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.

H2Ohmygod You So Dumb

So obvilessly da cats joining our house was the worst day of my life (close second bein' when my Facebook did got disabled or a second second bein' when we went to the least funnest place on Earth or a third second bein' that time I got no effin' respect for saving my whole family.) 

Anywhoseyourdaddy, when the craps was shittens I had to teach em to BACK OFF MY FOOD. This lean bitch keep a regimented diet and it don't involve skank-ass feral kitty fur. Moo-is-for-mom was always like, Stell, relax, they weigh two pounds! N I was like, Stella gonna weigh two pounds if pee-on-the-bed Vegas and cry-for-no-reason Eden keep eating MY vittles.

'Parently Eden really took my heartfelt recommendation cuz now not only does she steer clear of my food, tan-and-bland will not drink out of the communal water bowl. That's right, fool. She will not drink water. She WILL drink out of the toilet (classy!) or the leftover droplets from the shower or the sink. She'd even prolly drink Donald's poo-hole but Chestard gots a monopoly on that reservoir.

Mom tried puttin' out a new "neutral zone" water bowl but no-thoughts-behind-those-eyes-Eden still didn't get it. I heard Dad tell Mom, "I feel like we're gonna end up bringing this cat to the vet and they gonna say she's dying of dehydration." Oh. Jeez. That would be so tragic. Sad face. But seriously, what is the point of living if you that dumb. Maybe I should ask Chester.

Peace.

Princess Eden on in her throne

Runner's Low

It ain't been a great week for this bitch. The leg has been 'proving but what did not help the healin' process was mom's ultimate betrayal: Mom took Donald for a run. I know whatchoo thinkin'.Mom RUN? And not just in the euphemism way like runnin' to da store to buy food, or runnin' out for lunch (extra mayo on the sandwich AND on the side, please), or runnin' up the credit card bill...on food. No I mean run in the actual, literal (real literal) run way. The other night working-out-means-two-dinners-worth-of-dinner-Mom announced to not-working-out-means-two-dinners-worth-of-dinner Dad, I'm gonna jog around da Rose Bowl. Dad was like, Are you taking the boys? Which is code for, You don't need me to walk them, do you? Mom was like, I just walked them like I always do except when you do which is never. But then she was like, You know, I've never tried jogging with Donald. Maybe I'll take him and see how it goes.

I was hearin' this convo and I was not happy for several reasons: One reason that I have a dang LAME LEG and it sucks, two reason that I LOVE the Rose Bowl (not as much as Griffith or Elysian or Ernest Debs or Silver Lake Reservoir but pickins' is slim and a chola girl gotta take what she can get) and third reason that of anyone to get chosen over my ass, it gotta be Dontald? That stunty weinermobile lay down on the ground when we walk more than a mile, or even 'round the block. In fact, it ain't a crazy sight to see Puppy Bear (Psycho killer) Stare laying down to EAT. Who lay down to eat? (Besides the lump. And Mom n Dad if they could figure out how to do it without choking.)

Anyways, Mom came home sweaty like she jogged 30 miles but really it only 3. She had hardly been gone any time at all so I was thinking YUP TOLD YOU IT WOULDN'T WORK JEEZ. But then she was all, Babe meaning Dad (gross!), he did SO GOOD. He kept up AWESOME. I can't believe I never took him jogging before. I --

That's where Stella stopped listening and hobbled my ass to the bedroom, cuz ARE YOU KIDDING? Jogging with Mom or as I call it "Mom jog, Stella walk just a little faster than usual" is like the one thing this bitch got over the low-speed traveling quarter pound Hebrew nationals.

To make it even worse, all night long Mom n Dad was talking about how mute-brute Donald was havin' a runner's high and then Chestwerp was trying to catch a contact runner's high and Stella was lyin' on the bed havin' the ultimate runner's low.

I know it hard to tell cuz he so low to da ground anyways, but this is Dorkald, too lazy to stand up to eat. (You know it bad when Queefster givin' the side eye.)

My brothers.

Pain in the

LEG. Ugh!!!

Oh my dog, you guys. This bitch has NOT been doin' so fly. Last Thursday Mom came home to find my ass on three (sexy) legs. Mom was like, "Stella what happened to your foot oh I have to go take care of the lump I'll be back." A million years later she be back to check on me. She was all pretending to be a doctor and I was like, You not Becca! What you think you gonna learn from squeezing on my haunches like you squeeze your pants over your front butt (the scale might say you 5 pounds from your pre-pregnancy weight but Stella says your body disagree). 

Make-it-stop-Mom asked better-but-still-annoying-Dad, Was she like this when you got home? And Dad: Did not know. Like, he seriously had been so lump-obsessed he did not notice that when he come home and open the bedroom door it were only Tweedle Dumbald and Tweedle Dumbster who come runnin' out.

