Monday, October 31, 2005

Finley the French Maid

Finley: "Is your house dirty? I'll make it FILTHY!" Posted by Picasa

Mom got us all dressed up and dragged us to Bow Woween, a Hollywood dog costume party in Brentwood. It was for a good cause and all (Much Love and other adoption orgs) but I got into some fights. A lot of people tried to touch me and so I bit them.

Mom: "Oh no! We've got to get him outta here, he's biting everybody!"

Dad: "I told you he needs a muzzle but you won't listen to me."

Finley didn't act like a lady either. She was attacking all the contestants and we had to pull her out of there because she was so aggressive in her little maid outfit. She wanted to win, eat everybody's food and intimidate the competition so we had to leave.

I think we ruined Mom's day.

We were bad.


A gangster and his moll. She was a real hottie. Posted by Picasa

And yes, I kicked his ass and I humped her.


The winner of the Grand Prize at Bow Wow Ween. A Hermit Crab. He pulled his crab float around all day. Finley tried to kill the crab because it won. Posted by Picasa


These guys were doing a spaghetti Western. See? He's carrying his spaghetti. Finley stole the spaghetti , ate it raw and then I kicked his ass.


I kicked his ass Posted by Picasa


Chihuahua hunter. Right. Like this dog could ever actually catch something other than the dog flu. I kicked his ass big time. Posted by Picasa


These two white dogs had black spots glued on them for the contest. Posted by Picasa

I kicked both their asses.


Bow Wow Ween Posted by Picasa

I don't know if that's a his or her winkie. Finley tried to kill her as soon as we got there. She doesn't like competition.


Sunday, October 30, 2005

Stupid Kitty Taunting Coyotes  Posted by Picasa



Stupid Kitty has no idea that the even stupider kitty down the street was found in several pieces last week after a meeting with a coyote. Mom hardly ever lets her come out unless she's on a leash but when Stupid Kitty does come out, she's really happy about being able to stink up the garden furniture and maybe get a chance to kill something.

Sometimes, she'll get lucky and catch a really dumb, slow fly that's too stupid to move. This makes her happy.

I don't want her to get eaten or anything like that, but I'd sure like to see a big fat crow swoop down and poop on her head. It would be so cool to watch a nice fly by and guano-drip right between those creepy non-blinking eyes of hers.

Dad calls that "schadenfreude," that great feeling you get when something lousy happens to somebody else. It's Dad's favorite thing, I think. Like today, he was dancing because someone he knows had a bad box office weekend gross. (That's the pile of dough that a movie makes opening weekend and if it doesn't do well in the first two days, the movie dies.)

Mom was looking up the "opening weekend numbers" on some dumb movie and it had bombed. Dad was so happy! You'd think he had just found a pile of money because he was twirling around and pumping his middle finger in the air just because the movie had flopped.

Dad: "Ha ha! Hee hee! Ha ha ha ha ha! That's what you get! You didn't want to consult me about making it funny! 'Cause I'm old. The old bald man. That's what you get when you put out movies with the young sensibility, the kind of movie that's hip and in touch with what young people want to see, huh? Penis and snot jokes, right Jinky? By next week, it'll disappear, you pompous, superior melon head. Hee ha hee!

Mom: "I read for that movie! He could have hired me and at least had one funny scene but no! Wow. What a bomb! All bad reviews. Did you see? All D's and F's.

Dad: "I hate critics unless they hate something I hate and then the morons are all geniuses. Hee hee hee."

Then the Yankees lost and Mom and Dad were delirious. They were having a real schadenfreude night. They were jumping up and down and dancing. Dancing because a team lost!

Mom: (screaming out over the balcony so the whole canyon could hear her) "Whooooooooo! Wooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Dad: "OK, OK, that's enough! Can't tempt karma. Remember when I got all excited when Dennis Miller's show got canceled and a day later my show got canceled?"


Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Rumanian Attack Orphans Posted by Picasa


Rumanian Attack Orphans

Mom and Dad have some friends who live in Monaco and the wife, Valerie, is a big movie producer in France. Valerie and Pierre (a French cinematographer) have adopted an eight year old girl from an orphanage in Rumania and Mom would like to adopt a human baby too because she can't make one herself (there's something wrong with her ginch). Dad doesn't want any human babies, he's happy with dogs.

