Sucky Sunday

Today has been an overall extremely crappy day. First off, my wife is out of town, so I naturally let the dogs sleep in bed with me. They are a poor substitute for her but I’m accustomed to the bed being hogged. Unfortunately, one of them had an upset stomach last night and full on crapped all over the bed (that’s what I get for letting the dogs on the bed). I felt bad for him because he was obviously sick and too small (or fat) to jump off the bed in order to crap on the carper – that’s better I promise you. I woke up in a blind stupor an accidentally put my hand down in it. Just horrible. That kind of shit happens (you have to read that line imagining I have some sort of smug smile as I deliver that semi-obvious pun).

One of the worst problems is that I couldn’t find a dry cleaner in all of Houston open on a Sunday. Seriously people (I’m including everyone here, Chickfila, El Gallo, etc.), let’s stop with the closed Sunday thing. Go to church and then get your lazy ass back to work. Also, how can that be good for business when you are closed 1/7 of the year!?! Literally, 52 days of business that you are choosing not to make money. Can you all be making so much money that you don’t need more? Sunday is one of the good days of the week, too – almost everyone is off! You could be making more money, Service Industry. Geez.

Anyhow, back to the story, I had to clean the dog poop off by hand and leave it in the laundry room for the rest of the day. The thought of this sickens me, and I have drive heaved several times today as a result. After that morning’s fiasco, Earl, my pug, was acting weird and skittish, like one would expect from a sick dog. Well, he had poop – cliffhangers, as my friend, Paul, calls them – still stuck to his fur, so I had to give him a bath. Earl, who is fat like a pig, also shares the “hard to catch” trait of a pig. He runs around snorting, changing directions, and hiding under things, while I lumber slowly after him. I eventually tricked him with a treat – the fat dog’s hypnotic.

After all of that, I watched Shawshank Redemption on AMC all the while trying to muster up the strength to go to the grocery store. I finally got out of bed, got ready, and sat down in my car, and I noticed that I tracked dog crap onto my car’s floor carpet. I stepped in the very dog poo that I cleaned off the comforter earlier. Sigh.

Finally, after I cleaned my car and shoes, I went to the store and bought many delicious items, like meatballs for meatball sandwiches, Red Diamond Sweet Tea, and ice cream sandwiches. This all lead to the high point of my day: eating hot dogs for dinner.

I also bought some Tylnol PM so I can get out of this day as soon as possible.

Man vs. Pugs III

I’ve got it figured out why my pugs want to kill me: it’s because I tease them. Who would have thought that little animals don’t like being teased? Well, my pugs don’t seem to like it. Who knows, maybe they are sadists. Some of you might have read the other day on my Facebook status that I had some trouble getting into a pesky bag of pepperonis while I was driving home from the store. You’ll be glad to hear that I have since gotten into the aforementioned pepperonis; that safe was cracked with a golf tee.

Now, when I want a snack, I grab a handful of pepperonis and munch on them while I watch TV. Sampson and Earl, my pugs, both thoroughly enjoy these pepperonis as well – cured meats are one of our shared interests. These pepperonis come at a price for them, mind you. I’ll give them a half a pepperoni every now and again but with a bit of teasing. I call them names like “nerd” or “fatty” before I give them one. But seriously, I pretend I’m feeding them and my hand is an airplane that makes a u-turn to my mouth. Sometimes, I throw one up in the air and say, “Fight for it my pretties!” Their growling and aggressive jumping indicates to me that they don’t seem to like this. If you have dogs, you know what I’m talking about. Teasing them is part of showing them who’s the pack leader.

