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Where Unkers over 30 sip Lavazzas, rave about Alfas and reminisce lost but not forgotten SoulmateS...

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

You Can Call Me Marx

Hello, my name is Max but u can call me Marx.



That's how my Austrian Daddy says it should be pronounced. He's giving me up because he broke his arm while biking. No, I didn't bite him. Although once, while he tied me to his wrist while doing sit-ups, I did try to lunge at that tasty looking jogger who I swear looked like a piece of moving steak. Poor Daddy tore a ligament.

Other then that little mishap, I'm a fit little boy with nice tanned fur and plenty of muscles around my tight, sinewy frame.

I also like running and intimidating stupid humans, who suck their teeth and make funny noises at me, with my set of pearly white fangs.

Today, someone came to see me. I hope he becomes my new Daddy cos I like him. He says he will bring me jogging.

I am a thoroughbred German Boxer. Let me show you how I zoom like a Porsche.

Woof.

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