Tuesday, December 30, 2003

Mom and Dad are having another dinner party and they invited a bunch of "music people" and "TV people". They spent hours putting it together and making all these calls and then they left us here in the house alone to go food shopping.

While they were out, the phone rang a lot more than usual, so I went into the den to listen to the answering machine. It was a joke. The people all started canceling like they always do, because they've got better parties to go to, with people who are more important than my parents. They gave bullshit excuses like, "we have a housing inspection tomorrow and we are refinancing," or "I'm on a deadline for CBS, they need it in the morning," and "I hate to do this so last minute, but I have to go to a birthday party."

When they came back, Mom and Dad were pissed. "I'm out of the business," Dad yelled. 'We spent 70 bucks on fish alone!" said Mom.
I don't really love fish, but the kitty does and she's got about 50,000 pounds of the stuff in the fridge right now.

Why couldn't it have been meat? Why? Why? WHY?

We're going to have a much better evening without all these Hollywood phonies in the house anyway. I won't have to try not to bite people who pretend to like me and we can just be all cozy in a pack and eat together with the fire on and watch HardBall.

I love the name HARDBALL. That's a show for me. But they should just throw all kinds of balls around instead of all that political stuff my parents watch all the god damn time. Dad used to be a head writer on Politically Incorrect, which was really booooring. No balls.


I hear that there is a "sticking point" concerning search and rescue dogs being deployed in Iran. 40,000 people are probably dead, and they don't want dogs to help because "dogs are unclean to Muslims."

Well that's it. Fuck them if they don't want our help. They didn't want blankets or search equipment from Jews either, even though it was offered. I am personally pissed off that our finest search and rescue dogs are unwanted in Iran. What an insult.

Iranians think I might like sniffing their dead bodies out of their shitty construction rubble? Do they think I'd enjoy that?


Monday, December 29, 2003

Dad, Mom, Finley and I took the Z4 down Laurel Canyon to Beverly Hills this morning. Mom had to sign the grant deed to her condo in West Hollywood. I'm glad she is selling it, because I like where we live, way up in the hills above the city, where there are lots of rats.

For the outing, I wore my red and white sweater with the snow flake on it and Finley wore her sexy Italian harness which looks like some sort of a porno canine garter belt for the chest area.

Mom wore her new Dolce & Gabanna red and black boots and her red cashmere and dog hair coat. She was pissed because of Dad's "ridiculous outfit."

"Why are you wearing stained pants with pleats, slippers, a gimme jacket from Politically Incorrect and a ski hat that looks like it belongs on a cleric?" said Mom.

Dad just did what he always does when she is annoyed with him. He sinks his head into his chest, hunches his shoulders and makes a depraved retard face. I love it when he makes his retard face because Mommy squeals like a squeaky toy, laughing.

So we parked really far from the real estate office and Finley and I peed on every tree, lamp post and doorway on Rodeo Drive. Finley shit right in front of Chanel and some people took a picture of Mom picking up a runny, yellow poop with the grant deed envelope.

There were a lot of Japanese tourists on Rodeo Drive who wanted to meet us. They weren't barbarian Chinese people, they were definately Japanese, because they were staring at us in a cute way, not in a "ooh, dat dogga rooka deericious" kind of way. Dad said Japs like Beverly Hills because the Japanese Yen is so high right now, and, as we are never allowed to forget in our house, the DOLLAR is worthless!
The Yen is at 106 to the US Dollar, so dogs waiting for their people in Japan are going to get all kinds of American balls and squeaky toys from Beverly Hills. But what do I care about the export potential in a weak dollar? I'm never going to Japan, which is way, way too close to China and korea, where there are giant monsters who cook us up, NO! Mom and Dad are just obsessed with international currency fluctuations.

At the escrow office, the fat escrow lady liked me and wanted to touch me with her piggy hands. I didn't let her. Mom signed the papers and was finger printed while Dad waited with Finley in the outer office reading "horrible consumer magazines" in his bum outfit.

So now that Mommy has sold her apartment, she is stuck with Dad and the Back Street Boy who is living in the condo has to move.