Valerie and Pierre were here for dinner last night but in the middle of dinner, Valerie's cell phone rang. Right away, everybody at the table knew there was a major problem. They all got very quiet to hear the call, which was from the English nanny. I heard the whole thing, even the tiny voice of the nanny because I'm a dog and can hear hundreds of times better than humans.

Nanny: "The nasty little minger bit me! She bloody bit me in the tit!"

Valerie: "Oh, no! I'm so sorry. Put her on the phone right away. (then to Pierre) She bit the nanny."

Nanny: "Get over here now, you stupid cow, and talk to your mother. You're in big trouble. I've 'ad it up to here with you, I 'ave."

Then the Rumanian orphan got on the phone and yelled so loud, everyone at the table heard it.

Rumanian Orphan: "You'd better fire this whore NOW or I'm going to cut myself. I'm going to swallow all the pills in the medicine cabinet unless you come home right NOW!"

Valerie: "Calm down, Darling, Mummie will be home in a few minutes. Try to relax. Play with your disco barbie. Put that new outfit on her and Mummie will be right back."

Pierre and Valerie got up from the table.

Mom: "She bites? Oh, my God."

Valerie: "It's awful. She has an attachment disorder and she bites my breasts. She almost bit my nipple off! She hits me as hard as she can and she hasn't looked at me in the eye for years. I'm covered in bruises."

Dad: "Can't you give the kid back? Return it?"

Valerie: "We can't give her back. It's ruined our lives. We haven't had a relaxing weekend in years. She's been biting us ever since we got her out of Rumania."

Mom: "Oh my God! What are you going to do?"

Pierre: "She bit the last nanny and she quit. At least here, the nannies don't sue like in the States. It's been a tremendous strain."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. A dog would be put down for this stuff.

Pierre: "I'm sorry guys, we're going to have to go. We've got a situation. Come on Val."

After they left, in the kitchen, Mom and Dad were cleaning up and having esspressos. Finley and I were helping out by doing the pre-rinse cycle on the dishes, licking up all the left over sauce and getting them ready for the dishwasher.

Mom: "What if we adopted a little girl from Bangladesh, a four or five year old? We could give her a life."

Dad: "Didn't you hear Valerie? They bite!"

Mom: "They don't all bite!"

Dad: "Ours would. It'll grow up and burn the house down and murder us. Forget it. No way."

Mom: "Jinky bites. You want to return him?"

Dad: "He bites other people, to protect us. If I could get a kid who would only bite burglars--like an attack orphan, then maybe."

Mom: "But ours wouldn't turn out like that, we'd have an adorable, beautiful little girl who could have a wonderful life with us! There are so many who need loving homes. They're just waiting for someone to love them, like dogs at the pound!"

Dad: "No! I'm not getting anything you can't take back. With our luck, the kid would steal all my money and become a criminal. I'm not adopting some ex-commie pyromaniac crook. Let's just stick to dogs."

Mom: "Oh come on. You're being harsh."

Dad: "No really, did you ever think that we're not supposed to have kids? That maybe our bodies are refusing to have kids to save us? Our bodies are trying to save us from making a terrible mistake!"

It's just as well they're put off by the biting Rumanian orphan. They couldn't handle a child. They're too immature.


Sunday, October 23, 2005

Live Free or Die

Live Free or Die Posted by Picasa

We finally found our hotel, the Spruce Moose. The people here are cozy, flannel-wearing dog lovers. We have a big cabin with couches and beds and there is a kitchen. It's a fantastic place, completely surrounded by woods, very few people and lots of wild animals, even bears. But as usual, my people are complaining again. They're never satisfied.

Mom: "Oh my god. Look at these silly curtains. They've got ruffles and pom poms. Can you imagine having this beautiful view of the woods and hiding it with ruffles?"

Dad: "Yup, it's all pretty corny up here in winky world. It's sad to come back here and realize that everything I thought was good was really shit. Let's go to dinner."

Mom: "What the hell would I wear here? There's no glamour."

They got really hungry from all the criticizing so we all walked to the little town for dinner.

As soon as they got served, it started again.

Mom: "Yuck! My butternut squash soup is full of sugar! They made it with maple syrup. Can you believe it? They put a fried apple fritter covered in sugar in it. I can't eat this, it's poison."

