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 The hat was not my idea...honest. I am outta here!
I am the smallest member of this family, my breath smells like a trough of butt custard and I spent the last 7 days getting shoved into a cardboard box and being dragged around backwards by my tail from a child that does not sleep.
Although I would love to, I cannot possibly bite the 4 year old because it is my sworn duty to protect her, but if I have one more chess piece shoved up my backside I could frickin snap…those castle and horse things are in no way designed to go there. Yo Mom, still missing some Legos from the other day?!?!? Stick around - They will be shooting out in a few minutes…!
I spent last night outside in 82 degree heat fending off gigantic, mutant, blood sucking, mosquitoes and I think I might very well need a blood transfusion…good lord I am dizzy just sitting here and hoping my bone marrow can cope with the sudden loss. No seriously, I am totally fired-up and going to do the brown stripe pillow surprise for my teenage owner as I am sure she dozed off giggling on the phone again while I was struggling to stay conscious.
Next time dork-ball Dad catches my tail in the sliding glass door and forces me to emit the ultrasonic, dreaded, death squeal I am going to shoot poop on something…not a little poop either, but something epic and Jerry Bruckheimer style with lots of barking and flailing, with bullets flying and fiery explosions and it is going to smell like a bucket of 10 day old rancid meatballs. For real…it will smell so bad they are going to have to rip out the tile and possibly gut the house.
But still……I dream of the day when I will get picked up by the dog catcher and whisked away to a safe, metal cage with 2 square meals and clean water from a dribble dispenser. I am not going to even bring up the “low grade dog food” cliché, but last night I gagged so hard it made me do number one and two at the same time – once again draining my body of precious moisture, electrolytes and fluids.
I guess my big, dumb, friend with a negative IQ, Max, doesn’t understand that this is a house run primarily by mental patients and no place for a jet setting, suave and sophisticated dog such as myself. Actually the diversion he creates while making drool puddles in the front and tuba sounds in the rear will serve me well as I complete my escape tunnel to the other side of the chain link fence. Soon enough I will celebrate my glorious freedom. I smile and wriggle with delight when I ponder how amazing it will be. I can’t wait to get over there and romp in the open pastures, roll in the cow turds, terrorize the opossums, scavenge for the biggest table scraps, nap in the warm grass, and chase cats until the sun comes up. Soon enough I will be free from this madness!
We will always miss you Weiner Beaner. Your personality and friendship with this family after 11 years can never be replicated, replaced or forgotten. I hope and pray that if I do make it to my heaven someday, I find doggie heaven situated somewhere in the middle and you bouncing and howling among my other four legged friends…or maybe, more likely, my heaven will be in the middle of yours.
 I am royally chafed! Not every day, but today this thing is really chafing me. Mom thinks that I ate the blasted thing, and lucky for me I gummed it for a good 10 minutes before dropping it down the front of my diaper. At least the edges are worn down and it is relatively soggy, but something is gurgling and starting to smell like stew. I think the Cheerios and melba toast are starting to ferment down there as well and now things are just getting extremely unpleasant…
Once again where is Child Protective Services when you need them??? “Hello, infant suffering from cracker chafing,” and although I have been signing diaper, cracker and hurt for the last half hour, my mom thinks that I am dancing to Signing Time.
I am so misunderstood…I’ll bet my real parents are having brunch at the country club about now while the valet parks the Bentley…I’ve been robbed.
Well, I have no choice but to create a rancid, blistering, stink bomb and hope these dork nuggets haven’t lost their sense of smell…this is going to be gross, especially since I have been potty trained for over a year now. With any luck it will require a mandatory diaper change and possible bath. Serenity Now!
Still, I can’t wait to see mom’s face when she thinks the cracker came out whole. Stick around – later today we will turn raisins into grapes.
See Ya!
We had just concluded a wonderful evening at the boat parade in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida and if you have never seen this, you should definitely buy some friends with property on the Intracoastal waterway who have a well stocked beer and wine cooler. It is always fun and festive and afterward the downtown streets of Ft. Lauderdale look like a stumbling, zombie walk.
We had jumped into the family mobile unit as it was our task to present Uncle John back to his condo a few blocks away. My newly-turned three year old seated in the back, had charmed some unsuspecting patron on the street to give up his “glow bracelet” and she had spent the last few minutes flailing it around in the back seat (which I caught occasional glimpses of and likened to a laser show at a Pink Floyd concert).
It was about the time when my wife screamed “Oh My God!” like she had just witnessed Brad Pitt getting a colonoscopy or a dog doing a cartwheel or something when I peered into the rear view mirror in the area where my toddler usually sits. My face immediately wretched into a gaping lockjaw that could be likened to someone getting poked in the ear with a stick. Our three year old had apparently compromised the structural integrity of the bracelet’s outer skin and some sort of small explosion had occurred.
Now I don’t know what they put in those “glow bracelets,” but it didn’t matter at that one instant when my darling daughter decided her new toy might taste like a chocolate and was spitting and hacking while slapping at her tongue like she had just consumed a mouthful of fire ants. My little one had bitten into what was now in our eyes the “glowing bracelet of death” and had emptied most of the bracelet’s radioactive contents into her tiny mouth. With a gander into the rear-view mirror I caught a glimpse of a tiny gasping, glowing mouthful of bright yellowish-green.
With our particular minivan model, I had to get over to the passenger side to open the door, but I was pretty proud of myself when I believe I actually leapt over my minivan as any father could do in a nuclear emergency. Unfortunately Uncle John’s mistake was that he had responded to my wife’s “IT’s POISON!” in a very mellow “Oh I am sure it is fine.” The other mistake poor uncle John made was that he was situated between my spouse and her toddler who had just taken in a mouthful of what my wife had already decided was plutonium water.
Even though I had sprung over the van, my bride had removed her harness, spun around, flung open the sliding door and grabbed innocent uncle John by his throat. Luckily uncle John wasn’t wearing his seat belt at that moment, or he would have had his head severed from his body. When I landed on the scene our poor relative was sprawled on the brick driveway like he had just been beaten down by an angry Jerry Springer audience.
MILK! I thought could be used to protect us all in the face of a nuclear holocaust. Somewhere amidst the trivial knowledge, I recounted reading something in a parental magazine that the proteins and fats in the milk might bind to “bad stuff” and save the day…or maybe I was making this up and just desperate…I couldn’t really be sure. With the efficiency of a NASCAR pit crew, my wife ripped my toddler from her little car seat and with the tiny orifice still glowing began to dowse her with copious amounts of milk not unlike a wild champagne party. After rinsing and spitting for 5 minutes at the entrance of my uncle’s upscale south Florida condo we were satisfied that nothing else was glowing and that the emergency had subsided. The interior of our sad green minivan needed some TLC, but the HAZMAT crews were called back and we all got to go home…
…Another exciting Saturday and I have just consumed my weight in whole milk.
What is this with the solid foods…? Seriously, all the cooking, preparing, utensils and the chewing and the swallowing and it is enough to make someone my age give up on eating altogether. This monotonous chewing exercise is enough to wear me out so that I might be unable to run circles around my dad all today - and could prevent me from finger painting the living room and destroying my room later this evening. Luckily I have my good friend, Mrs. Sippie cup and my high calorie octane booster – Vitamin D, whole milk!
I mean seriously…what is the down side to this miraculous, wonder food?!?!?
It comes in ginormous gallon jugs and stays icy cold in the fridge…pouring a sippie cup full is much easier than grilling a burger or even nuking a nugget or any other of those painstaking cooking challenges. Tip the cup up and it slides down and bloats the belly in seconds leaving me cool and satisfied. Clean up is a snap because I just leave my cup under the couch or behind the toy box until it smells like a festering, farm animal or something…that is usually when mom finds it.  Whenever I am thirsty for more, I just make the magic “milk” sign and within moments my highly trained caretakers refill my plastic goblet and deliver it with a smile.
