49% motherfucker, 51% Son of a bitch

Spanish

He's got no idea. I mean he's a fucking dog! How the hell would he understand spanish? does Murphy even translate to spanish? El Murpho, El Murphtino, El Murphesto? yeah, nevermind. Murphy translates to spanish just fine.

Adios, bitches.

why he can't sniff every dog butt that walks by.

Not much more to say. He wants to sniff all the dog's butts all the time. I mean he's a dog he wants to sniff a butt, chase something around in circles, be best friends forever. That's about it.

Money

Murphy doesn't understand money. He doesn't care about your economy or your stock portfolio. Murphy thinks your 401k is for boners because he can't make heads or tails of it because he is a goddamned hound dog. Does it smell like bacon? can he chase it? can he howl at it? No? then suck it and come back when it does.
Some jerk once tried to explain to Murphy that money was the root of evil. Murph didn't care because money makes no sense to him. Paper to get things? what? Plus, Murphy knows that the root of all evil is the heart of a black soul. A force that has lived all eternity.
Money? no. He's a dog, not queen of england.

Murphendectomy.

in the shadowed gulf of doom
Beware the cursed Cerberos
Dreaded hound who has no pity
Lies in wait and eats them up
Shakes the ends of the Earth
With barks from his three throats
Bristling snakes upon his necks
The blood of men enshrouds his coat

Mr. Murphy

Get to know Murph. This is him. He hates you.


Jaws has got nothing on this motherfucker..


It snowed a little bit this winter. Murphy sports the lumberjack look because he hates trees too.

Here he is on his porch. Watching.

March Madness

Me: Hey Murphy, who do you have in your Tournament Bracket?
Murphy: :sigh:
Then he stood up, stretched and laid back down.
Me: Seriously, murph. Who did you pick?
Murphy: .....

For Murphy March is the first time in quite a few months that he can sit on the front porch and do nothing.There is no madness in this. He moves from the ground where the sun hits, to a chair in the corner, to the red bench. In one of those places he sits quietly watching the street. There he silently waits for a dog or kids making too much to pass by, so he can jump up and howl for a moment and then lay back down. The people passing by laugh at his hound dog howl and continue on their way. Sometimes they stop to ask what kind of dog he is, or "that dog wearing a sweater?"