Wednesday, October 20, 2004

It's very soaky here in Hollywood Posted by Hello


Every Pound Dog is a Red Sox Fan

It has been raining for three days straight and my yard is gooey and muddy. The ground is all spongy and mud seeps in between my foot pads. It's kind of like a foot spa. The house is nice and muddy and we leave fantastic mud foot tracks all over the floors. The pool is overflowing and the paper lanterns outside look like used toilet paper wads hanging in the air. The people seem to like the rain (they say it's "romantic") but they're wearing rubber shoes and carrying umbrellas. What a useless encumbering thing that is--a giant contraption they lug around to keep a few drops of water off their heads, where it feels good.

People. They'll spend thousands of dollars on a fake rain shower head for their fancy bathroom so they can have the feeling of rain but they don't wear umbrellas in there. And then if they're outside, and a little tiny raindrop falls on their head, they freak out. Under that phony shower in the bathroom though, they're singing.

Everything smells fresh and clean when it rains and I can smell things going on miles away. Last night, I smelled a BBQ in West Hollywood. I smelled a poodle fart from Burbank just now.

This morning, Dad took us down into the back part of the garden, down the steep, brick steps. It was foggy, Finn was rat hunting and then Dad tripped on some soaking wet moss. Angry with himself, he hurled his coffee cup against a tree and smashed it. Mom got mad because it was one of her Thai Celadon antique cups--"irreplaceable," she yelled.

I don't think Dad was in a bad mood just because he tripped again, but because his meeting with NBC didn't go well yesterday. He came home steaming mad last night.

Dad: "I'm through with these people. I've had it with this business. You walk in there and they just look at you. No questions, no 'hi, we're excited to hear this,' just blank faces. I can't wait to get the fuck outta here and move to Nice. I'm going to write them a letter and give them some tips about how to take a pitch."

It turns out that NBC wasn't thrilled about the reality show" Last Comic Standing" to begin with. They had cancelled the show and didn't even air the last episode. So Dad going in there, pitching a show with the loser of Last Comic Standing wasn't going to get a great response anyway. I don't understand why Dad gets so mad. He's got it all. Why does he even care?

Dad: "I knew there was something wrong when he [the comic] wanted to work with me."

Then he moped around and called his agent to complain. That agent guy gets paid 10% of Dad's money to listen to Dad complain about show business. I'll tell you, it's much better being his dog than his agent.

But the Red Sox won and that made everything good again. The Sox came to Yankee Stadium last night and did something that had never been done in Baseball history. They came back from 3-0, tied the series and forced a game 7. I'm happy because let's face it-- the Boston Red Sox are THE underdog.

Every pound dog has to be a Red Sox fan. When I was on death row in San Pedro, I was at the bottom of the 9th, 2 outs, 2 strikes and then I was saved.

I just smelled some chicken in Van Nuys and the Red Sox are leading 8 to 1 in game 7. Life is sweet.


Monday, October 18, 2004

Show Biz Jerks Are Coming

Jesus. I hear we're going to have another one of those mind numbingly dull Hollywood pitch meetings at the house tonight. Last Comic Standing's Gary Gulman will be here with his manager and a bunch of other show biz nitwits.

I hate it when these people take over the couch and gas about how their show is going to get on the air. They are such windbags, hovering over the coffee table, stuffing their faces with giant globs of cheese--going on and on about how funny they think their stupid show is.

To give you an idea of just how moronic this show idea is, the dog in the show is 20 years old and incontinent. This story point is supposed to make one of the characters more "likeable." (not the dog, I imagine) An old stinking dog with rotting teeth and diapers is supposed to make me want to tune in?

Another thing that bothers me about the rotting dog character on the show is how they talk about him/her. It's just wrong to make fun of a helpless and feeble creature that is slowly decomposing in the corner of a set on a sit-com. Is the lead character supposed to trip over it? Does that get a canned laugh? Is the character who owns the wretched mutt supposed to be praised for keeping it around long after its allure has gone?