I am thinking about getting my own cow.
Maybe 2 or 3 of them actually… in the back yard I think and then I can employ my privileged, teenage sister to learn how to work her milking muscles each morning. If she doesn’t start being nicer to me I will also fill her sock drawer with saucer shaped poo patties from the gargantuan bovines…maybe in her pillow case too. Maybe next time she is sleeping with her mouth open I will sneak up and …
But I digress…where was I?? Oh yea, milk is the bomb and big cows make big poops.
Next week – Turning your sister’s sock drawer into a compost heap!
 …So I’m strolling through Walmart the other day looking for the newest Backyardigans DVD release when I spot this tender and juicy piece of something on the floor. I look up at mom and dad to throw them off my trail and point to something shiny (my parents are easily amused with reflective things) before I get to this chunk of something and pop it in my mouth. The texture was unique…..sort of crunchy, hairy, squashy, nutty, gravy like with bits of gross stuff mixed in. Of course this doesn’t matter to me, because at my age to truly experience something you’ve just got to eat it…..little did I know my parents actually saw the whole thing and when I look up at them, they are moving in slow motion trying to get to me before I can scrape up the saucy part.
Now I love my parents dearly, but this is just an invitation to fun…..with something crunchy and made of chitin – (maybe a bug leg) sticking out of my mouth I pivot back on my right heel and duck down the diaper aisle.
I wouldn’t say I am tailback material, but my legs can churn, and I mean turbo style. Unfortunately mom and dad do have these Sasquatch style thighs that seem to be able to cover quite a bit of ground in short order. I never really made it past the Huggies Pull-ups when dad grabbed me and held me while mom started fishing around in my mouth like she was searching for gizzards in a turkey. I didn’t get very much of it down, but the look on mom’s face was worth it all. I snickered as she gagged while wiping the remnants on a Kleenex.
I don’t always get caught, but this was one of those unfortunate times. Usually I am able to carefully chew and enjoy anything mysterious that I find on the floor. I caught a glimpse of a big fur-ball under the couch that I plan to munch on tomorrow. I will probably have to wash it down with something wet because it looked a little dusty….lucky for me I found this water source in the bathroom with a lid on it for freshness. I can hardly wait to see the look on mom or dad’s face when this little furry surprise turns up in my diaper.
Until next time…
AJ
So my butt looks like the lunar surface…………except it’s scaly and really red instead of grayish-blue. You would think my parents could get it right and use the right diapers and cream. I think I’d be more comfortable with a trunk full of hot lava rocks back there. Once again the parents look so confused, but it has to do with me busting into the fridge last night and finishing off those #5 buffalo wings……..burns more on the backside, Yeeeeeeeoooocccchhh!
NE-ways…..my brother and sister are coming back to visit next Thursday so I am pretty stoked about that. Not that the parents aren’t entertaining and all, but I definitely yearn for more mental stimulation. In case you’ve been on the lunar surface (my butt is not that big by the way!) my brother C.J. has been up in New York at college and my sister Amber has been going to 7th grade out in Texas where her mom lives. I have really, really, really missed them, and I think the parents have too. There has been a heavy air hanging over the house since they left and I’ve done everything to try to keep the parents smiling. It isn’t easy being the only responsible member left in this family, but I can handle it. You would have thought somebody died the way dad and mom were dragging ass all over the house. I guess they really love brother and sister…….I hope they love me that much too.
I had a thought the other day that my folks may not be as brain dead as I had initially thought. I appear to be the completing member of some sort of mutt-like, familial conglomeration which brings together mom and brother C.J. with dad and sister Amber; sort of a special needs Brady Bunch or something. It could be a subconscious coincidence that ma and pa used “A” from Amber and “J” from C.J. as they came up with A.J. Is it possible that they really meant to do that??? Kudos if they did, pretty cool.