Yesterday, I was relieving myself, and as they watched me, as they always do (they are into to that kind of stuff – pervs), I happened to be messing with my phone at the same time. This phone play required both of my hands (my Smurf garden wasn’t going to tend to itself!), so I just dropped my trousers to my ankles. I mean, I’m the only one in there so who cares, right? As I held my shirt bottom up with my chin, Earl started to crawl between my legs – the very legs that were fettered like a turn of the century inmate. As he wiggled through (he’s a 23 lb pug so he roots like a pig), I began to lose my balance. I had to make a quick decision of what’s more important: my iPhone or my aim. Needless to say, my pugs won that battle and made me look like a jackass. While I cleaned the bathroom, they both sat down and watched with a superior sense of satisfaction. I could see it in their eyes.

A-pug-alypse!

According to my father-in-law, America is about to go through even worse financial times than we are now. He’s a financial planner and knows quite a bit about the economy and so forth. Essentially, the debt America accrues will be so great that our whole economic system will buckle to an unsalvageable level. I’ve connected the dots and see what’s going on. Armageddon is upon us. Conquest, War, Famine, and Death will soon be riding their horses through the sky. I must start planning for the future – however desolate it may be. 

First, I need to get Lasik eye surgery. I can just imagine scurrying from my house of *corrugated metal to scavenge for my daily dose of acorns and pigeon bones like a common troll. While I’m out foraging, I notice all of the other Morlock-like sewer dwellers laughing and pointing at me. Much to my chagrin, I notice I put on my brown fingerless gloves and picked up the red polka doted bindle. That doesn't match!!! If I had better vision, this mistake wouldn’t happen. I will NEVER be the laughingstock to a bunch of Eloi eating, subterranean bastards!  

Next, I really need to start running. I figure when the streets are flooded with blood, I’ll need to be in shape to run away from cannibal marauders looking to eat my nose and various other body parts. Or vice versa, I’ll need to be in shape to run down the weak, so I can feed their noses to my dogs and wife. I’ll scream from the mountain tops as menacing as possible, “Listen and listen well. All of your noses shall sustain my pugs!”

I’ll also need an arsenal of weapons. My only weapon right now is a baseball bat. It’s aluminum though so I can’t even hammer long nails through the end of it like a true cave troll. Maybe I can duct tape some nails to it. I could also carry around a bag of rocks – rocks for throwing.

I’ll need to work on my percussion skills. There will probably be a lot of sitting around campfires. If I can play music on a Folgers can perhaps, I will be the hit of the tribe and they won’t want me to do stuff. It’ll be similar to being a celebrity now; I’ll be so revered that people will want to do work for me. They’ll say, “No, no. Please stay seated. I’ll go down to the quarry, boil drinking water for you, and wash your loin cloth. We need you nice and rested for the coffee can concert tonight. Tap-Dink-Tap is my favorite song!” I will humbly accept.

These are just some of the things I will need to do in anticipation for the End Days. These things seem hard though. Maybe I won’t do them. Maybe I’ll just sit in a chair on my lawn with a cold beer and watch the skies burn with the fire of a thousand suns. It’ll be quite a show.

* Corrugated metal: The wavy kind of metal used to make sheds and storage units that contain scores of dead, rotting bodies that burn in the hot summer sun. If this doesn’t make sense, read this.

Man vs. Pugs II

I haven’t written about this in a while, but my dogs are still trying to kill me. I’ve been keeping a small journal of their activities on my phone, so if someone needed the proof, a la Paranormal Activity 2, they would see it. After the original September post, here is what happened the rest of the month.

Monday, Sept. 20^th: Went to the pantry to find something to eat but nothing looked too appetizing. Found a baguette. Took a bite out of it and almost cracked a molar. Decided it would have to do. Walked to the couch holding the baguette in my hand. Sampson jumped up and snatched it away. He ran off and hid under the table. Tried to reach him but he kept scooting away from me. Bonked my head getting up. Possible torn ACL.

Synopsis: He is trying to starve me. He is much quicker and more agile than me. Need to find a way to combat this. Net?

Tuesday, Sept. 28^th: Just got home, let the dogs out, and fed them. Let them back in to give them a treat. Earl walking between my legs. I’m very unsteady. Could possibly fall. Sampson bouncing and pushing on the back of my knee with both front paws. I’m very unsteady. Could possibly fall. Gained balance on the counter. Gave them treat despite attempts to crack my skull.

