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.

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.

Can You Hear Me Now?

So for the last couple months years always, Cheesetwerp has been seriously stubborn.  Like, when we out for a walk (much shorter since why-can't-we-just-let-them-out-back Dad started taking us) Molestard gotta STOP in his tracks, then, with a glaring old man face he WAIT, and then he slowly walk to the tree he want to pee on, and then he sniff around for half a year, and then he go, sometimes.  I be like, Dude. Just tree n pee that shit it ain't like six steps and he look at me like I just spoke English.

He also don't come when still-fat-but-not-as-fat-but-still-fat Mom is calling yelling "Bedroom!" when it's time for us to get locked up for the day like prisoners or unloved dogs.  Sometimes she have to go stompin' around and find leaky eye Chest-durrrr who is usually hunting for crumbs in the kitchen (when his food bowl be full) or curled up looking old on MY favorite chair in da living room or that couple times he was INSIDE the cats' litterbox like it were his own private dog house havin' an all you can excrete cat turd buffet.

Anyhows, my points is it wasn't initially that 'prising when Mom was callin' his ass for a treat and he not comin'.  But then it was sort of weird cuz "treat" is the only word he knows besides (probably) his name.  And then it was like really weird cuz he was like right on the other side of the couch.

And that's when Mom n Dad figured out:  Holy Hearingaid, Chesturd is deaf.  Like, way deaf.  Like, he probably can't even hear when Mom is "asking" Dad to help with the lump person.  Mom n Dad was all confused like, How long this been going on?  N, How we didn't know?  N I was like, UH, HELLO?  You people has been lump-obsessed for the last three months and even before that it was a lot more, Let's buy these stupid tiny clothings and a lot less, Thank you for cleaning the sweat off my legs with your tongue, Stella.

But I digressin'.  Point is, Mom n Dad now tryin' to be a little more 'pathetic to when Chester be acting like he stubborn but really he can't be hearing.  However, does not having good ears mean you poop on the floor TWICE while Mom be leashing you up this Saturday cuz your butt get excited to go out and can't wait the 42 seconds 'til you outside?  'pparently so. 

Guess I'll just talk to you by kicking your ass.

Sexist Bitch in Eagle Rock

Yo.  Man, I been neglectin' this blog!  It's been almost a year since my last post so lemme fill yo asses in on what's up with my ass.  (Notice I said what's UP with my ass and not IN my ass so get the eff outta there Chester!)

First, mom got fat.  Like, more than regular mom fat.  Like, we was going to Elysian and mom was comin' home like, Guess what babe? (that's what she calls dad when she likes him) Chester is getting faster at the park!  He kept up so good!  And I was like, Umm, no.  Yo ass is getting slow.  Face the fats. 

It went on for months and months.  It got so bad she had to get all new clothes.  Excuse me?  This bitch has worn the same size coat since she was on the streets! 

Then one day mom was like, We need to move.  I'm so fat we need a second bedroom to put the fat into.  (Ok she didn't say that last part but why the heck else we gotta leave our den?) And dad was like, No, we can make things work here.  And mom was like, I always win.  And dad was like, No you don't ok yes you do. 

So mom found a place in Eagle Rock and dad was like, I don't like it.  And mom was like,......

So we moved to Eagle Rock.  And Mom got fatter and fatter until one day she was like, My water broke.  And I was like, Yeah just like when Chester's "water breaks" and everyone yells and we have to strip the bed and wash all the sheets.  Then Dad came home and was like, Is this really happening?  And Mom was like, Yes.  And then they left and came back two days later with some weird little lump person that they are calling "Aberdeen" even though Aberdeen is where me n the redheaded losers barked in the car while Mom n Dad was looking under some weird bridge and isn't a name at all. 

bridge.

lump.

Peace.

In 'n Out in 2013

Yo, so since I'm a crazy trend-setter here's my 13-item list of what's cool and what's not for 2013.