Does the grizzled toothless canine actor or actress get some good lines, or even a decent salary? We don't have a union, you know.

These people are truly sickening.

On top of that, these show biz dimwits never pay any attention to me when they come over here to MY house.

That's it. Tonight, I'm making some demands. They are to serve me some melted cheese and make room for me on MY fucking couch, god damn it. Another thing: they are to leave by 10PM, which is called Minky Time around here.


Sunday, October 17, 2004

I am cleaner than you

I am not responsible for the ring around the tub. Dad is.

The best part of the tub experience is the weightlessness. Sometimes I make bubbles with my ass. Sometimes Dad does. I think that is one of his greater skills. He should stop reading those ridiculous books about writing and concentrate on the physics of water displacement with gas--a far more rewarding experiment.


Saturday, October 16, 2004

Our hot watering hole is cool

Boy, do I like the jacuzzi. As soon as Mom or Dad get in there, I have to join. I could spend several hours a day in there soaking in the hot bubbles. I'd like Finley to come in, but she just sits on the edge, taking in the steam.

She really should come in though, 'cause she's filthy. But she would turn the water into a kind of brown soup. She's got greasy, wire hair and when she walks, all the dirt and dust stick to her. Whenever she is forced to take a bath, the water, soap and filth make a kind of gravy. I think she actually likes being dirty, which turns me on by the way.

I enjoy being boiled clean in a communal type set up. I like the hot bubbles and the general Hollywood jacuzzi experience.

Me and Dad in our very favorite spot.


Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Real Estate Mongrel (mogul)

Mom and Dad have truly lost their minds. They got a place in France. I need another place to take a dump? I need to shit in France now? Although the way I hear the French have been acting lately, maybe I should. But what do we need to complicate our lives for, flying around and getting blown up in the sky and maybe getting our heads cut off?

There are some cool aspects to the France digs though.

There are French seagulls that shit all over the balconies and we will catch them in mid-air. We will walk to the beach and go to cafes. In France, dogs can sit on chairs in restaurants and go inside the post office and not be tied up outside like losers.

Mom got a call back for the Krapponian dance instructor for "That's so Raven". Jesus, if I have to hear her screaming in a Russian accent again, I'm going to vomit on the white couch. I guess it must be pretty depressing for her to go from starring roles to little guest stars on a children's show. I feel sorry for her. She has to dye her hair now and when she deposits residuals, the checks are rarely over $12.

Mom and Dad won't be able to watch the debate live tonight because they are going to some really pretentious event at LACMA. They got invited because Mom donated all her old disco clothes to the Textile Department of the Los Angeles County Museum of "Art". Mom has really gotten Dad into some preposterous activities. She gets him dressed up like a fop in linen suits from France and makes him shuffle around Museums in Moroccan embroidered slippers while important ball games are on TV.

So Finley, Zelda and I will watch the presidential debate live.


Monday, October 11, 2004

My wife Finley has posed naked

I found some old pictures of my wife Finley. I'm torn between being pissed or proud. She is gorgeous. I guess it's only normal that people would want to enjoy her nakedness.

Mom went to an audition for "That's so Raven." She's been acting out all morning by the pool, pretending to be an "eccentric Krapponian dance instructor." Frankly, I don't see the difference between this character and her. Her lipstick is really dark today and she looks scary.

Finn and I are just going to cozy up on the couch in the Den...maybe chase the stupid Kitty around a little bit. She likes the discipline. Dad's at work playing Foosball.


Saturday, October 09, 2004

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The morning after the 2nd presidential debate. Digesting the bad fish.  Posted by Hello


Bad Fish

Mom and Dad invited a bunch of people to the second presidential debate. Nobody came except grandad and the head writer for Dennis Miller. We had to listen to the candidates yelling because Grandad didn't wear his hearing aid. He doesn't understand or care that Bush was a full 40 times louder to me. That hurt. I don't like what he's saying when I'm just reading his lips. Usually, Mom and Dad hit the mute button when Bush is talking. Mom was very mad at Kerry for not being tough enough on Bush.

