Monday, September 27, 2004

French Barking

Mom is very bouncy today because she was contacted by the Nouvel Observateur editorial staff about her column, American Pie. She's writing about American politics for a French paper and she put on some horny pictures of herself on their web site. I guess French jerk-offs will be looking at my mom and "reading" her opinions.

There was lots of French stuff going on this morning with phone calls to French lawyers and banks. Dad had to send the money to buy the apartment in Nice and normally, he would be sick about spending the money except that he bought the Euros at 1.20 and today, the Euro is at 1.23. Dad is feeling very smartypanty right now, having saved a bit of dough.

Then he went to work (fooshball).

I'm really mad at Florida. They are having a series of terrible hurricanes and the people shelters don't take dogs! What a crappy state. Not only is it full of Republicans who are hunters and polluters but they are forcing people to abandon their animals when they evacuate. Assholes.

You'd think that Jeb Bush, who grew up with dogs, would change the rules so that people's dogs could be allowed into the same shelters WITH their people. I'm sure a lot of the nicer Floridians stayed and braved the storms at home with their animals.

I know what it's like to be abandoned, unsafe and alone. It's not as much fun as living in the Hollywood Hills and buying apartments on the French Riviera.

Finney and I are going to have to learn to bark in French.


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Sunday, September 26, 2004

Stress pimples

Dad had to go and get air for the tires of his Studebaker. He almost didn't leave because of all the pimples on his nose. He just stood there again, staring at himself in the mirror in the living room as if the people who sell tires are looking at Dad's skin to see if it's good enough to buy a tire.

Dad: "Why do I have a giant cherry at the end of my nose? It must be the coffee or the stress."

Mom: "Will you STOP? Why don't you just stop touching your nose all the time? You should take Stridex pads to work with you and stop shaking hands and touching surfaces and then touching your nose. Keep cleaning your glasses and your face with the medicated pads."

Jesus, these people are laughably shallow. I wish they could see what it's like for just one hour on death row, where I came from. They'd know what stress means.

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Eating out a bug

Mom and Dad are having some problems. They came home from the Hollywood Buddha premiere laughing about how bad the movie was and how strange it was seeing Arianna Huffington on a date with Gary Hart. But while Finney and I bounced around chasing the Stupid Kitty, the atmosphere changed.

Dad thought Mom looked really hot, so he tried to mount her. Dad's got a primitive way to mount sometimes. I mean as a dog, I usually play around with a bitch for a good 15 minutes, biting, wrestling, staring, running, knocking her down and fun stuff like that, just to get her excited before I latch on and bang her. But Dad just went for it. And Mom reacted the same way Finney would have reacted. Finney would have kicked my ass, actually.

She pushed him off, demanded some "romance" (whatever that means) and then Dad had another one of his tantrums. He ripped his own pants off with the shoes on and everything in his pants pockets went flying around the living room. Then he stormed downstairs to his office (slamming all the doors on the way out) and lay on the couch in the dark, sulking for hours. This ruined our bed-time, because we couldn't sleep without Dad in the giant bed. We waited and waited for him to come out of his "office" (the little guest house at the other end of the pool where he doesn't work).




My Mommy


The next morning, Mom demanded an apology but Dad said he really didn't enjoy the micro-management instructions on how to perform oral sex. He said it was like taking lessons on how to eat out a bug. He couldn't get the tongue movements delicate enough to please an insect...just wasn't capable.

Then Dad put on giant sunglasses and flapped his wrists around, pretending to be a fly, buzzing.

Dad: "The little tiny, teeny minute tongue movements are just too difficult. BZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. sorry MBZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

So things have been pretty tense around here lately since Dad said that pleasing Mom is "like trying to eat the pussy of a fly."

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Thursday, September 23, 2004


I have vitiligo Posted by Hello

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Dad hurt his shoulder playing fooshball at work. He was shooting a very difficult goal shot from the back and now, he can hardly move. I guess Mom is going to have to drive them to the Hollywood Buddha premiere tonight.

From what I gather, Dad's work is almost all fooshball, very little writing. At "work" the writer/producers have separated into fooshball teams and they compete most of the day, in between joke pitching sessions. The fooshball table used to be in the hall at Disney but now he has moved it into his office so that they can really work at it. He comes home very tired and says that this is his absolute LAST season.

He says that every year.


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Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Jesus. I'm being stalked by the skank. I'm keeping a paper trail in case I have to sue. Look at this comlete loser e-mail (none of what she says is true, by the way) she sent me today:


Jinky. Remember this one, the suite at the Sunset Marquee? That white leather couch that we tore to shreds! The one too many canine martinis? The $254 cable porn bill? I'm getting very exciting just thinking about us teaming up again. To be honest, and I will, I have never had a man like you Jink. You really know how to treat a bitch. You make me feel like a bitch, Jink! See ya in a few weeks. PS Don't forget about the agent thing....love, Josephine :)

I just hope this lying gash isn't violent.