• OUT:  Eating Chester's ears; IN:  Eating Donald's neck.
• OUT: Barkin' at da mailman (even though he still sucks); IN:  Barkin' at small children (Why you start running crazy fast like that outta nowhere, fool?  Mad 'spicous.)  
• OUT:  My stupid cats; IN:  Dead cats
• OUT:  Runyon Canyon (poop, celebrities); IN:  Griffith Park (lizards, adventure)
• OUT: Mom; IN: Dad
• OUT: Hating bicyclists (unless they on the sidewalk, then they gonna get told); IN:  Hating skateboarders (Please note this will always be IN.)
• OUT: Sitting before we go out; IN: Tackling Chester while Mom try to put on his leash 'til he turds on the floor and Mom yells and he turds more but this time on the carpet where he's hiding
• OUT: Antlers; IN:  Marrow bones
• OUT: Sleepin' in the bed with everyone UGH; IN:  Lying down on Chester's head and pretending I didn't see him there even when he squeaks. (Shut-up you like it!)
• OUT: Chester's stupid blog; IN: Ahem.
• OUT:  Chester;  IN:  ALSO OUT:  Donald.
• OUT:  Beggin' for food; IN:  Takin' that crumb right off da table.  What. 
• OUT: Having a stupid old-man face (Sorry, Chester); IN: 

Always IN.

Road Trippin' in da 'pacifically Northwest

Last month me and Mom n Dad went on a kick-ass roadtrip.  It was freakin' crazy and awesome and would have been even better if I'd had the backseat to myself but hey, that which do not kill us makes us stronger and therefore better able to kill others. (Feel free to quote me.  Except I copyrighted that shiznit!)

We went 3,366 miles in 11 days.  Here is a run-down of what we did and how awesome or not-awesome it was.  Here's a quick hint:  The not-awesome parts usually involve people that isn't me. 

Days 1-3:  Los Angel-ass to Seattle.
Uh, yeah, that was a lot of driving AKA a lot of "Freakin MOVE, Chester, no not there, or there either, JEEZ."   Oregon was pretty rad, though.  We walked around Ashland (rad) and Portland's rose garden.  Both was cool except Mom kept insisting on taking all these pictures and posing our asses and I was like, Ummm, anyway, I'd way rather be lunging at that squirrel or barking at a mom with her kid.  And Dad was like, I think that's enough; Stella's breaking down. And Mom was like, It'll take -- STELLA, STOP! -- 5 minutes.  And Dad was like, If each one takes 5 minutes we'll never get to -- And Mom was like, Fine, whatever, I suck, let's eat.



 

Portland Rose Garden:  one rose, two thorns

Later, in Seattle, it was mostly sucky because we was locked in the crate all day together in a ghetto ass hotel room because Dad had to yell at the Jets all day Sunday and Mom had to make sure Dad didn't get arrested. Do you know what 8 hours IN A CRATE with these red-furred stepchildren is like?  My brain almost turned into a Chester's butthole-sized onion.  No wonder fetus-head Donald tried to jump out a window to escape da crate.  (Mom caught him.)

Days 4-6:  Seattle to Vancouver
Yeah, that's right.  This bitch went to Canada.  It was sorta crazy and Mom and Dad was scared we wasn't gonna get in cuz I would yell at the border guards but turns out the border guard was more concerned about Mom n Dad's handguns.  Mom had initially wanted to videotape our crossing for her demented amusement but was informed by my favorite Canadian friend, Christa, that the guards wouldn't like that so much.  So here is my memory of what went down at da border:

::: Mom pulls up, tries to hand the guard the passports through a tiny sliver of window:::
Border Guard (nasty): Something wrong with your window?
Mom:  No, I just -- I have the dogs, so.
Border Guard (nastier):  What, they're gonna jump out?
Mom: (laughing, with a look to Donald):  Well, maybe!
::: Mom hands him passports :::
Stella:  HI WHO ARE YOU NEVERMIND I DON'T CARE DON'T TALK TO MY MOM
Mom:  Do you want the paperwork for the dogs?
Border Guard:  Do you have any guns with you?
Stella:  WHAT DID I SAID DON'T TALK TO MY MOM
Mom:  What?  No. 
Border Guard:  Do you have any guns at home?
Mom:  No.
Stella:  STEP OFF MOUNTIE
::: The guard opens the gate without saying anything.  Mom drives through:::
Stella:  YUP.