Since nobody came, there was a lot of wasted fish. Why would she make fish when she can make anything at all? There's all kinds of good stuff in the fridge--there's 2 packages of hot dogs sitting on Greek left overs from last week. Why couldn't we have those, during the Red Sox game before the dabate like normal people? Instead, they had to have their pretentious, liberal debate fish.

I really don't like fish that much at all. I'll taste it, because it usually has some butter or wine sauce but once you get the sauce off it, it's just foul tasting fish and I spit it out. Finn likes it though, she pushes me out of the way and eats it off the floor. I wonder just how fat she will get. I'll always love her no matter how fat she gets because she let me in here. I've never been so happy.

Dad's happy, but he's always complaining about something. Sometimes Mom feels like she ruined Dad's life.

Mom: "I know you'd rather be living by yourself up in Big Sur. You'd have no responsibilities, you could sell the house, get out of Hollywood and go up there in some sordid cabin and date some divorced hippie who makes candles. You'd have plenty of money and you could lie around with a book on your chest and nap with your mouth open...I'm just your ball and chain."

Dad: "You're not my ball and chain; I'm the ball and chain. You're the wind beneath my ball and chain."

Then Dad went to take a jacuzzi in the dark. He's probably in there complaining while he boils in the hot bubbles.


Thursday, October 07, 2004

Shitting at the Ivy

We took a big walk down Robertson Boulevard this afternoon and right in front of the Ivy, the fancy movie star-studded restaurant, I had a terrible stomach problem. I don't know what happened, but I had to run up close to the tree in front of the Ivy where the valet parking is and squirt out a runny, brown, soft boiled egg of a poop. I tried to aim it up the tree to hide it because there were lots of agents and Hollywood types looking at me from the terrace of the restaurant. Dad said it was ok, "only jerks go there--at least every time I go there, it's full of jerks."

Then we went to a kitchen design store and looked at marble counter tops. They are trying to get ideas for the kitchen in Nice. Finley lay down in the kitchen design store and wouldn't walk, so Mom had to drag her from one kitchen display room to the next. Finn had to be dragged to the car too. We went through Benedict Canyon with the top down and had dinner at Beverly Glen in a Chinese restaurant. My stomach was still upset but it didn't stop me from having some spring rolls.

I helped Dad drive home, my paws on the steering wheel and ears in the wind. The sun was going down and the pollution made it look like the mountains were shrouded in a pink, purple mist. The Goodfellas soundtrack was on, we were all in the pack and it was magic.


Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Bush-- the man who fights like a Pug bitch in heat Posted by Hello


Debate Mania

It's debate mania around here. The Kerry dude was like a Mastiff taking a pug (Bush) by the throat and shaking it until it died.

I like the debates because mom and Dad stay home; they hang out with food in the game room.

I'm not a registered Democrat like Mom and Dad and besides, the Caleefornia governor just signed an animal rights bill, outlawing foie gras, so now I think that Republicans are not all bad. Just most of them.

Mom says Cheney headed a pharmaceutical company before Halliburton. You know what they do to animals at pharmaceutical companies? Let's put it this way...the shelter in San Pedro was a 5 star spa compared to that kind of place. He's got bad teeth that he shows all the time.

Politics are worse than the pound--a lot of promises about getting adopted and then the gas.

I wonder if Edwards has dogs. I'd have a hard time being his dog though, with that weird mole on his mouth. It looks like a pencil eraser is growing out of his upper lip. That would bug me. His wife looks cozy though, like you could take a really good nap on her fatness. She looks like a couch that could pet you. They've got some food in that house. Doesn't look like much of it falls on the floor though.