Lump Be Talkin' Shit

UGH. Like old as shit Chester gettin' outta bed, this post be a long time comin. Not much be new except that the lump be startin' to talk and it's like WOW, I did not know how annoying that could be. To mom's great joy and my torture, Lump now know everybody names. She be all, "Ste-la," "Don-al," "Che-ta" and it sooooo irritating. Like, I hear her crazy little ass comin' down da sidewalk squawkin' mah name 'n gloaty mom all like, "Yes, you are going to see Stella! Very good!" (Can I take a sec to comment on how many times I gotta hear the lump complimented when she take a book off the shelf or take a sip a water or fill her nasty ass diaper?) Anyways, then she come inside and immediately she lookin' for me n I tryin' to hide but damn my house be small and filled with crap and by crap I mostly mean Donald and Chester n the cats.

The worst thing about Lump knowin' mah name is when she take it 'pon herself to yell at me. Like, when I outside and someone walkin' by n I kindly inquire WHY THE EFF YOU GOTTA WALK BY MY HOUSE MOVE ALONG DON'T LOOK AT ME HOMES KEEP MOVING I SAID DON'T LOOK AT MY ASS. N now before mom can even open her wide-load mouth, I be hearin' the lump, like she da police or some shit all, "STE-LA! STE-LA! STE-LA!!" Like, you for real?? You tellin' me what to do? You can't even put on ya shirt with that stupid monkey or kitty or perfume bottle on it. (I can't put on a shirt neither but that just because I don't wear shirts. 'Cept on Halloween when mom decide to show how much she can suck and guess what it a lot.)

Sometimes we be walkin' in the hood on a lame-ass "family walk" which mean mom has guilted dad's ass into comin wid us and I gotta hear lump commentary every time I pop a squat. "Pee-pee" "Poo-poo." ("Very good, Lump!"). Shoot me now. Worse of all is when some other joker start barkin' in they yard and know what happen next? Lump start brayin' "STE-LA! STE-LA!" Like every barkin bitch be me! Talk about discrimination! Shit ain't right.

A Shitty Night

Sometimes I find myself asking myself, Were the shelter really that bad...? I mean, sure, my name were Oscar and that was seriously effed up but there was a lot less shit to deal with. Case in point:

Last night kicked off with mom n dad cleanin' up da house after all they stuff was exploded everywhere after our trip to The Sequoias (more on this trip later but let's just say you can take the chola outta LA but you can't tell this bitch not to guard her house! Or a rental cabin! Or a blanket where you are pretending to be a hippie by a creek.) Few hours in, the house was cleanin' up pretty good when Dad made his first crappy discovery: Chester had pooed on da pile of dirty sheets in the bedroom. Dad actually seemed to take the dirt squirt in stride and said excitedly and with only a little butt of sarcasm, "Way to go, Chester! You dooked on the dirty laundry instead of the clean!"

But things was about to go down the drain...

Little later on, Dad was pattin' himself on da back about how much he been cleanin and was crowing, "Man, we are in good shape!" As he say this he walk back into the bedroom n discover that drop-a-brick Donald had ass-juiced all over the bed. (Which were puzzling since Chester generally takes care of this hygiene matter for Donald at least four times a day.) Dad were not so Zen at this second assfront (like affront - SAT word, holla! - but with ass juice).

Mom n Dad stripped the bed. Luckily they had just one day earlier cleaned the duvet and the comforter and all the sheets so they hadn't forgotten how to do it. Dad remade the bed and Mom went to brush her teeth but she had only brushed like one of her gigantic teeth when she heared Dad yellin from the livingroom. Dad is not a religious guy but he was yelling Oh My God OH my GOD OH MY GOD like he filled with the Holy Spirit if the Holy Spirit fill you with rage which maybe sometime it do how the hell should I know I only been baptized ON THE STREET. REPRESENT. Anywhatever, turn out Chestwerp really weren't feelin' well cuz he had caca-ed INTO the lump's play yard. Chester hid in the bathroom. Yes at last he shuffled into the correct location for his current state (liquid not solid) while Dad ranted at Chester, the world and Mom for telling him he better not wake the baby. "She not gonna wake up I'm aloud to be mad you get mad too!" I didn't transcribe this shit but you get the picture. Mom took over cleaning because she were deemed more gifted at getting the tiny turdlets out of the holes in the play yard grate - perhaps it remind her of scraping her cups of yogurt clean, or managing to squeeze every last drop o' Ranch outta the bottle, or relievin' the frying pan of those little bits of bacon grizzle crust, or...