Mom is happy to be evicting the Back Street Boy, because he is an awful whiner and Dad thinks he' acts like a princess with a pea under his mattress. Mom says he's a spoiled brat and last summer, he made Mom go all the way down to the condo to kill 3 ants for him. "What kind of fucking wimp is afraid of ants and makes a woman kill them for him?" Mom said. "He is such a no talent pussy." I'd love to bite him but Mom would get sued and she says, "you never sue people richer than you are, never!"

Mommy knows all about law suits. This is Hollywood. She sued an airline and won.

While we were walking around Beverly hills, we passed the Bev Hills cheese shop. The entire pack loves cheese and we wanted some good stinky, runny French stuff, but the bastards wouldn't let us in. Something about the health regulations. I don't understand this lousy shit law. In Paris, we go to all cheese shops.

Tonight, we're going to chill, eat pasta and watch a pirate movie in the game room.


Friday, December 26, 2003

The perfect Poop

Presents for Christmas! We got chicken snaps and stuffed toy monkeys who scream for Christmas. The monkeys scream this ear piercing call when you bite them and Finley kills them fast. She bites down hard and cracks the spine. We're evil terriers and we kill for fun.

Mommy is an animal rights activist and she doesn't like it, but we can't help it. Finley won't sleep until her monkey is dead.

Those were the only presents exchanged this year because of the Parmalat scandal. Mom and Dad bought a bunch of shares in Parmalat, an Italian long life milk company and the next day, the company went bankrupt. So it's Dairy Christmas around here. They hate to lose money, especially because they wanted to make Euros so that they could be in two economies.

Now, they are just losers in two economies.

Last night, there was a mysterious shit on the bed. It was beautifully proportioned, shaped like a perfect tootsie roll, firm and dark. Gorgeous.

Mom smelled it when they came back from their Christmas parties but couldn't tell if it was real or just some bad fart. Dad was groping around the bed for his glasses again and grabbed the perfect shit instead. "Arg! It's a piece of shit!" Dad yelled. Mom laughed and noted how perfect it was. "Who would shit on the bed?" Mom asked. "Well it wasn't me," said Dad.

"You can't even see anything on this black paisley duvet cover, it's all black and the lights suck in here," said Dad.

"I suppose I should put the white sheets on so we can spot the shits in the bed more easily," Mom answered back.

They have no idea whose poop it was.

After Dad got a Kleenex and flushed the perfect poop down the toilet, he came back to bed and stepped on another piece of shit. It was all part of the same perfect shit and Dad had to go back into the bathroom to clean it from between his toes.

"Jesus! I'm gonna fall asleep and roll over and get a mouthful of shit in the middle of the night here," Dad yelled. "We better check the rest of the bed."

"Oh my god! There's another piece!" yelled Mommy."Look at it!"

At the end of the bed, on the 310 threadcount black duvet cover, camouflaged in the print, lay the tail end of the perfect shit. It was tapered like a little cornichon, those expensive French pickles Mom serves at dinner parties. Daddy got some toilet paper and picked it off the bed.

The shit didn't stop them from having sex. Daddy was cleaning Mommy all over and I tried to help groom her. Mom was making all kinds of loud noises and then I thought they were playing a little rough. She might have gotten hurt so I tried to get in between them while he was pounding on her. It was over really fast and they looked pretty happy.

Finley always sleeps like a log when they have sex, no matter how much the bed moves.

Thursday, December 18, 2003

Finley's breath still stinks.


Mom and Dad are crazy. All they do is watch the European stock market all night in bed. They bought some Euros and some Euro stocks because they think the economy is going to collapse here.

All we do around here is watch the charts of Euros versus US dollars in real time. My food and all my toys are becoming devalued every day. My ball and my stuffed squeaky toys have lost 30% of their value in a few months!

I think we might be moving to Europe because I can go to restaurants there and to parties and on subways there. Mom and Dad have lost faith in the US dollar. And Dad is "finished with Hollywood". Mom is too old to get another record deal and she feels "like a human being" in Europe, not a used up Hollywood has been.


I went to rehearsal with Mom in Burbank. It was so LOUD! A wall of Marshals and all of Rod Stewart's band was in there. There were a bunch of so-called famous musicians like Nile Rodgers and Ollie Brown but it was so LOUD, you couldn't hear Mom singing. Imagine how loud it was for me; I can hear 45 times more than Mom.