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Get a load of Josephine, the skank. Posted by Hello

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Boy, just because I lucked into a little money here, you wouldn't believe the skanks that come around. This one here has a body that would scare a cat off of a decomposing cod fish. I told her I'd help her out but Jesus! She's missing a couple of teeth and her breath stinks like the anal glands of a rhino.

This bitch wants me to help her get an agent. I told her sure, but I don't what good it'll do. She sent me this absurd e-mail.

Dear Jinky,
I don't know if you remember me, but we met at Sunset Plaza a couple of years ago and you said if I ever came into town, I should contact you. Well I'm just out of rehab and I'm coming out to LA for pilot season! I hope you're as excited as I am about seeing each other. I've been living in NY, got close to a Men in Black part and went to producers and well, things are really moving for me now. I was wondering if you might be able to help me get an agent out there. I'll be staying in West Hollywood and I can't wait to see you out there in sunny Caleefornia!
Love, Josephine ;)


Oh, boy. If Finley gets a load of her, she'll kick her ass.

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Tuesday, September 21, 2004


The $12,000, giant dog bed that Dad doesn't like to sit in because it makes him feel like an Italian Fag. Posted by Hello

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Dad had a big pitch meeting here at the house and we were forced to stay up way past "Minky Time" (10PM) so that "actors" and "producers" and "managers" could posture around our dining room table and come up with a decent pitch for NBC tomorrow.

NO one gave me any food.

Dad and Last Comic Standing's Gary Gulman are trying to get a series on the air about a neurotic relationship between a Peter Pan and a "likeable" woman (likeable meaning unlike my mom). According to the meeting that wouldn't end, they are going to use stories from Mom and Dad's real life and are going to pose as a "dynamic duo" tomorrow, making it impossible for the NBC minions to pass because of their sheer hilarity and the certainty that the hit-making duo will win back the cable audience for network TV.

Am I supposed to be impressed that a big star (Gary Gulman's head almost reached the lights in the ceiling, he's taller than a Borzoi) is sitting next to me? Am I supposed to jump up and down? He didn't give me anything, no Brie, no dates with mascarpone, no brazil nuts, not a look, no nothing.

While I tried to sleep, Gary Gulman, the comedic genius who ignored me for about 5 hours straight, told a story about how he doesn't want to tell his mother about his girlfriend yet. Hilarious.

Mom looked shocked.

Then the Last Comic Standing heartthrob sat on MY giant dog bed, eating dates. No thank you, not a pat on the head, nothing. And he marked the bathroom! I don't know how I will pee on top of his pee, he's so tall.

Listen, I'm all for Dad running a show, because Mom will be happy that Dad will make more dough to buy more e-bay stuff and bigger yards and all but these pitch meetings ruin a perfectly good night.

I'm very annoyed.




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Monday, September 20, 2004


Sleeping with the Emminy Posted by Hello

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"We're in a LOSER DEATH CLUTCH"

Right after we watched the Emmys last night, we went to “the Down” (the bedroom downstairs) and watched Mom have a tantrum about not finding her 800 thread count pillow case.

She had just taken all the sheets out of the dryer and was struggling with the gigantic sheets, whipping them in the air like giant boat sails and yelling. I have no idea why she had to wash the sheets on Emmy night-- I guess the washer and dryer kill the fleas or something.

Mom: “How can I lose a pillow case from the bedroom to the laundry room? WHERE IS IT?!

Dad was depressed about the Emmys and picking his face in the 10X magnifying mirror in the bathroom.

Mom: “Can’t you HELP me find the pillow case!?”

Dad came out of the bathroom with a red nose from all the picking. “Jesus! I don’t give a fuck about the pillow case. Do we have to do it tonight? Don’t worry about it.”

Mom: “That’s what you say about everything in this house-- ‘don’t worry about it’ and that’s why everything is so fucking DISORGANIZED!”

Finn and I were trying to find a cozy spot in the bed but she kept ripping all the sheets off, looking for the damned pillow case, so we couldn’t get cozy at all. We just sat on the floor. The floor! Emmy night was turning out to be bad—really bad. Then she found the pillow case inside another pillow case.

Mom: (sheepishly) “I double bagged. I put a pillow case on a pillow and then put another pillow case on top of that.”

Finally, she made the goddamned bed and we were able to get comfy on the comforter. Mom and Dad both got into their spots and Dad pulled the covers way up over his head.

Dad: “I’m all pimply. I’m a pimply old man. I’m going to go to a pitch with a face full o’ pimples. Why would a network give a show to a man who has a face full of pimples?”

Mom: “Would you STOP? Why do you care about the Emmys? You have two! You want another one?”

Dad: “No, I know what a chocolate covered banana that is for the monkeys out there.”

I was trying to sleep but that Stupid Kitty started scratching around in her litter box. She makes a hell of a lot of noise, pawing away at those stinking “pearls” that absorb all of her super-pungent piss. She scrapes the "pearls" from one side of the stinking box to the other side, and then does it again--for cleanliness. She really does stink up the entire Down. Even though Stupid Kitty's litter box is in the laundry room, it's still only a feeble ball toss away from the bed.
Honestly, I don't know why Mom has the Stupid Kitty's bathroom right in front of the dryer, where the clean sheets come out. I'd rather have fleas in the sheets than those goddamned piss pearls.