Baby-spitup-is-the-new-deoderant-mom-n-dad 'cluded that it weren't broken. ("We'd be able to tell if it were broken, right?" Yeah. Right?" "Yeah...You don't think it's broken do you?"). So Mom gave me some peanut butter with a hard thing in it and was like, Let's see how she be tomorrow. But when tomorrow came this cool-ass mutt was still hurtin' like Chester's face hurt my soul.

So martyr Mom took my ass to da vet. The vet was like, It's a sprain. And then he STABBED ME IN THE NECK. And when I took it like Dad takes Mom's shit, the vet be like, "She takes shots well." And I was like, Damn straight. What kinda chola I be if I couldn't take a hit now n then?

Anyways, I still feel a ways from "aight" but I think the sausage with hard things Mom been giving me been helpin' a little and after a few days off my game I even been able to lay the smack down and tell off a few of the punk-ass neighborhood dogs who think it OK to walk past my window. (It not.)

As for what happened to cause this effed up sitch-uation... Yo, Stella ain't a narc. But let's just say, sometimes evil things come in cuddly block-head packages. With feet that pretend to be legs.

I COULD be any louder

Every body know that if you live in my house and you a dog and maybe if you a cat too, your day gots to start with a little ass kickin. The loving-but-firm booty whipping is as simple as Chester. You simply walk out into the hall and I tackle your ass. This is how it's been since the beginning of time (like, when me n mom lived in Hollywood just us and life was less complicated and also smarter). Back then there wasn't nobody to tackle so I would jump on mom and she would laugh because her own poor life decisions hadn't drained the fun out of her yet.

But now suddenly large-and-in-charge mom and large-but-not-in-charge dad be hatin' on my routine. They be like, "Really, Stella?" and "Oh my God could you be any louder." I'm like, umm, first of alls, Yes, really, chins-to-China Mom, and also, Wow, actually I could be so much louder SEE CHECK THIS OUT I AM TALKING TO THAT NEIGHBOR POOCH WHO BE FRONTIN' ALL DAY AND OWWWWW MOM DON'T PULL ME BY MY COLLAR I'M GONNA CALL CESAR MILAN AND HE WILL SSSSSHHH YO ASS, JEEZ.

I just feel like milksupply mom gotta axe herself, Is this really worth da stress it is clearly causin' her to yell at the one being in her life who make the least amount of mess for her? (Think.About.It) I'm just releasin' a little steam in the morning by reminding the redheaded stumpchildren they suck butthole and not in a delicious way.

Donald wants to live with the neighbors and I am totally supportive of that

Yo so everybody know Donald be a weird dude but homeboy has really ratcheted up da crazy in recent months.It all started in October when mom n the lump went to buy a video lump monitor in Long Beach. It was flippin' hot so mom left the windows in the bedroom open and some fans on. Me n the redheaded lowriders was chillin. I was nappin, drinkin a little agua, okay, yes I mighta even given my undercarriage a little lick. But Donald was actin crazy like how mom acts when dad say he gonna say he gonna take care of that thing he said he was gonna take care of and mom wanna know, when you gonna stop will do it and just done it.


Anyway Don'tald was gettin more n more frantic.  I was like, Yo. What is going on with your ass (besides smelling delicious no wonder Chester eats it for breakfast lunch and afternoon snacks)? But Fat Baby didn't answer because he only talk "with his eyes" as loser face mom says.


Then he did it. That stumpy leg weirdo jumped out da window. Through the screen. To the pavement like 7 feet below or if you measuring in Donald feet like 346 feet.The neighbors found puppy bear and seen the fallen screen and seen the broken banana plant that silent-but-ugly landed on.  They called mom but mom was like, I'm with the lump in Long Beach I suck so bad. They were like, it's ok, we like him eventhough he is an aloof weirdo.


Dad put back the screen and things went back to normal or I guess I should say the new normal in this post-lump life. And then he did it again. Same screen, same banana plant, same neighbors rescued his ginger wide load. And then mom n dad was like, hmmm, I guess we should close the window.It seemed like that did the trick. Man, mom n dad is so smart sometimes.


But then a few months later they left for Christmas in Connecticut or as I like to say, Lumpmas is the Dumpest.While mom n dad was across the country wearing coats like that's fun we was kickin it with our homegirl Cara who seem to tolerate my idiot brothers like dad has tolerated mom all these years. I was havin a bomb ass time but I guess Dumbald wasn't cuz when Cara was out one day, Two-inch-inseam jumped through the plywood section of the window by the air conditioner (yeah I know another question could be why mom n dad still had the a/c in December).


The neighbors brought put-the-stubby-in-stubborn inside and let him play with their dog and also gave him chicken because I guess you get rewarded for breaking through wood with your face.
Mom n dad took out the air conditioner and closed the window (I told you they was geniuses) but everytime we hangin outside Doucheald go to the neighbors door or just walk right in if he can push the door open with his frying pan face and they seem to love him despite his Significant flaws so I say next time he decide to throw himself out the window onto dad's broken banana plant I hope the neighbors think about a permanent Dopeald  'doption.

Hate to admit it, but that booty be like an apple cinnamon Glade plug-in.