She's doing a benefit for Tony Thompson, the drummer from Chic, who just died of cancer. Mom is singing all the time now and playing the same loud disco music her dead friend played drums on.

Her friend Tony Thompson played on a few of mom's records, which I never heard. All day long, its Freak Out! and I want Your Love. I'm not going to get to go to the benefit at the Hard Rock cafe, because they don't allow dogs. I've heard enough of this shit anyway.

Last night Dad lost his mind. Finley took a big shit and ate it, so she got sick and was throwing up shit all over the house at 4 in the morning. Mom was tired from disco singing, so she yelled at Dad to put Finley in the bathtub, where she could throw up all the shit and it could be washed easier. Dad got up out of a dead sleep, furious. He was yelling and he went into the bathroom in the dark and slipped on some puke/shit.
He put finley in the bathtub and ran water over his foot, which was covered in shit. Then he tried to get his robe off the hook by the shower and the hook broke right off the wall, which made him even madder.

He tried to pick up more shit off of the carpet in the bedroom with some toilet paper and the toilet paper holder broke. All this was happeneing in the dark, with Dad yelling at the top of his lungs and Finley throwing up shit all over the place. I think she threw up 20 times. Then she wanted to go out and Dad took her out by the pool for a long time. We thought they drowned or something because they didn't come back for the longest time.

When they came in, Mom was pretty mad at Dad and they went to sleep not touching.

Finley slept like a log.


Tuesday, December 09, 2003

I had a tick crawling around my neck today and Mom picked it out of my fur and squashed the tick with a Bic (pen). Dad and Mom have ticks too, but they at least get meetings out of their ticks. Their ticks have jobs at talent agencies and call themselves agents. But they're just ticks, who make their living sucking blood and getting fat.


This morning we had a lousy walk because Dad didn't come. He was late for a table read, so he dropped us off at Mulholland and Mom walked us back on Caverna drive.

Just as we were walking up the driveway, a bee flew into Mom's hair and got stuck. It was buzzing and Mom was shaking her head and her hair was flying around but the bee wouldn't get out. We came into the kitchen and she pulled the bee out of her hair and it fell on the floor but not before it stung her. I watched it walk around the kitchen floor while Mom checked the bee bite on her head. Then I ate it. Alive.

Mom tried to get me to throw up the bee but it was too late. Now the bee will dance around with my breakfast and be catapulted into my favorite poo spot in the Hollywood Hills through my anus. That's what happens if you dare to bite my mom.

Mom's friend Tony Thompson died a few weeks ago and she is doing a benefit for his family. Tony was the drummer for Chic, which was a big Disco band in the 80's. So Mom has started rehearsing for the show at the Hard Rock next week. It's funny watching Mom sing disco music. It sounds pretty stupid with lyrics like: "clams on the halfshell and Roller skates!"


Wednesday, December 03, 2003

Dec 3, 03
Today we went to Beverly Hills where Finley and I were the only pound dogs. All the dogs walking around in Beverly Hills look ridiculous. They're all Labs or poodles--nothing in between. And all the poodles are with women and all the labs are with guys.Total cliche, like everything in this town.

Mom had to go to the bank and the bank teller told her she smelled like dog. He looked at Finley and me and said to my mom, " I'm smellin' dog on you." He was making a joke, but Mom's been a customer there for 20 years and she tensed up. I don't know why he said it, I guess he was trying to be funny, 'cause I didn't fart and neither did Finny.

Mom told him he must be awfully inexperienced with customers, because "you don't just tell people they smell like dog." Now I don't know what is so bad about smelling like a dog. I smell good and I'm clean. I shower 2x a day, once with Mom, and once with Dad. But the teller, who was really young, kept making jokes that fell flat with Mom. She just wanted a cashier's check to pay her property taxes and the guy was taking all this time and flirting with her. FLIRTING with my mom! I would have bitten his arm off.

The teller had a cast on his arm; it was broken and when we left, my mom really embarrassed him. It was great. She leaned in, her big tits spilling onto the counter and asked him, "How'd you get that broken arm? Masturbating?" She didn't say it loud, but the tellers on either side heard her and they all cracked up. I love my mom.

