FLOWER POWER & VISITORS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I'm sorry I haven't been visiting your blogs. I'm fighting migraines, agoraphobia, and depression. I'd like to find depression's nose so I can punch it. 

Favorite Young Man and K were here the first weekend in May. They repaired my garage and cleaned it out ––more about that another time. K also brought me two beautiful blue flower pots and filled them and another pot I already had with flowers because, as she said, You can never have too many flowers.

K righted the lamp post (it had started to lean again) and added these beautiful flowers.

More flowers provided by K that fit perfectly in this little nook of the big tree in my front yard.

Remember the flowers on the front steps?

Princess decided it would look better if we had two pots with begonias so she galumphed into the pot on the middle step and killed it. I rescued the begonia and added it to one of the window boxes.

An area at the side of the house that used to be all weeds now has fewer weeds, some grass, a few flowers, and some bulbs that are coming up. 

Much of what I planted this year has died or failed to make an appearance, probably because of the drought. We got some rain Wednesday night and Thursday afternoon, and it's supposed to rain today. Sadly, Lake Junebug remains without any sparkling water. The fate of the 

Lake Junebug Resort

&

Rumpus Room

remains undecided. I'll ask Princess to take a meeting so we can resolve this extremely important issue. 

Nature doesn't limit itself to the great outdoors. When I took a package of toilet paper out of the bathroom prior to mopping the floor, I discovered a visitor. Perhaps it was good old Fred Frog, hoping he could be hired again as an entertainer at the resort.

This video is one of the first I made, or perhaps the first. I'm sorry, but it will make you long to visit the 

Lake Junebug Resort

&

Rumpus Room

as soon as possible, but do not call, text, or email me about making reservations until Princess and I tell you that we're opening.

We will have another visit from FYM and K during June (yay!), and we're hosting a guest now for an extended sleepover. Princess will tell you about the current boarder when she's in the mood to write a blog post. I don't know when that will happen. She has a rather mercurial temperament. 

I promised another selfie after I got my hair done. I saved my nickels and dimes and had my hair cut and styled, but this selfie shows off my beautiful body. tee hee.

Yes, I'm modeling for department stores in my spare time, and everybody wants a picture of my butt. 

And if you believe that, then I have a bridge I want to sell you, especially if you'll take a felon with it to stop the cage match at the White House. 

How come he can attend the big event outdoors without any bunker to save him? 

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

ROYAL CHINWAG: I AM THEE PRINCESS

Hello. So you have come to see me again. That is good because I have undergone a change I must tell you about. 

I am a very grown-up dog today, no longer the childish dog who said little other than i am princeeeesssss. i am princeeeesssss.

Now, I am thee Princess, 

Protector and 

Comandor. 

Mommy says I am spelling some of my words wrong, but I am quite sure Mommy is the one who is wrong. I spell my words colorectally.

Before best frend Penny went away, she told me I would have to take her place and be in charge of this household. I did not understand her at the time. I was too busy hoping she would play with me again. She told me she could not play and she was sorry to leave me.

I still do not know where she went. Maybe to apart meant, like Auntie Rebekah?

When Mommy so stupidillilly cut her hand with a broken plate, I suddenly realized what best frend Penny had been telling me, so I took over. I comforted Mommy. I stayed close to her. I looked at her with sadness and sympathy in my bootiful brown eyes. I made myself available for any and all petting.

If Mommy had needed more help, I was prepared to run run run outside to get my hooman frend Andrew from the yellow house next door. Andrew likes to sit on his porch to make smoke come from his mouth. If I ran to Andrew and barked HURRY ANDREW HURRY I'm sure he would come to help because he likes me. I wonder if Andrew would give me a cup of coffee. I miss sharing Auntie Rebekah's cup of coffee. 

My hooman brudder and the bootiful lady came to see me. They told me I am a good girl, a bootiful girl, and a sweet girl. I do not need them to compliment me because I know I am perfectly perfect.

They are coming to see me again soon. I allow them to speak to Mommy if they are very well behaveded and do not jump on her, pee on the floor, or steal treats from the kitchen.

Part of my job as Comandor is to be Enforcer Of Rulers. 

I AM CHIEF DOG IN CHARGE OF THIS HOUSE.

I might have more very important news for you soon. For now, I must roll onto my back and smile at Mommy while she rubs my tummy because she thinks I am cute that way. She does not have any good pitchers of me on my back because I am too smart to be caught in such an embarassing posishion. I wiggle around every time she holds up the phone camera so the pitchers are blurry.

Now you must go to your own houses and yards. Do not pee or poop in the yards of other hoomans on the way. It is not polite. Be good, hoomans. 

Go! Go now, hoomans! I am tired of you.

This is what I look like when I wiggle on my back.

YOU ARE NOT GONE. GO HOME NOW, HOOMANS.

INDICT ME ALREADY

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

The felon who lives in the White House despises James Comey. Dissatisfied with action he took against Comey during his first administration (firing Comey less than four years into his 10 year-term as director of the FBI and seeing him indicted on federal charges that were subsequently dismissed), a feature of the felon's second administration retaliation tour is a second Comey indictment.

Comey's unforgivable crime was to take a photo of some shells on a beach in North Carolina in May, 2025, post the photo on Instagram and caption it "Cool shell formation on my beach walk."

The shells formed the numbers 86  47. Quelle horreur.

From Justice.Gov>Office of Public Affairs: The Indictment includes two counts, first in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 871, alleging that James Comey, 65, knowingly and willfully made a threat to take the life of, and to inflict bodily harm upon the President of the United States. This charge alleges that on May 15, 2025, by publicly posting an image over the internet via Instagram depicting “86 47”, which a reasonable recipient who is familiar with the circumstances would interpret as a serious expression of an intent to do harm to the President of the United States.

The Indictment also charges Comey in violation of 18 U.S.C. § 875(c), that James Comey consciously disregarded a substantial risk that his communication would be viewed as threatening violence, and that he knowingly transmitted a communication in interstate commerce that contained a threat to injure the person of another, which a reasonable recipient who is familiar with the circumstances would interpret as a serious expression of an intent to do harm to a person.

The felon justifies his weaponization of the Dept of Justice by stating Expert on organized crime, Don John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt wrote on social media: "86' is a mob term for 'kill him.' They say 86 him! '86 47' means 'kill President Trump." (The felon is the 47th president of the United States, was also the 45th, and thinks he was the 46th.)

Although "86" has never been part of my vernacular, I have long known "86 it" to mean "throw out something," or 86 alone means "a restaurant is out of something." Merriam-Webster agrees: Eighty-six is slang meaning "to throw out," "to get rid of," or "to refuse service to." It comes from 1930s soda-counter slang meaning that an item was sold out. There is varying anecdotal evidence about why the term eighty-six was used, but the most common theory is that it is rhyming slang for nix.

I've been posting 86 47 all over the place, so indict me already.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug