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.