At last it were time to go to bed. After a lengthy debate on where their leaking lowrider should sleep, Mom n Dad decided on the bedroom, in the crate, with a blanket. At three in the morning/night? the stench woke us up and this time Mom had the noble task of cleaning out the crate while Dad rued the day he were born (you n me both, Dad!). Chestsquirts got a towel 'stead of another blanket but 'pparently he had a turdle (like trouble but with a turd) gettin' comfy cuz he were bangin' 'round in his crate for the rest of the morning/night.

All I can say is good thing I'm a bitch without no job so I can sleep off this shitty night! Mom, if you readin' this please pick my ass up a Slurpee cuz it hot outside (though nice n cool in the bedroom since you gotta leave the A/C on all day cuz if you do windows Donald might use his shortened legs to shorten his life).

Fed Up. A Post About MY FOOD.

Yo so I gotta say, this bitch has relaxed, like, a lot in recent years when it come to my cuisine. Back in the day, ain't nobody could glance in the sort of direction of Stella's bowl without gettin' a HEY FUGLY YOU GOT A STARIN' PROBLEM. These days, things is more chill. I might just react like Mom do when she see Dad with something and she say something like she trying to be innocent (but gimme a break it's Mom) like, Oh I didn't know we had M&Ms. I be like, OH WHAT YOU LOOKING AT YEAH I DO GOTTA NICE BOWL THANK YOU FOR NOTICIN' NOW YOU CAN LEAVE, QUICKLY THOUGH.

The cats still ain't 'llowed to gander more than a quick peek but here n there I even seen Cheesedoor or Dunceald take a dip into Stella's kibble n I be like, I'll kick your ass for that later but now, Aight.

But it been makin' this bitch real nervous seein' the lump flingin' her crazy bod around da house and approachin' my dish. Anytime she poke that wheels-on-da-damn-bus-round face outta her doorway, I gotta stop whatever important thing my ass be doin' - kickin' Donald's ass, kickin' Chester's ass, eatin' my own ass - n sprint over to my bowl. Sometimes I take a few quick nervous nibbles (Not even hungry UGH this must be what Mom feel like when she keep eatin' long after her ass must be full). Or sometimes I just gotta guard those precious vittles as the lump flop in my direction. Yesterday, the lump had a particularly sneaky look in her eye as she approach and as I was watchin' over my plate like a soldier, I might have shown her just the tiniest bit of my teeth. Just, like, a little tiny bit. But Mom n Dad blew it WAY outta portion (like their own portions, amirite?). Dad jumped up like the New York Jets had won or lost or butt fumbled n grabbed all da food bowls off the ground while sayin' in a not very suggestin' way, STELLA. BEDROOM. And he even follow me in there which was rather unnecessary I thought.

Meanwhile, the lump overtook the water bowl and dumped it all out on the floor and a bunch went into the heating vent and made a bad smell that Dad maybe thought was a gas leak cuz she'd drenched the pilot light but it turned out it was just the water sizzling on the vent n reactin' with all the dog n cat hair down there (ain't my fault I been sheddin' layers for da summer, least someone trimmin' down JEEZ). Mom told Dad she was sorry, she was ABOUT to pick up the water bowl. But Stella think it more likely Mom was ABOUT to respond to somethin' on Facebook n wasn't really watchin' the lump scramble around like a walrus in miniature.

Anyway, Stella do NOT 'ppreciate that she the one gettin' sent to da bedroom when Lamp is da one breakin' the rules. It certainly ain't canine surgery if  flippin' Queefster can learn which bowl be his...

Poo-ster Shots

Mom got grossly sick from eating old meat that Dad had told her she shouldn't eat but he didn't tell her that until after she ate it and got sick. She called out sick by emailing which she did by logging on through her remote work account which had not been accessed since the last time she sick. Just sayin. So she stayed home which was cool cuz then Donald didn't cry (as much) but after eatin' some of the whole sleeve of Ritz crackers while wearing a Snuggie on the couch I think she started getting flabbin' fever (it's like cabin fever except when you eat a some of actually it was the whole box of Ritz). So Mom put on what I guess could be considered clothes if you is homeless or a really really ironic hipster... and took us to the vet!


I could not believe that shit. Here I was all excited like, Wow maybe we goin' to a PARK with NO LUMP which we haven't done in how old is the lump now wait I don't care. We was even drivin' in the same direction as Elysian. OH MY DOG I LOVE ELYSIAN! But we didn't go to Elysian. We went to da most depraved place ever outside-a Queefster's brain.