Dad: "This is supposed to be the best restaurant in town. My fish is like a dried up brick. I don't know what they did to it."

Mom: "If I'm going to be this far from a city, I want to at least see a live moose."

Dad: "You did. The waitress who just served your maple syrup soup."

The next morning, we drove to the coast and ran on the big, wide beach at Ogunquit. It was the greatest beach I ever ran on. Unbelievable traction, world class seagull chasing, perfect sand consistency and cool, breezy salt air.

I felt like a big, strong, north east beast, like I could jump as high as the sky.

It might be the worst Fall foliage Season in history, but I love New England. There's no pollution, the water in the creeks is crystal clear and delicious and the people aren't phony show business dummies.

What they say in New Hampshire makes a lot of sense to someone like me, having done time on death row. “Live free or die.”


Saturday, October 22, 2005

The Worst Fall Foliage Season in History

We've been on a road trip through New Hampshire, Maine and Massachusetts in the second worst weather in recorded history. I hate to think what the worst weather in recorded history was like because this has been bad. Really bad. Dangerous bad, with flooding rivers, dead bodies, washed out roads and none of what we came here for...foliage.

Even though it's all soggy, I still love this road trip. The air is so clean, you can smell a moose poop hundreds of miles away. There are tons of animals who live here that don't live in Hollywood, like tiny, striped chipmonks, who dart around the trees. Finny looks like she woke up out of a coma here. She's all excited about running through dead leaves and finding something alive to chase.

Of course, Mom and Dad have been complaining non-stop. They've been fighting like they were in the Octagon cage (the "Extreme Fighting" you see on pay per view) except that this cage is a grey rented Grand Am with zero horsepower.

Everyone we meet says it's the worst Fall foliage season in history and that there's no cuhlah (that's how they pronounce color ovah heah). But I saw plenty of cuhlah. I saw a bright red bird and all the New England humans wear red, orange or bright green stretchy outfits.

The New England humans look like a different species than the humans in Hollywood or Paris. They smell different too. They're not doused with perfume and the females don't wear as much make-up or high spikey shoes. There’s no weird, expressionless botox look here and the lady human lips don’t look like huge jelly donuts, stuffed with their own ass-fat. The human males here all look like they could build stuff. In L.A., the human males look all like manicured poodles.Even the dogs in New England are ten times bigger. And the dogs here work.

Dad has some land in New Hampshire that he inherited. Since Dad grew up here, he thought it might be great to come home and he wanted to show Mom, hoping that she would like it enough to move here. But I don't think that's going to happen.

Dad: "All my dreams growing up are as dead as the leaves we're driving through. You can't go home. It's miles and miles of Dunkin' Donuts and fatties in flannel shirts. You can't even get a latte here--they look at you like you're nuts. 'Latte? What's that?' They don't want to change anything. It's just like I remember. All shitty little houses. Except now it costs five million to live on a swamp called Winnepesaukee and get devoured by mosquitoes, gnats and black flies."

Mom: "Yeah, and there's nothing fresh here! At the store, all they have is apples and iceberg lettuce! I'd never be able to cook anything I like here! And look at all the No Hunting signs everywhere. That means they're hunting and murdering animals all over the place! All the hotels have giant stuffed, decapitated moose heads. We are deep in the heartless land."

Dad: "It is beautiful though, don't you think? All these tall trees? You don't see anything like that in L.A."

Mom: "No, we have Palm trees in L.A."

Dad: "Palm trees are phony, ridiculous trees. They're not real trees. It's a giant bush with a rat in it. They're ugly. They belong in Baghdad."

Mom: "We have lush vegetation and we can buy snow peas and Porcini mushrooms. There are flowers everywhere. You stick something in the ground in California and it grows. Here, if you don't uproot everything every year and bring it indoors, it DIES in the freezing cold that lasts six months. And it gets dark at four in the afternoon and you wake up in the dark half the year. I'll fucking kill myself here in the land of fatties in flannel who hunt. "

I'm telling you, all they did was fight in the car. It rained for a week straight and we were lost almost the whole time. Neither one of them knows how to read a map and Dad was too cheap to get the GPS system option from Avis.

