement voluntarily, under no coercion or undue influence by the big lug hangin’ over me.
On the day in question, I was minding my own business, just doing what comes naturally. Yeah, I gnawed on a bone, as alleged. What else is a dog supposed to do? Is it my fault it just happened to be connected to the rest of that skinny carcass of old Missus Mowgritch, the whiny witch with the “osteo-arthritic condition”. If she don’t want her leg bones gnawed on, she ought not parade ‘em right past the drooling mouth of a hungry mutt. Am I right?
And what’s with this “lewd and lascivious behavior”? Sure, I hump the occasional passing canine or even a pantleg or two. (Don’t tell me that little poodle bitch from uptown didn’t like it!) And Reverend Smythey’s dry-cleaning bill is no concern of mine.
As for that doofus kid’s frisbee, I saw him throw that thing away! Not once, or twice, mind you, but musta been thirty times in a row! Am I now to be blamed for simply salvaging something that somebody else has seen fit to get rid of? Regarding the newspapers, slippers and the supposed smell in the Crampton’s back yard, I got nothin’ to say.
This constitutes my entire and truthful statement.
(Now how about that chow?)