Doesn’t matter I guess, all I know is that I will have to keep things lively around here until the parents recover from bro and sis flying the coop. Personally I like it because all attention is on me…….still, it will be kewl to see the siblings again. Just for fun, when they get here, I am going to make a poop sculpture on a plate and set it on their night stands for an early morning surprise……..yea, it’s the little things that make me smile.
Gotta bolt, time for my bath!
…..my concern here is that a nurse wasn’t paying attention at the hospital. I am sure that it can happen. There is really no other explanation, because these can’t be my parents, and I think that I am supposed to live in a palace or at least some sort of a mansion with a more sprawling landscape.
I didn’t mess around very much when it was time to start life. 15 minutes after our arrival at the hospital I decided it was time to get this party started. Imagine my surprise when I got my first gander at my parents. Pretty normal folks, slow and boring with no indication of royalty, but I at least kept my fingers crossed that we’d leave the hospital in something sleek and sporty.
You’ve heard the phrase “my jaw hit the ground?” That is exactly what happened as we left the birthing suite and walked towards a lonely green minivan that appeared to be more of an abandoned vehicle in the parking lot. I remained in a mental stupor as we drove home, and I started to realize my best hope might be at least a double-wide in the trailer park.
So….we get home and it’s no castle. Furthermore my room is barely big enough to fit some furniture, changing table, toys and crib in. My eyes welled up as I began to imagine living in this prison. There are no servants, nothing gold plated and no indication of wealth anywhere in the house. Even the dogs have a vegetative look that seems to say, “Please take us back to the pound!”
Ironically I have a bib that says “Princess” on it. Go figure. My parents wanted to know why I screamed for the first three months of my life?!? Because it took me that long to accept reality. I still don’t believe it which is why I am pursuing legal methods of finding my true royal lineage. Worst case scenario is I wait until the next busy family gathering or birthday party where there are other people my size and then I shave my head, switch clothing and trade places with the poor sap that has to come back home here….I realize that I’m gambling going elsewhere, but how much worse can it be?
So please, if your name is Trump, Hilton, Kennedy, Jolie, Cruise -(No, on second thought- not Cruise), and you have recently brought a new infant home who seems a little slow and sluggish, probably a lot of drool puddles, blank stares and dumb looks and you are a little disappointed with your new addition’s performance, relax, because I belong to you. I can state without hesitation that your idiot child belongs here, along with its idiot parents.
Oh crap, here they come…later!
Seriously…this is entertaining. Maybe you view your parents as loving, nurturing, protectors……I view mine as playthings.
The deal is this…..when I’ve had enough sleep (aka: my batteries are recharged) it is time to get up. What am I going to do, settle back down into this goose down pillow for a couple of hours??? You want to talk about comfort? Comfort is floating and suspended in a surrounding, warmth with a big tube attached to your tummy and the enchanting sounds of mom’s nurturing heartbeat while having every need met…..take me back there and I will probably sleep for an extra hour or two. But this bed stuff….Geez! I may as well bust into the kitchen and play with the dangerous items.
First of all you have to realize bedtime here can only be regarded as something one might view at the “Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey Circus” under the heading, “Dog and Pony Show” (with clowns!). It’s a game we play every night and I am effortlessly the victor. Sure my parents get me down for bed sometime between 11-1, and then they trick themselves into thinking they will sit up and chat for some real quality “adult time,” but I’ve peeked. They end up staring at the T.V. with this horrific look of terror in their eyes. If there was ever a specific definition for “Oh my God, what have we done?” in the dictionary, you would undoubtedly find a picture of my glassy eyed parents next to it.
Last night and most nights go something like this………Mom has to do something vividly important on the computer like looking up plane tickets to Sydney (for her eventual escape) or cruises to Alaska (for the cruise I will never let them go on) all the while dad has been given the task of wearing me out before bed time. On occasion mom will appear to be “working,” but I have seen her do the pretend typing thing while she manages not to hear my squalls of despair coming from the living room. Every so often I will see her smirk as dad becomes increasingly flustered and tries to entertain me with these “infant toys.” At least once in the evening she will yell out, “Not so easy, is it?” to dad who is already dangerously close to jumping in the car and hurtling himself off the nearest bridge.
