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/.