To All My Esteemed Subscribers,

Well, once again I must apologize for shirking my responsibilities as Newsletter Provider Extraordinaire.  But this time I have a good excuse -- a broken heart.  (Enter howling sobs of grief here.) I started this newsletter in mid-February (I SWEAR), but what with the pain and angst, I just couldn't bear to continue.  However, thanks to Mom's poking and prodding and (quite frankly) endless nagging, I finally summoned the courage to "put my heartache aside and get on with business," as she so lovingly put it. Anyway, if you're in the mood for a real tear-jerker, Dear Fans, read on.

Another Valentine's Day has come and gone, and once again I was left empty-handed and broken-hearted.  On February 14th, as the mailman trudged up my steps, I waited with bated breath in hopes of getting a Valentine from My True Love (MTL).  (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. . .  I think.)  I sat ever so patiently as he stuffed a weekend's worth of junk mail through the chute.  With every credit card application, catalogue, and Super Shopper circular I tossed aside, my furry li'l innards burned with anticipation.  "It's gotta be here SOMEWHERE.  That glorious red envelope with the ever so faint yet distinct Kibble-esque fragrance. . ."  Finally, as I uncovered the last envel -- OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD -- it's red, and, (sniff, sniff,) Kibble-esque fragrance -- YES!  (Well, more like Alpo, but that's close enough to get my heart a-racin'. . .)  I tore that baby open with an intensity only idiot love can induce.  And here she comes -- the long-awaited smiling face of. . .

Ed McMahon??!!?!

"Congratulations Phineas, YOU may have already won!  By purchasing eighteen lifetime subscriptions to any of the magazines listed below, you will be entered in a drawing for BLAH BLAH BLAH. . ."

Oh.  My.  God.  Talk about a major letdown.  Dashed hopes galore.  Ego's shattered beyond recognition.  And here it comes -- the wave of self-doubt that inevitably follows any rejection.  "Doesn't she love me anymore?  What's wrong with me?  Am I not important enough for her to remember me?  DOESN'T ANYONE OUT THERE LOVE ME???"

At this point I must interrupt my Lamentations of Sentimentality and briefly comment on the "DOESN'T ANYONE OUT THERE LOVE ME???" line.  (This digression is primarily directed towards January's Newsletter Readers, so if you aren't a JNR, please feel free to skip ahead.)

First, I want to thank everyone who wrote in response to last month's diatribe (and I sincerely apologize for the whiny tone).  I truly appreciate your generosity.  And to show my gratitude, I thought I'd include your names right here, smack dab in the middle of my glorious newsletter.  (Cuz who doesn't like seeing their name in print?)  But, then I had second thoughts.  For those "whackos" out there (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. . .  I'm sure) who think writing to a dog is an embarrassment rather than the playful -- even honorable -- act that it truly is, I figured I'd better not "out" anybody.  So, in the spirit of protecting the innocent, I'd like to thank the legions of fans who wrote in to comfort me in my depressed state.

Anyway, the point is that I know there are peeps out there who do love me -- as your many emails have shown.  I just needed to add that "DOESN'T ANYONE OUT THERE LOVE ME???" part for dramatic effect, ya dig?  Ya feelin' me, Dawg?  (The ALL CAPS should've clued you into the melodramatic, tongue-in-cheekiness of it all.)  So, we good?  Alright then.

Okay, now where was I. . .  Oh yeah, utmost despair and rejection.  Right.  Well, the long and the short of it is that I decided to give my dearly beloved the benefit of the doubt.  (Hope springs eternal and all that jazz.)  So when I didn't receive her much-anticipated Valentine on Monday, I figured it got lost in the mail.  Maybe she didn't know all nine digits of my zip code, which as we all know, can cause a real kink in the system.  Or maybe she forgot to include my last name, and that proclamation of kibble-scented goodness that was so righteously mine ended up in the hands of the "other" Phinnaeus.  (By the way, I still have a bone to pick with you, Ms. Roberts/Moder.  Oh, and your kid's never gonna be able to spell his own name.  But anyway.)

Obviously these theories are on the far-fetched end of the scale, but what's a fella to think?  Certainly not something as ludicrous as MTL forgot to send the card.  Or even more blasphemous, that she had no intention of sending it in the first place.  I mean, COME ON.  So okay, Tuesday, Wednesday at the LATEST, I figured I should be receiving my declaration of loooove.  Right?

Nooope.

No love for the furry four-legged Thursday or Friday either.  Okay, Saturday.  Saturday, Saturday, you're my only hope.  C'MON, SATURDAY.

Ix-nay on the ove-lay on Saturday.  And Sunday, too.  (Well, lucky for you the mail doesn't come on Sunday, so you're off the hook, My Soon-To-Be-Ex True Love.)  But when Monday came and went with no sign of The Missing Red Envelope, my spirits plummeted (as did your ratings on the Phineas Thinks You're Great scale).  Ditto for Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, etc, etc, etc. . .  And now that it's not even February anymore, and what with my heart being officially and eternally broken and all. . .

GUESS WHAT, that's it, it's OVER.  (I toldja it was gonna be soon!)

And no, I feel absolutely NO remorse for having broken it off in such a publicly humiliating manner.  (I mean, c'mon, how didja think I felt after getting all excited over Ed McMahon???)

Not only do I not feel guilty in the slightest, I've already moved on!  And this time around, I'm shooting for the stars.  (Literally!)  She's an up-and-coming actress, who just so happens to be smart, funny, talented, and GEORGEOUS.  In fact, I do believe we have a CLIP from her latest project.  I don't think I need to set it up.  I'll just let her extraordinary range and utter genius speak for itself.  (Talk about mastery of The Method!)  

And uh, FTL (that's Future True Love, for the slow ones out there), if you happen to be reading this my dear, I just wanted to letcha know that my birthday's coming up.

Well, ya never know.  Maybe she'll send me a birthday card.

 Hey, if the Sox can win the World Series. . .

PS -- Due to my recent trip down that windy, treacherous, all-too-familiar road of lost love/found love (and the resulting procrastination that inevitably follows), the next newsletter is following so close behind the February Newsletter, it could be pulled over for tailgating.  In fact, it's probably being delivered to your mailbox as you read this.  So stay tuned for March's Newsletter -- the first newsletter to actually contain, uh, news.