After we got 'crossed the border, we had some good-ass times.  Mostly cuz Mom made the schedule and it was walking the entire city.  Dad didn't like Mom's schedule as much but by the time his complaining reached a fever pitch, we were already half way through Mom's psycho loop so it was shorter for us to just do things her way, what else is new.



Yeah, Chester and Donald, the camera is right there.



Canadian Geese in Canada:  Just annoying as American Canadian Geese



Stanley Park.  Cool except for being on the leash and with the blank-stare brothers ugh I hate them



Olympic Torch.  I won at everything except Sucking (swept by Mom, Dad, Chesturd and Don't-ald)

Days 7-9:  Vancouver to Coastal Oregon
Yo, sometimes I know I can be a bit crit-cal.  Wonder where I get that from?  (MOM.)  But this part of the trip was like crazy awesome.  We stayed at Mom's friend's beach house in Neskowin, Oregon and it.was.dope.  Like, rolling in a dead sea lion dope.  (Been there, done that, holmes!)  Normally, Mom doesn't like to bring me to the beach so much.  It is maybe because of this one time I protected Mom and Dad from a surfer, or maybe this other time(s) that I protected my water bowl from dogs that Mom says was just sniffing but I say they was casin' that shit and water is a valuable resource maybe if it was Mom's Diet Dr. Pepper she'd understand, JEEZ.  Anyways, for some crazy reason, there wasn't anyone else on da beach, so me and Queefter and Doh-nald all got to run around and just be chill and it was rad. 


Dunce-ald drinking salt water, me looking fly, butthead beagle hunting dead crab

Eff making sand castles, this is way funner.

We had such a good-ass time, Mom and Dad didn't even notice when big-boned Donald disappeared in the sand dunes and slower-than-stop Chester ate like 12 pounds of dead crab and other seafood and then had a face that was even stupider than his normal face until he puked up about 11 pounds of dead crab and then seemed to feel better (but his face was still stupid).
 
Days 10-11:  Coastal Oregon to Coastal CA to Home Sweet Echo Parque
I totally didn't want to leave Oregon.  It was probably like Mom feels when she has to leave her plate. But then we got to da Redwoods.  And WHOA.  There was trees there that was older than old-face Chester.  By, like 3,000 years.  I tried to play it cool but DANG I couldn't freakin' help myself I had to stand up and check out that shit.

First we went to da Trees of Mystery which was awesome cuz I could go.  I was hoping they'd have a rule against assfaces but once again, this bitch was outta luck like Mom's outta pants that fit.  We even got to ride in a gondola which was cooler than eatin' the inside of Chester's ears.  The best part of the gondola was when we was gettin' on to go back down and Chestwerp wouldn't get on and the thing was in constant motion so you gotta get on and the guy runnin' the thing had to pick his big bunghole up and hand him to Dad who almost dropped him but didn't (can't get lucky every time I guess).  


hard to look cool when you are so freaking PSYCHED



There is a house carved into a tree.  I want to live there.  Alone.  Dad can visit.  I'll meet Mom for coffee.

Then as we was driving back to my hood, we stopped to see the golden gate bridge.  Chester got excited because he thought it meant we was rich.  Sometimes I forget how much I hate him.  Actually, wait, no, I never do.


Golden Gate Chola

Anyways, overall da trip was rad, even though it was a bit hard to catch my zzzs with Chestard's salmon breath in my face and Donald's giganto blockhead blockin' my view. 


Donald's head is the Sun, only a Sun that, like, destroys life.



Umm, Whoa.