Mom: "Where are we going to eat? We haven't seen anything but McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts for hours! We're running out of gas you know."

Then we saw a place in the White Mountains that served live lawbstah (that's how they say lobster up there). Dad wanted to stop there so he could get some clam chowdah. I don't get it. How do all those lawbstahs get up to the mountains? There are no lawbstahs living anywhere near there. I can't understand how anybody would want to eat a thing like that. Don't get me wrong, I love meat, like Dad. And I would kill to get it if I was living alone in the woods but a lawbstah? And clams just look like the things that come flying out of Stupid Kitty's nose. Ew.

Mom: How awful. They must bring all these lobsters from the coast, alive, knowing they're going to be boiled alive and eaten by these horrible people with hunting rifles wearing red flannel. I can't go in there. I can't look at them alive in the tank like that. "

Dad: " I'm going to get some fried clams to go then."

Then we got stuck on a washed out road while Dad ate his fried Kitty snots.


Saturday, October 01, 2005

Poised to rocket some gas Posted by Picasa


The Hills are on Fire and Bill Maher's Fart Doll

The Hills all around us are on fire! The air is thick with smoke. The sky is bright orange and Burbank is burning. Animals are running for their lives and tens of thousands of acres are in flames.

Big planes full of water are flying over our house and thousands of birds are flying through the ashes, yelling to each other and freaking out. It smells like a giant barbecue but this time, it's not veggie burgers, it's deer.

Usually, it's dumbass humans who start fires. Up here on Mulholland drive, I've seen idiots driving giant Hummers and holding a lit cigarette out of the window. What do they think is going to happen if they're driving, talking on their cell and flicking their ashes out the window? Maybe if their mansions burned down, they'd think about being a little more careful with their burny stinky sticks.

Speaking of burny stinky sticks, Mom, Dad and a couple of their friends got into a fight last night with a group of loud, sequined chain smokers at a restaurant. All four of them had their stinky sticks burning at the same time, while we were eating.

Dad's friend is amazing. His name is David Feldman. He's a writer for Bill Maher and has funny hair on his head--kind of like the hair on the head of a doll, but that's not why he's so powerful. He has a website called DavidFeldmanisimpotent. But he's not at all, which I soon found out. Dad calls him Bill Maher's Fart Doll and now I understand why.

During dinner, Bill Maher's Fart Doll was sitting right next to the chain smokers and he was getting annoyed by the smoke.

Bill Maher's Fart Doll: (to the smoking lady sitting next to us) "Would you mind holding your cigarettes over there, not over here?"

Mom: (so they could hear) "Are they allowed to smoke here? This is LA! You can't even smoke at the beach in LA!"

Dad: "Well we are outside. If he likes to smoke so much, I just wish that guy would blow the smoke on his guests, not us."

Chain Smoker #1: (real phony) "Gee, I'm sorry? But we're outside here, aren't we?"

Bill Maher's Fart Doll: "Ok, I'm going to ask you politely one more time. Either hold your cigarettes on your side of the table or put them out. My wife has asthma. I'm not going to ask you again."

Then the other two people at their table lit more cigarettes, completely ignoring Fart Doll. They laughed at us and blew more smoke our way.

Mrs. Fart Doll: (to Fart Doll) "Honey, are you carrying? Are you loaded?"

Bill Maher's Fart Doll: (to Mrs. Fart Doll) "I'll take care of this."

Then the most incredible thing happened. FD stood up very calmly, lifted up his jacket, positioned himself with his ass directly in front of one of the chain smokers and blew a high- pressure gas bomb right in her face, giving her an instant chemical peel!

Her sequins melted.

The Fart Doll's gas was so powerful, a cloud of vapors hovered over the chain smokers and they started choking from the fumes. They looked like they were about to die. FD claims he's a vegetarian but he's lying. I know that gas had some pork fat and cheese pushing it's way through the tube of raw sewage before it shot out of his khakis.

He must be the most powerful man in Hollywood. If he worked for the government, that would be the end of all wars. They could harvest that ass gas of his and attach it to long range missiles. That's the only shortfall of his weapon. He doesn't have the long range delivery power.

I might be able to help him with that. It's something to work on. A viable Hollywood project. Bill Maher should let his Fart Doll loose on his show. It would blow away the competition.