What if I bite Kim Bassinger?

I've got six more days until I get in the ring at the big "Nuts for Mutts Dog Show." It's a fund raiser for homeless dogs and a spoof of the Westminster Dog Show. The dogs who will be competing have no pedigrees and no balls.

I feel a lot of pressure because Mom really wants me to win. I don't know what it's going to be like there, all the way out in Woodland Hills, in the heat with hundreds of mutts competing for Best in Show. We're going to be climbing over mountains of dog poop. I'm in the Terrier Mix group and I have to run around a ring with Mom to see if I even qualify to be in the formal competition.

I've been boiling myself in the Jaccuzi and getting myself mentally prepared for a big, phony Hollywood let down.

Mom: "He'd better qualify."

Dad: "What if he bites the judges?"

Mom : "It's being hosted by Kim Bassinger. She'd better not try to touch him or he'll bite her."

Dad: "What if we're like those parents who think their kid is a genius and then as soon as he gets into a school they find out their kid is retarded--that the kid is the dumbest kid in the class?"

Mom: "That's not possible. He's the cutest and no one is cuter."

Dad: "What if it's all rigged, like everything else in this town?"

Mom: "Don't be so negative. He's going to WIN. He has to win."

Mom is acting like a hyper-caffeinated stage mother. Just because she can't get an acting job in this town, does it mean that I have to be put through the anxiety of having to be cuter than every other dog? We looked at the pictures from the show last year and a totally ordinary, boring dog won last year.

Other than Kim Bassinger, the celebrities were definitely B list, like Mom. Eric Roberts was there. Mom played his wife on that "Less than Perfect" show that got canceled. I just can't believe that Eric Roberts gets to decide if I'm cute enough to qualify for a mutt dog show in Woodland Hills.

Mom and Dad have been fighting like cats and dogs over who gets to parade me in front of the judges. Guess who the judges are. The Barbie Twins. That's right, four hot air balloons are going to be giving me the fish eye.

The eight hundred year old calendar twins get to decide if I'm cute or not.

This is such a load of cat poop.