I like to sleep to the sound of Mom and Dad’s voice. It doesn’t matter what they say—it’s soothing.

Dad: “I’m a loser.”

Mom: “If you’re a loser, what does that make me?”

Dad: “You’re a loser too. Even the dogs are losers. We had to get them out of the garbage. They were thrown away before we got them. We’re stuck in a loser death clutch.”

Then Mom and Dad laughed like hyenas. I don't ever think I've seen them laugh so hard.They are truly crazy, those two.

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Sunday, September 19, 2004


Dad is refusing to watch the Emmys. We'll take a protest nap. Posted by Hello

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The Emmys are on tonight and Dad is pissed. He won't let Mom have an Emmy party.

Mom: "I don't see why we can't have people over that hate all the same people we do!"

Dad: " I have things to do. I'm going to go downstairs and get my computer going. You do whatever you want."
note: Dad got a fancy Mac over 6 months ago and still hasn't powered it on because he can't figure out how to get online. He says he's just going to use a typewriter.

I don't know why Dad is being such a grump about it; he has 2 Emmys. I think he might throw the unused laptop in the pool, like he did with the last one.

Dad not wanting to watch the Emmys is like me not wanting to watch the Westminster dog show. It's ridiculous. I like to watch the hot bitches. I don't feel like I have to win or that I should be there, kissing the ass of some fat-calved "handler" for some crappy Purina endorsement.

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Saturday, September 18, 2004


My fat wife Finley, not exercising. Posted by Hello

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We went to Montecito yesterday to visit Mom's dad. He calls me his grandog and he lives near the greatest place on earth--the BEACH!

Mom and Dad were happy to be getting out of Hollywood for the day "to get away from the nitwits." On the road, they were counting the Bush/Cheney stickers on the "gas guzzling SUVs"and Dad was calling the drivers Gasholes. Personally, I think I would like driving around in a giant house like that. It's just really tight in there with fat Finn taking up all the room on Dad's lap.

Just when Mom and Dad were beginning to relax (which is really hard for them lately, because of all of their real estate buying), they ran into Grandad's neighbor, Dick Wolf. He had an old Rodhesian Ridgeback and he had one leg that was definitely longer than the other. As soon as they got within pissing distance, Mom, Dad and Grandad got real phony and it wasn't like we were just playing on the beach anymore. His dog was cool though, just hanging out with his tongue hanging out.

So while Finn and I bounced around, my people stood there, waiting for Dick Wolf to finish his cell call. I found some sea weed and pissed on it. A nice, long, salt water piss. Then Finn tried to roll over on a dead seagull. Right after that, she took a giant, runny dump that got stuck in her ass hairs, which Dad had to clean with his bare hands in the ocean.

Dad said it was like mustard squirting out of her ass into the sea. Then he wiped his hands on his "outfit"(his new Patagonia sweat suit that he never takes off. When Mom washes it, he waits for it to come out of the dryer, so he can put it back on) and shook Dick Wolf's hand.

Later on, when we were driving home in our non gas guzzling Z4, Mom said she was pissed that she had to meet Dick Wolf looking like a "shlump" in Grandad's sweater and baggy jeans. I'm glad she's not going to be on Law and Order anyway because then she'd be out all the time, which I would seriously hate.



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Friday, September 17, 2004


pinning Dad so he can't move during the night. Posted by Hello

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What a terrible night we all had. Finley, my fat wife, moved beds at least 5 times during the night. We have decorator dog beds all over the bedroom because my obese wife likes to luxuriate in different beds. One is a leopard fuzzy, another is a white fleece contraption, another is a giant fleece mattress for a much larger (not fatter) breed. She ended up in the big people bed (Duxiana-- thousands of springs), pinning Dad down by sprawling out over the comforter. He couldn't move and just lay there, sighing.


I had one tiny flea crawling around my ass for hours. I couldn't reach it and I think I kept Mom and Dad up for hours with my scratching. They put on the light at 6 am and combed me with the flea comb. Mom got the little bastard and killed it. But there was some residual itching.

At 6:30, Dad said he was going to kill himself.

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Thursday, September 16, 2004

Well, a lot has happened since I took time off from my blog. I was really busy, flying around to France and stuff. My parents want to move out of Hollywood because it's so damn phony here. But France is pretty phony too, a lot phonier than LA, which I'll explain later.

Right now, I have to nap before we go to Ventura Blvd to buy a stupid baby gift for a Haitian rock star. This Haitian rock star just bought a house in Florida on the gulf coast that he wants us to come and visit. He bought the house 2 days before the hurricane hit. Dad thinks we're going to have an economic hurricane right here in Hollywood if Bush gets elected.

Mom and Dad think it's going to be a landslide and that my yard will be worthless after the November election. I don't want them to sell the house and yard. This is my yard, I patrol it, I've worked awfully hard marking the entire place-- almost a whole acre! I still haven't pissed on every single spot and I've got work to do. If you think about it, I've fertilized the trees, the ivy, the oranges, peaches, plums and figs. This is my chunk of Hollywood.

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