After completing extensive fieldwork on the subject of dog size, I have prepared the following graphic:

Nowhere are dogs tinier than in California. Sometimes when a Californian woman is digging around in her purse for her wallet, she’ll temporarily remove four or five dogs who live inside. Pretty soon they’re going to start breeding dogs so tiny, you’ll see them poking their little heads out of people’s pants pockets. People will be walking around the street patting their pockets going, “Oh, no! Did I leave Mr. Whipples at the restaurant? Oh wait, here he is, in my inside coat pocket. Oh, poor Mr. Whipples, you’re so sleepy! Come on, let’s go home and put you to bed in your sardine tin.”

One thing I could never master in elementary school, besides learning how to read, was how to properly open up a milk carton. Nine times out of ten when I attempted to crack open a carton, it would somehow refuse to tear correctly, denying me access to the nutritious milk inside—or to be perfectly candid, the delicious chocolate milk inside. Cartons have two sides, however, which meant I had two chances, and the second side was made much more accommodating with the first side already half-open. But opening up this side usually caused the first side to also pop open, which resulted in what is known in geometry parlance as a cuboid, which made me look like what is known in elementary school parlance as a moron. It was now time to dejectedly ask the lunch lady for a straw through which I could drink from my chocolate milk cuboid, and then join the children at the special needs table.

I have completed a comprehensive Bottled Water Taste Test. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever done and I don’t understand a single piece of text in this article.

We like to throw around the word “song” to describe the vocalizations of some animals, but this is something of a misnomer. You call that a song, bird? I see what you’re doing over there on that tree. You’re merely chirruping the same six notes over and over, just like you do every morning. Meanwhile, whales might be magnificent creatures, but their songs are nothing but the toneless bellowing of a retarded child. All they want is to be heard for thousands of miles, with no concern for melody or pitch control. I really don’t think whales are trying to be musicians, either, so we mustn’t burden them with that title. We have to admit that they just enjoy being a nuisance to everybody else in the ocean.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see the face of this horrifying bull creature from the Elmer’s Glue bottles. He sits there smirking in his little orange triangle, so pleased with himself that he managed to become the mascot for a glue company even though bulls have nothing to do with glue. The most grotesque thing about him is that he’s white like the glue itself, which implies that he’s some sort of glue monster.

Since I’m a scholar, I looked up Elmer the Bull on Wikipedia and became even more repulsed by what I read. It turns out he’s actually married to that cow from Borden’s dairy products, which I didn’t even know was legal. This is a perfect illustration of why you shouldn’t look everything up on Wikipedia. Now the mental image I see of this Satanic glue creature also involves the Borden dairy cow and it’s all I can do not to vomit. Congratulations, Elmer, I am now lactose intolerant.

Here is a wonderful image that’s imprinted on the interior handle of the trunk in my friend Carly’s car:

Like every good trunk’s handle, this one tells a story. It is the universal story of a little man running out from your trunk. What are you doing in my trunk, little man? Why are you popping out just when I’m trying to close the door? Damnit, little man, come back here with my wallet!

I am impressed by this man’s spectacular leap from the trunk. If you’ve ever attempted to jump out of a trunk, you know that it’s hard to make it two or three feet, since there’s hardly any room to gather yourself. But this little man appears to have cleared a good six feet in one spectacular bound, landing in perfect running form. Needless to say, there’s no catching him now. In the end, nobody really knows why he was in the trunk, nor how he managed to hide in there for so long, but something tells me that the next time my friend goes grocery shopping, this enigmatic little man will be back to his old antics, forever making that celebrated escape from the trunk, forever inspiring countless grocery shoppers in one of the greatest stories in all of literature.