Spuds McOrville

So, last Friday, Bubba and I were taking Orville out for his evening constitutional. We like to go at night, after the throngs have disappeared, so O can graze in peace, without other dogs sizing him up, and inhibiting his fun. Orville, ever the fashion plate, has pulled a Beckham for the summer, deciding that short is in. He gave himself a self-styled buzz cut, and is looking mighty sleek and lean these days. I say this because in the course of our promenade, Orville and his new look caught the eye of a photog. A block from the park, we came upon a house party that was spilling into the front yard. As per usual, a gaggle of folks just had to come over and say hi to the Big O.
Whilst working the crowd, this photographer comes up and is like, "Hey, I'm doing a story for Maxim magazine on a wild Hollywood party. Problem is, this party isn't very wild. Might we entice your pig into the party to sort of liven it up?" Bubba and I weren't initially too keen on this actually. I don't know if you know this, but pigs are bigger chickens than chickens. We said to the guy, "Well, if Orville feels comfortable, then we'll let you do it, but if he's scared at all, that's it." So, start to get Orville up the house steps, and he starts to freak. Did NOT want to go inside to put it mildly. So were like, "Sorry. No go." Undaunted, the photographer said, "Well let's just take some pictures outside." So we did. A few candids of Orville "partying down." They didn't try to put a beer bong in his mouth, or a lampshade on his head or anything. Really, it was just Orville being Orville.
So when you pick up your copy of Maxim in an issue or two, and I KNOW you do, you may just see Orville and me, "whooping it up" amongst the young, hip Hollywood set. I don't know if we'll make it or not, but I'm telling you, the kid's got star written all over him.