Then we went to the escrow place. Some weird, bony old Chinese lady took the check and pretended to like Finny and me. She was yelling in her Chinese accent, "You rooka so cuuute!" I hate Chinese people. They eat dogs. What kind of barbarians eat dogs and sell them in butcher shops? Koreans and fucking Chinese people. Beverly Hills sucks.

Beverly Hills doesn't suck as much as Beijing, though. No way. Never goin' there.

[ Tue Dec 02, 04:32:54 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
I went with Mom to her writing partner's place in West Hollywood and hung around while they worked. Her writing partner has a boyfriend who is his partner(for writing, eating and playing)and a dachshund who lives under a chair because she can't stop barking.

She can't help herself. She barks at every noise, real or imagined and she has serious psycho problems. She follows shadows and light...Totally fucked up in the head. Puppymill brain, I guess. Every time she barks, she gets threatened visually with a bark collar. This shuts her up until she forgets.

When we got there, her partner was talking to someone named Hillary Swank and they were all excited because somebody named Denzel Washington was going to direct her. I guess this means that Mom's partner is going to get a much bigger yard.

So now we're back and Finley the Cairn is playing billiards. She gets up on the pool table in the game room and tries to get the billiard balls in the baskets. She's obsessed with playing pool. She just loses her mind when Mom and Dad play for real and the balls go in really fast. I like to watch fat Finn burn calories up there on the green felt. It's covered in her hair. Pretty.
[ Tue Dec 02, 12:13:22 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
I love these curling up moments with mom on the phone. She talks to agents, realtors, writers, escrow people and financial advisers. It's soothing. The lap is good, the heat is on, the belly's full. Couch is really soft and lots of pillow piles with fleecy blankies everywhere.
[ Tue Dec 02, 11:58:41 AM | Carole Davis | edit ]
[ DRAFT | Created: Mon Dec 01, 11:05:21 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
Dad's going down to his office/guest house to write more sitcomage. He hates being a Hollywood producer and sitcom writer. I hate it too, because he's gone at the best times of the day for running around. He's stuck in a room at a studio in Burbank with a bunch of morons on perfect days.

He'd rather be with me all day.

We were going to take a jacuzzi. Shit. It's my favorite nighttime activity. He's got to go punch up a script. Total drag. It's been heating up for hours just so the coyotes can drink hot tub tea.

Mom and I and Finley (the Cairn terrier who is my arranged wife and really fat) are going to go down to bed in that fantastic king sized Dux 900 threadcount situation. That's when she gets naked. I get to lie next to her and stick my head between the most perfect pair of tits in Hollywood. They're real. My mom was the model for playtex bras for years. She was on the box with her perfect 32C tits. Those weren't her hands, though.

I can't imagine why Finley PREFERS her own bed, when she could cuddle up to this. Yep, we're going down there and after she brushes her hair, I get brushed with her mason Pierson. I sit up for it.

Life is so good. I've come a long way from death row in San Pedro.
[ DRAFT | Created: Mon Dec 01, 05:21:45 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
I'm Jinky, I'm a "rescue" and I live in the Hollywood Hills. My mom used to be somebody but she doesn't want to remember who that was. She was in movies and my Dad is a writer--or at least he sleeps at the computer a lot.

My mom spent the morning with her realtor and her accountant. The accountant is in Arizona so at least I can sit on Mommy while she talks to him but I can't bite him long distance. I'd like to; he's telling her all about the tax problems she has. It's so boring. She owes a lot of taxes, so I fart. That should fix it.

I like farting when she's got important people to talk to, because she can't react like she normally does, which is with squeals of delight. She has to hold it in and not laugh. She can't tell the accountant that I'm farting or that it's deliberate.

Later, the realtor came over. He's a "cat person" and pretends to think I'm cute because he's making a shitload of money off my mom. He says, "They KNOW me by now!" like my Cairn and my cat give a rat's ass. As soon as he came in, I did a lot of barking and protecting poses. I threatened him. I know I scare the shit out of him but I wouldn't bite him. I don't want to get AIDS or facial wastage. So Mom signs a bunch of realtor paper and this is really taking a lot of my time. So I fart. That seems to be the only thing that moves things along around here.

She's selling her condo in West Hollywood. The cat told me about the place and the old dog who died at 20 and about Mom's crazy life before she met Dad. Wild.