Synopsis: They are trying to take me out of the game but perhaps are keeping me around for the treats. Treats=survival. The ball’s in my court.

Thursday, Sept. 30^th: Watching Pardon the Interruption and laying on the couch. Earl putting his substantial mass on my… male parts. Tried to move him but he hunkered down. Hard to move a bowling ball.

Synopsis: Is he trying to make mine a fruitless crown? Methinks not!

Man vs. Pugs

My dogs have been plotting against me for a couple of years now. Let me start by saying they are the two cutest dogs in the world, and if I were to have my soul sucked out while I sleep in the middle of the night, I’d want it to be by them.

Allow me to introduce my dogs. We adopted both of them from an organization called Pug Hearts. It’s a fantastic group that saves pugs and puts them up for adoption. These dogs come from all sorts of unfortunate backgrounds. Quite a few have been abused in some heinous ways, and others have suffered from neglect. I don’t want to give you too much of a sob story here, but luckily, Sampson was a puppy when we adopted him and didn’t suffer too many hardships. Earl, on the other hand, had a broken leg and heartworms before we adopted him. He wasn’t too fond of people as you might suspect.

 As you can tell, I’m an animal lover and to a fault at that. I pick up cockroaches in napkins and put them outside. I would never hunt or fish. I used to tell my friends that if I had a man in one corner with a knife coming to kill me because he was a serial killer and a wolf in the other corner coming to maul me and I had a gun, I’d no question kill the man. I’d obviously never kill anything or anyone, but you get the point.

Back to the point, don’t feel bad for my dogs because you shouldn’t. These dogs might as well be kings. They run our lives. We give them everything and they live a very cushy, envy-inspiring life. We have a painting of Sampson in our house, for God’s sake!

Here is Sampson. He is a cutie pie but not really a pug. He’s taut and tall.

Here is Earl. He’s more of a traditional pug. He’s kind of chubby and is the clown of the dog world.

Now you feel sorry for them and know how cute they are. Here’s the deal: they are plotting against me. I am the alpha dog, and they know it. I put them on their backs constantly and feed them. They know what’s up. I’m the president; Sampson is the vice president; Earl is the secretary of state; my wife is the working class (Ha ha, just joking).

Sampson is neurotic and becomes obsessive about toys or other things that might be under the couch. He’ll stand by the couch and paw at the upholstery (yeah! Got that word after four tries). The other day Sampson was pawing at the couch. I was watching Pardon the Interruption.

Tony Kornheiser: Tim Tebow can’t…

Sampson: scratch, scratch, scratch

Michael Wilbon: Yeah, but he’s the golden…

Sampson: Scratch, scratch, scratch….

Me: Ok! You win! Geez.

I have to lay flat on my tummy to look under the couch because I’m too big to just squat down. As I’m looking under the couch, I see there is nothing there. As soon as I notice this, I feel a little doggy arm overlap my arm. I look over and Sampson’s face is 3 inches from mine. I feel another little doggy arm touch my other arm, and I look over. Earl is 3 inches from my face. He sneezes. He gets doggy snot all up in my grill. They planned this. They knew how to get me on their level, and they took it to me. They’re starting the coup by humiliating me.

I’m a tad worried. We’ve been leaving them out during the day and trying to get away from kennel training. I suspect they are planning.

Sampson: When the fat one gets home, he’ll eat something.

Earl: Yeah, something we can’t have.

Sampson: Yeah.

Sampson: We need to let him know he can’t just sit around here spending all the time with the working class (read above!) and eating all the cheesecake.

Earl: Yeah, I want some cheesecake, too.

Dogs: Whispering…

One of them poops on the floor while laughing egomaniacally.

This is a growing concern in my household. Growing. Like a tree!

 (Evil looking, huh?)

(There is much more on this and I’ll address it later. This is just a taste of their monkeyshines.)