At almost 8 months old I have already mastered the delicate mind of my father. True I have taken some cues from my big sis Amber and mom definitely has a hidden direction book somewhere titled, “Buttons to Push – Owning Your Husband,” but this might be my single greatest source of entertainment. Picture, if you will, a walking stick of dynamite with a fuse just about 2 hours long. As soon as dad is given the job of “watching me,” a task he usually accepts with optimistic reluctance, you can almost count the minutes until he is stomping around and huffing about how impossible I am.
So anyway…..part of the “Dog and Pony Show” (starring Bozo and Flowers) involves getting me bathed, diapered, dressed and ready for bed. Mom gives me the good stuff as I drift off into cat nap…..don’t worry, I will only be out for a couple of hours….max! At about 2-3am I wake up and get in bed with the parental units. I flop around like a puppy on Quaaludes for about 3 more hours, give dad a couple of heel kicks to the Adam’s apple and keep my mom just on the edge of REM sleep by uttering the barely audible “pip.” Last night just for fun I whispered, “Wah” to mom and she jumped up and started running around the room like someone had just set off the air raid siren or something. My parents, my pawns, my playthings…..hilarity at its best.
Zombies among us…..So at 6am I am fully charged and ready to rumble so I watch the parents trade scowling glances until one of them agrees to get up and go in the other room with me. The one that is elected has just become Zombie for a day! My fun is trying to guess which one will be lucky enough to be crowned. Today, mom wins…..or loses, depending on which way you look at it. I think I hear them coming. More later! Bye!
AJ
…..so the parents are crashed out and I’m like waiting for them to start snoring so I can bust into the kitchen and make my self some real grub, but I get all involved in this episode of Elmo’s World and my hamburger gets cooked to smithereens….it tastes like a charcoal briquette or something. I swear, if I have to eat one more can of smashed, organic stuff I am gonna spew all over the house. At least this chocolate milk is going down smooth.
 I have to share this with you because I think it’s hilarious. I don’t wet that many diapers in a day and my parents are sort of concerned. What they don’t know is that I can’t stand wearing a wet diaper through the night so I get up and use the Jon. Yea, I sit up there like a champ and use toilet paper and everything…..I’ve been doing it ever since mom showed me the signs for diaper and potty… I guess it’s been about 4 months now! I’ve even fashioned a hook out of a coat hanger so I can flush. My mom weighs my diapers sometimes and scratches her head and I’m over there on the changing table cracking up…..some day I’ll have to tell them, but right now I’m having way too much fun. I really hate soiling my diaper and then sitting in it, but the faces my parents make when they are changing me are priceless. I think I saw dad gag today…….hahahahahahahahaha!
A couple of weeks ago I went ahead and ran one down my leg……you should have seen the calamity…..all we were missing was the 3rd stooge.
I’ve got to go. I think I hear the parents stirring in there so I don’t want them to think I’m missing or something. Hope your midnight snack tastes better than mine. Blog soon!
Wurd……AJ
 I’d better get to hold a sparkler or something that shoots fireballs into the sky. I’m sick of this getting treated like a kid stuff. Not much going on today, my sister is flying back in from Texas, so I’m stoked about that.
My brother is sick because he thinks he’s the party boy. Mom is sleeping in because I kept her up most of the night. I feel pretty energized right now, but could be thinking about some chow real soon.
Had my diaper changed already, just number 1. Thanks for inquiring.
My parents keep putting these stupid infant toys in front of me, but I’d rather play with something electrical or with a hard drive. I think I’ll pull the cords out of this computer and do some hardwiring on something else. Where is that TIVO controller, I think I’d like to drool on that thing for a while.
Getting cranky now, I’m gonna tell my dad i’d like to eat something.
Later…….AJ
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