Yeah, uh, wow.  Clearly I been as lazy with this blog as muffin-top Mom's been with her diet.  (Here's a tip -- Four helpings of your sorta-maybe-healthy food ain't much better than one helping of the not healthy food.  You welcome)

Anyways, my life has changed dramatically and traumatically over the last few months.  Mainly due to... ANOTHER BROTHER.  UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  His name is Donald except could-you-be-a-bigger-loser Mom calls him (just one sec while I dry heave okay I'm back) "Angel Baby" and "Angel Pants" and creative Dad calls him "Donald D."  I call him WHY DO I LIVE IN AN ANIMAL SHELTER GET AWAY FROM MY FOOD LET ME EAT YOUR NECK THAT TASTES GOOD I HATE YOU.

Dad's boss picked Donald up as a stray (cool) in Los Feliz (not hood therefore not cool).  Then a few days later the boss had a 'pendicitis n showed up at work like, "Can someone take this weird dog for the weekend while I go to the hospital" and o' course bleeding heart Dad was like, "Sure I have tons of room in my one-bedroom apartment with two other dogs (one awesome, one not so much) and two cats (both suck)."   So in comes this low-rider creep, who look like he got cut off at the knees and don't say a word but does projectile poo all over the wall, and by the end of the weekend fat camp kids Mom 'n Dad has "fallen in love."  Lemme tell you a thing about love, peeps.  It don't shit on your walls and it's not named Oyster!!!  (That's what Dad's boss was calling him.  Sometimes I still call him that but he doesn't seem to mind which annoys me even more.)

So now they's three of us, sharing our rents and da bed and da attention, and even though I know I'm still the favorite (I better be or someone gonna get their legs shortened to match "Angel Pants"), it still makes my day to day life even more annoying.  As if that was possible!!!!

Here are some photos of Dumbald.  Please avert your eyes if you get nauseous easily. 

lazy.

good luck supporting that badonkadonk bod on those toothpicks.

Even shit-the-bed Chester is 'spicious

Over-population.

Sick of the Poo 'Tude

So, every morning it's like the same freakin' thing.  Mom takes me 'n Huge Bunghole around da block for what she calls our "Morning Walk" 'n what I call "Not Enough, Never Enough."  'N there always comes the time in the walk when Mom starts with her "Come on, Stella.  Business, Stella.  Come on, Stella.  Don't you want to poo?"  First off, OF COURSE I FREAKIN' WANT TO POO.  Poo-in' is the freakin best and obviously I know it.  But(t) I gotta work it out, ya know?  I gotta stretch.  I gotta sniff that empty bag of chips.  I gotta gnaw Chester's neck while he tryin' to cross the street.  Don't rush this shit! 

What really annoy me as much as Chester's face (wait, I just took another look at that mo-fo.  He is definitely more annoying but still), is how frustrated Morning Breath Mom get when the walk is endin' I ain't done the doody.  Suddenly Mom is all "Stella.  Please.  Please poo.  Are you about t-- what are you-- just a SNIFF?? Come ON, Stella!"  Guess what, fool?  Hearing Mom get all stupid and annoyed about Stella not pooping, makes this bitch REALLY not wanna poo.  What if I told Mom she couldn't leave for work til she did her BUSINESS (her stupid word, not mine, homie!)?  You think she'd be able to drop everything 'n push out last night's dinner plus seconds plus scrapings from the bottom of the pan?  NO.  No I don't freakin' think so.

Here's all you gotta do to get this bitch to poo:  Take me on a longer freakin' walk!!!   Or face da freakin' consequences that sometime you just ain't gonna get no poo outta this Echo Park chola.

'Course I could just do like Chesturd did the other day n poo right in the hall while Mom was puttin' on her shirt to take us out.  It's like his asshole starts to open as soon as Mom's alarm go off.  Annoying. But sorta refreshing too.   

Peace, honkies. 

About as Cool as Mom (which is totally Not cool)

Wow.  I am like in total dis-ba-lief right now.  I just found out that my brainless brother Queefter has started a blog. 


You seriously wanna know what this fool got to say?

  I mean seriously? Cheapdork think grammar is da first step in makin' a S'more.  When he count to three he just go "One...one...one..." over 'n over.   Fact, when Pest-ter first told me 'bout his "planet" to start a blog, he say "Stella what would you to say if I did start to write about what is my life like you on the internets?"  Ob-vosly, there was only one response to this stream o' poo comin' out his mouth so I reply "What the F you talkin' bout that ain't even English 'n do you got any leftover food in yo mouth let me check!"  Anyways, eventually I understood da gist of his message, and also found me some delicious morsel of meat (what kind I ain't sure) in the back of his throat. 

