My Editorial Assistant

He's got a nose for silly news 

Well, I might as well confess. Again. Yesterday, I admitted under oath that it's me going around the neighborhood, depositing the poopy bags of a certain Royal Rescue Pup of Questionable Lineage in neighbors' curbside cans (city-owned, according to my friend/city expert/former editor Mr. Steven Lantz). And now, I'd like to admit that all these blogs of mine that you sometimes read, and for that, big kisses and thank you's, have been enhanced by the editorial prowess of, who else, Sir Blakey. I mean, look at that schnozola. He juts it into my left hand whenever I'm typing, his way of giving feedback that only I can understand, because I speak Nose. It's my third language, after Yiddish. I've been speaking Nose since my first baby sneeze. I spent my childhood in an allergist's office. You'll have to trust me on this. I speak Nose, canine and human. Next time you see me, go ahead, do something nose-worthy and I'll diagnose you free of charge. I'll decongest what's ailing you. I'll... oh, you get the point. Back to Blakey and his all-knowing Nose. We have a whole system worked out. If he noses me when I'm typing, he's telling me, "Make it funnier." If he noses me when I'm not typing, he's telling me, "Make it about me." Only moments ago, he did just that, hence today's blog.