When it were my turn, mom was all, Can you clip her dewclaw, too?  Because 'pparently it weren't enough that I was already gettin' stabbed in the neck/back. They clipped my claw AND IT STARTED BLEEDIN' ON THE FLOOR. In a rare moment of compassion (or maybe she just didn't want my blood in her car) Mom were like, "Oh, ummm, I think she's bleeding." YOU THINK? And then the vet person goes, as an excuse I guess, "Oh, yeah, her claw is black so..." WHAT YOU SAID? That is some racist shit right there.


Anyway next time Mom gets sick from eating old meat I hope she be more like dad when he sick and just lay around moaning and whining. It's annoying to listen to but at least it don't hurt.
     

Donald: Prisoner Not Gettin' Out On Good Behavior

Yo I be the first to admit it real annoying when Mom bout to leave for "work" (Facebook, various blogs, Gmail, Yahoo News, Facebook) n she start brayin' "Bedroom, bedroom! Doggies in the bedroom! I suck I suck I suck!" But once I in there it like, whateve, I guess I'll just chill (even though it annoying to not get my view of the street n all the folks who be ILLEGALLY walkin' past my house).

This bitch kicks back on da bed or in the "walk-in" closet that maybe you could walk in if all the clothes mom can't fit into weren't loaded onto da hangers. But while I be 'laxing, Fat Baby - emfatsis on both the fat and the baby - be cryin n cryin (more than the lump but seriously more but I'm serious it's more). He be pacin. He be chewin on the door like Cheesespore chew on his feet (ok not quite as much as Chestwerp gobble those skank-ass pads but still a lot). I tell Short n Stout to KNOCK IT OFF. I say it like Lezle except louder and also while biting his neck. But Blockhead keep at it cuz he is determined like mom is determined to ruin our lives and fun.

"Who live THERE?" Shady-lookin' shades thanks to the ginger melon head.

If you look closely you can see blood in the chew marks. Don't worry he has plenty of blood. That was a fat joke.

Movin Day

Yeah so the last couple days, state-da-oblivious Mom n just-oblivious Dad keep talking 'bout how the munchkin be movin (munchkin is their stupid word for the lump, usually said in a stupid way, sometimes Mom even call it "munchykin" which make the bile rise run up my throat faster than Dunceold be gainin weight n homeboy already within a pound of my chola ass don't tell Aunt Becca).

When I first heared lamp was movin I was like say what? And who gets her room it better not be Salmon face Queefster despite how much foot-eatin he done on that couch - just cuz the wet spots last for days it don't mean it claimed. But then I found out the lump ain't movin' out, she just movin' around. First I were pissapointed to learn I'd misunderstood almost as bad as Donald misunderstand emotion of any kind, but then I was like WAIT WHAT IT MOVING??? N sure enough, lump be pullin' herself around lookin' real crazy and honestly sorta uncomfortable, n Mom n Dad be cheering like somethin' fun happening. This happening not be fun.

You Know da Expression “Shit the Bed”?

Yeah, like, so what the expression when it HAPPENS REALLY?

Friday night ‘round 4:30am Mom n Dad both woke up cuz the lump was cryin’ on her lump monitor. (JEEZ! If you thirsty just get yo ass up n take a drink from the water bowl that’s what I do what the big deal I don’t get it.) Dad was like, “Should we bring her to bed with us?” and Mom was like “No I don’t –“ But then she stop talking (crazy, right?) cuz Dad be like, “Oh my god! Oh my GOD! OH MY GOD!” Dad turn on da light and there be a huge half rolled-in pile of chesturds next to the scared (I’d say shitless but I more clever than that) Chesturd.

Now Stella don’t wanna be poo crude (like too crude but with poo) but the stink logs little white face left in the bed wasn’t like the dried up kind he left on TOP of the bed earlier this week. (Ahem.) These was, like, humid. It was like a whole chocolate mousse cake got rubbed into the sheets but it wasn’t cake.

Mom n Dad stripped the shit sheets and threw Chesdrrrr out of the room, and Mom was ranting ‘bout bein’ “SO OVER THIS DOG!” (even though it wasn’t her who had been “over” it, it was Dad, get it?). When she finally stop screamin and stompin’ around she telled Dad, “I think the lesson to be learned is that this bad word dog needs to be walked until he bad word craps every bad word single time. Even if I’m late for work or bad word exhausted or whatever.” But Dad didn’t hear it cuz he was in the shower washing poop off his back.