So now Ches-twerp has got this blog goin' but 'stead of actin' all mad and stupid like Mom be when Dad don't cut vegetables fast enough ("Blah blah blah what take you so long my belly has been deprived of food for 20 minutes!") I just gonna let it go.  He wanna make an even bigger fool of his-self, yo, I support that shit all da way.  So long as he don't eat his feet on my keyboard.  That shit's nasty.

Feel like killin' brain cells?  Read Chesturd's mental fart-stream here:  http://whatishoover.blogspot.com/.

2012: Just like 2011 'cept probably worse

Well.  Here we freakin' go again.  Sorry for da absence in my postings, but it's been a crazy couple weeks 'round this purina stand.  Mom had to get a "new shoulder" in December 'n far as I can tell all that mean is that Dad has been doin' a lot more dishes (so, like, a few of them) n I been gettin' a lot less hikes (or, like, none of them, if you wanna be pacific). 

For Christmas this year, Mom gave me a "learning toy."  Some stupid-ass gingerbread house with all these little squeak-toys that go inside and you supposed to take the little toys outta it.  Needless to say, I gave it a sniff and that was that for the learning toy.  Learn this, Ma.  Keep your learnin' toys to yourself. 

For New Years we went over to da Arianos who are super awesome.  Their kids -- Bronco, Ceci n Steve -- is aight, too.  Whens it come to Bronco, I learned it's best to avoid eye contact.  When it comes to Steve, not doin' eye contact is easy cuz his eyes are at the side o' his head 'stead of on the front.  Ceci is a pretty cool bitch, though I did not 'ppreciate her jumps into MY mom's lap.  Uh, HELLO?  Jeez.  The problem was da other dogs at this shin-dig.  The Arianos neighbors' got two pups.  One is totally blind and loves to bark, n the other has three legs n love to bite.  Sorta weird interests but then again I like rollin' in horse poo so to each his freakin' own. 

There was two awesome parts of New Years.  One was that -- n I only did this cuz no one else was steppin' up to the job - I became the official New Years Eve greeter.  This meant that anytime a guest arrived in the backyard I said hi.  Unfortunately Mom didn't seem to like the way I was sayin' hi.  She said it was more like I was running full steam in their direction while yelling WHO DO YOU KNOW GET OUT OR ELSE.  I guess I could sorta see the mis-terpetation.  But regardless, I did not enjoy being put in Mom's car as punishment, where I was then forced to protect the vehicle until midnight.

The other awesome part of New Years happened when Mom started to feel bad about how I wasn't gettin' to celebrate (because she had put my ass on security detail for her car -- I mean, she didn't exactly say I had to protect the car but that's how this bitch rolls, and you is welcome).  So definitely drunk Mom let me out n' good thing she did cuz that's when this other bitch -- Frankie (yeah that's her name and she is definitely in da mafia) -- jumped Chester like he stole her meatloaf marinara.  (Bitch was fat.  That's what I'm tryin' to say here.) 

Now here's the thing 'bout other dogs pouncin' on my turf (Chester).  It ain't cool.  So damn if I was gonna let Frankie treat Chester like an overstuffed meatball sub.  That's my job, FOOL. 

So when we heard the shrieks (Damn Chester sounds like a BITCH when he get kicked) Mom called from her fat planted ass to Dad, "That's Chester!" but my skinny butt was already on da scene.  By the time Dad had snatched up Cheddar-head, I was layin' down the smack to Frankie tellin her YO JUICEHEAD GET CHO OWN CALZONE.

Mom thought it was real sweet how I done that.  She tole Dad "Did you see how Stella was protecting him?" Fact she got a little misty eyed but maybe it was cuz she was guzzlin' her eighth PBR n some o' those was bubblin' to the surface. 

Happy freakin' New Year.