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.